I, Claudia (8 page)

Frightful. ‘Wonderful. And me?’

‘Claudia, you look as ravishing now as the day I married you.’ He clucked her under the chin, then paused. ‘Tell me, my dove. There must have been times over the last few years when you’ve wanted…a spot of male company, shall we say?’

‘A lover?’

The more direct you are about things, the more it unnerves people. Especially husbands.

‘Ah, well, I wouldn’t go so far as…’

‘Gaius. I assure you, sex is not a problem.’ Or in our case, the distinct lack of it. ‘I wonder what your sister will find to carp about tonight?’

Gaius chuckled. ‘These interchanges are good fun, what?’

Claudia made a noncommittal sound in the back of her throat.

‘Seriously, my little dove.’ Gaius picked up an ivory comb and ran it through his hair, covering the front where it receded. ‘Sweet, domesticated wives are ten a quadran, whereas Seferius has a treasure beyond price.’

‘Oh?’

‘A wife with balls. Rarer than teeth on a duck’s arse.’ They were both chortling when they emerged from his bedroom, and Claudia was delighted to see that Julia looked as though she’d bitten straight through a lemon. Just in case the frosty old turnip had missed the point, she pinched Gaius’s bottom and got a playful slap on her own in return. Her stepdaughter’s jaw had dropped open and Claudia wished someone would have the sense to snap it shut for her. Of Gaius’s four children, Flavia was the least likeable. Whereas her sister Calpurnia, was a lively, amusing creature—until her untimely death at the age of fifteen. Poor old Gaius wasn’t having much luck with his offspring, really. His youngest son, Secundus, a snide little bastard if ever there was one, had managed to fall under the broad wheels of a wagon. He wasn’t much of a loss, though, and Claudia didn’t think even his father had mourned him for longer than a week. Still, he’d at least had a sense of fun, that boy.

‘New tunic, brother?’

‘Pure Campanian wool. Like it?’

Julia wrinkled her nose, but said nothing as she followed them up the other stairs towards the smaller dining room. It was strange to think there were twenty years between brother and sister Claudia reflected. His zest for life and his passion for the wine business knocked years off Gaius, yet Julia could pass for a decade older. The party paused to admire the new frescoes depicting scenes from Greek literature. In the doorway, Marcellus blocked his hostess’s path.

‘Good, was it?’ he sniggered, nodding towards Gaius, who was now gingerly lowering his bulk on to the couch.

Claudia treated him to a sickly smile and patted his pockmarked cheek. ‘Better than you’ll ever be, brother-in-law, better than you’ll ever be.’

She wriggled in between Flavia and Antonius, certain the arrangement would suit them both, although that wasn’t her motive.

‘Could any man want for a more beautiful mother-in-law?’ Scaevola asked, tilting his glass at Claudia. ‘Or a prettier bride?’

Claudia spluttered into her wine. Pretty was stretching the imagination, wasn’t it? Flavia had been sulky and sullen even before the prospect of marriage came along, sitting round-shouldered and biting her nails. Of course, a smile would be a great improvement, but that didn’t seem to be part of the girl’s wardrobe. On the other hand, when you were fifty-three yourself, maybe any fifteen-year-old looks attractive?

The slaves came round with the eggs and salad. She would be a very wealthy woman one of these days, would Flavia, now there was only herself and Lucius to inherit the Seferius fortune. Gaius had made sound provision for his wife, but his children were the chief inheritors.

‘There’s a lot of talk going round about you, Claudia.’

Julia’s birdlike features seemed more pronounced than ever tonight.

‘Oh?’

You bastard, Orbilio! I’ll nail your balls to a post for this!

Julia sniffed. ‘I’m afraid so. Brother, you ought to be more careful, we don’t want the name of Seferius sullied.’

Gaius stiffened. ‘No, indeed.’

His eyes narrowed as he looked at his wife. She opened hers ingenuously wide and shrugged. Lips pursed, Gaius turned to Julia.

‘What have you heard, sister?’

All eyes were on Julia as she laced her fingers together. ‘They say that if it’s good enough for the Emperor’s wife, it’s good enough for Claudia Seferius.’

‘What, exactly, are you driving at, dear?’ This time it was Claudia who spoke, her lips parted in what she hoped would be taken as a smile.

‘Spinning, of course! I mean, honestly, Claudia, you don’t do any of the weaving and clothmaking expected of a woman of your social standing, it’s an absolute disgrace.’ Two spots of colour had appeared on her cheeks. ‘The Emperor won’t consider clothes unless made by his own wife’s hand, just like my Marcellus would never dream of wearing anything other than homespun, would you, Marcellus?’

All eyes turned to Mulberrychops, who reminded Claudia of a beetle wriggling on the end of a pin.

‘Flavia won’t let you down, Antonius,’ Julia said primly, ‘I assure you of that. Oh yes, you’ll have a wife to be proud of, because she sews a very fine seam, does Flavia.’

All eyes turned to Flavia.

‘I do,’ she said smugly. ‘I sew a very fine seam.’ Claudia was aware that if she restrained her laughter much longer she’d wet herself, and when she glanced at Gaius it was obvious that the image of his wife happily playing with distaffs and spindles was too preposterous to take in. His whole body was shaking.

‘I do not find this amusing, brother. Simple pleasures are always the best.’

Claudia couldn’t help herself. ‘Did you say “thimble” pleasures, Julia?’

Marcellus laughed so heartily that food fell out of his mouth and down his tunic and Gaius’s eyes were watering when Leonides, the lanky Macedonian steward, entered the room.

‘I apologize for interrupting dinner sir only Rollo, the bailiff, is downstairs. Shall I ask him to wait or do I show him straight up?’

Gaius wiped the tears from his eyes. ‘Oh, bring him up, Leonides. He’s ridden for two days, poor devil, he won’t want to hang around here for too long. Not when there are taverns and whores waiting.’

Seferius had immense respect for his bailiff. Originally a slave set to work on the farm, Rollo had shown such flair for viniculture that Gaius had quickly given him his freedom and promoted him to supervise the vineyards. Within less than five years, Rollo had risen to become bailiff of the entire estate.

He looked as though he’d ridden for two weeks, rather than two days. His face was drawn, he could pass for forty instead of thirty.

‘Master Seferius, it’s bad news, I’m afraid. It’s your son…’

‘Lucius?’

‘Aye. There’s been an accident.’ He shuffled his feet and stared at his large, square hands. ‘I’m most terribly sorry, sir—he’s dead.’

IX

Claudia was engrossed in thought as her entourage wove its way through the maze of temples, arches, halls and rostra that comprised the Forum. Progress through the throng of orators and philosophers, barbers and beggars was slow, and donkeys carrying stone for the restorations were becoming bad-tempered in the stifling heat. To her left rose the twin peaks of the Palatine where the imperial residence and a sumptuous temple to Apollo dominated the skyline, while on her right work was in progress on the Capitol in the form of a temple to Jupiter in praise of Augustus’s escape from lightning during his recent Spanish campaign. At times the builders’ hammers threatened to drown the clamour in the Forum. Claudia snapped shut the distinctive orange curtains of her litter.

Poor Gaius. The death of his favourite had come as a body blow. He’d crumpled instantly and remained inconsolable. She chewed her lip. Terrible business. From the moment of his birth, Lucius had been groomed to take over the business, to ensure Seferius wine continued to reach the same exacting standard expected of it, and over the years the boy had proved himself a capable organizer, a hard worker in the mould of his father.

Rollo explained he’d died from eating bad fish, and round the table heads nodded solemnly in commiseration. There was hardly a Roman in the empire who didn’t know of a friend or relative who’d perished along the same unfortunate route. Yet, glancing round the dining room the instant the news was broken, Claudia noticed that, with the exception of Gaius, none of the family looked particularly distressed. Including herself, it had to be said. Surprised, yes, but no signs of grief—even from the boy’s sister. And for Flavia not to snivel was, in itself, rather interesting.

‘Alms! Alms!’

A leprous hand, bound with filthy bandages, thrust itself under the curtains of the litter. Claudia hit it as hard as she could with the sole of her sandal and watched its hasty retreat. The oath that accompanied it lacked a certain charity, she thought.

Driven by grief and a desperate need to oversee this season’s transformation of fruit to wine, Gaius had left at first light the following day, accompanied by the poor bailiff who had been forced to repeat the arduous journey without so much as a decent night’s sleep. Claudia had kept her head down in the fervent hope her husband might have forgotten her until he was well underway—by retiring early and cocking a deaf ear to the clatter of hooves and the shouts of the grooms right under her window—but, luck wasn’t with her. She was hastily summoned to his room on the point of departure and issued with a long list of instructions, culminating in the inevitable: she must join him and the family at the villa when she’d finished, it was her duty.

‘Bugger.’

As the litter lurched, she picked up a fan of ostrich feathers and frantically began flapping. Bugger, bugger, bugger.

‘We can’t stay long,’ Gaius had said miserably. ‘I need to be back in time for the Wine Festival.’

For a wine merchant, this was the second most important event in the calendar, although little consolation that was. Not when there’s a whole blessed month in between with nothing to do except stagnate at that wretched farm. Claudia ground her teeth. I’ll miss all the fun of the festivals, and I do so enjoy the Lucaria. People would congregate in the groves, singing and dancing and picnicking for two luscious days, followed by ten whole days of the Caesarian Games. Then there’d be all the processions, the parties, the thanksgivings—oh, dammit, Gaius, I’ll miss the whole bloody lot! Mind you, I told him straight. This is the Nones, I said, there’s no way one poor helpless female could possibly work through that onerous list before the Ides. No way at all. Sceptical even in grief, Gaius compromised on a week and even as she waved him off Claudia congratulated herself on screwing seven days out of him. Two were more than adequate. Oodles of time to lap up what’s left of Apollo’s Games!

Not that she’d forgotten her quest, because Claudia was well aware that for some poor sod time was running out. It didn’t take a mathematical genius to work out that the murders were being committed with greater frequency and that, by definition, the killer’s confidence would be growing with each one. There had been times, of course, when she’d wondered whether the fact that the four dead men happened to be punters was pure coincidence. Those thoughts, however were confined to moments when the moon was high and her spirits were low. Of the five clients she’d cornered this week, every last one expressed profound shock at the suggestion they might have revealed the relationship. To them the arrangement was as sacrosanct as it was pleasurable, they said—although she freely acknowledged their sentiments may well have been swayed by the knowledge that, if their family and friends found out, they’d be both ostracized and ridiculed.

Moral austerity was the order of the day, with the Emperor introducing more and more laws to tighten any lapses. If the penalties for adultery were crippling, it was nothing compared to those for the type of activities Claudia’s clients were paying for. It was ironic, when you thought about it, such strict decrees from a man who once prostituted himself for three thousand gold pieces, and negotiated his inheritance to the Empire by agreeing to become Julius Caesar’s catamite.

Using charm and guile, she’d also managed to establish alibis for three of them, including Flamininus, the censor who was away in Lanuvium at the time. Claudia continued to flap the ostrich feathers. Pity, really. He’d have been easy to kill and his wife would probably have been exceptionally grateful. She sighed. Such is life, she thought. Never as straightforward as you’d like.

Oh well, she might find out more at the baths this morning, and if not, then there were plenty of compensations to be gained. The steam room, a hot bath, a spot of gossip, a good rub-down—not to mention the prospect of a wager or two on the men in the exercise yard. How many press-ups they could manage, how many balls they could juggle, even silly bets, like how many sausages they might eat. There was always another like mind, eager to swap coins.

‘What the…?’

The mood of the crowd had changed suddenly, turning ugly and riotous and her slaves could no longer maintain the litter at shoulder height. It was now joggling from side to side. Claudia edged the curtains apart a fraction. They were halfway between the Forum and the baths, taking a short-cut down one of the side streets, but the chants and jeers were too close for comfort.

‘Turn back, Junius!’

All too often the populace turned nasty about their handouts of grain—something to do with not getting them, she supposed. Nevertheless, it wasn’t her business.