XII
It was characteristic of Gaius Seferius that, having decided to make his fortune from wine, he should do so with the same style of military precision that was proving so successful in broadening the Empire. Well-thought-out strategies, attention to detail and a modicum of luck until, day by day, little by little, the outposts of his own empire were extended to the point where it, too, became almost unassailable. For any man this was a considerable achievement, but for the son of a road builder it was truly exceptional.
Despite an outward appearance of bonhomie, Claudia quickly realized he was as ruthless as he was logical. He divorced his first wife, Plotina, because he believed her barren, and a man like Gaius Seferius would not allow fourteen years of marriage to stand in the way of what he called progress. By the age of twenty-four, he’d accumulated sufficient funds from his foray into the world of viniculture to purchase land suitable for the production of his own wine and when, at the age of twenty-eight, no heir stood to inherit his flourishing empire, he felt he had little option but to put Plotina aside. To his credit, Gaius had gone to considerable lengths to arrange a decent remarriage for her and it was one of life’s ironies, Claudia reflected soulfully, that the poor woman had fallen pregnant almost immediately and then had had the misfortune to die in childbirth.
The fright that Plotina’s pregnancy had given Gaius was immense. It set him questioning his own fertility until, to his utter relief, his new bride allayed his worst fears by announcing her own gravidity and when she finally produced a bouncing boy she named Lucius it coincided with Gaius’s twenty-ninth birthday. In the eight years that followed she dutifully birthed several more children, three of them healthy, until she, too, was claimed by childbed fever. By then Lucius, small as he was, had been groomed to take over. Gaius had engaged personal tutors at the expense of Secundus and Calpumia, whose upbringing he entrusted to his mother without asking or even caring, and he fostered baby, Flavia, out to his sister, with scant regard to either her or Marcellus who, at the time, was struggling to set up as an architect.
It was equally characteristic of Gaius, Claudia thought, that he should choose his land so carefully. Call it luck, call it fate, call it skill if you like, but the hundred hectares of fertile land he’d purchased was as good as you’d get anywhere for the price. Near a main road and with access to the sea, he could ship his wine all round the Mediterranean from the one place. You had to hand it to him, you really did. Under his shrewd and careful eye, his fortune seemed to multiply with an almost consummate ease, the pinnacle of his career, of course, being his appointment to the equestrian order.
The wagon rumbled into the farmyard after what seemed an eternity on the road, and Claudia wondered whether she’d be bow-legged for the rest of her life or whether it would pass after a week or two. Certainly she’d never lose the stoop. The scene before her presented a picture of rural tranquillity-clear skies and pure air, interrupted only by the droning of bumble bees and the warble of songbirds. Moonshine, of course. The place was a seething hive of labouring activity, with slaves of every creed and colour from every corner of the Empire working their skins off to fill a never-ending succession of barrels with the very finest Seferius wine. But that, thought Claudia, is always the case. Turbulence is invariably hidden below the surface and that, unfortunately, is when it’s at its most dangerous.
Gaius ambled into the yard to greet her. She had hoped he’d be busy inspecting whatever frightful little things one had to inspect on a vineyard in the middle of July, thus giving her ample time to plaster a spot of white chalk on her face to cover the bruises and disguise the whole damn lot with a generous dollop of rouge. Isn’t life a bitch?
‘Good grief, Claudia, what happened?’ There was no mistaking the look of genuine consternation on his face.
‘It’s a long story, Gaius,’ she said, twisting her mouth. ‘I’ll tell you about it later.’
He helped her out of the wagon. ‘Good journey?’
‘Foul. I’m covered in dung and dust, splinters and blisters.’
‘Then what you need is a bath. It’s all ready.’
Claudia did something she’d only ever done twice before in her life. She wrapped her arms around her husband and kissed him warmly on the cheek. ‘Bless you.’ You can shower me with gems, Gaius, but sometimes water can be more precious than gold.
‘I’ll come with you, we can talk.’
He looks old, she thought. The lines on his face had deepened, his eyes had retired so far that if they went much further they’d come out of the back of his head.
‘I’d prefer to be alone, if you don’t mind.’ It was bad enough they’d have to share a bedroom in this godforsaken dump, she didn’t want him in the bath house with her as well. She’d never taken her clothes off in front of him before, why the hell start now? Besides-she swallowed a mouthful of dust-he looked so lost, so vulnerable all of a sudden, she had a sneaky feeling that, although he’d never pestered her for sex before, sweet Hymen, he might just change his mind!
She smiled apologetically and patted her stomach. ‘Women’s troubles.’
‘Oh.’ He went pink and his arm fell away from her shoulder. ‘Oh. Well in that case, I, er, I’ll see you later.’
Sometimes we forget how lucky we are, she thought, breaking into a whistle as she headed towards the bath house. We girls take ourselves for granted far too often, we really do.
*
‘You know, Drusilla, I’ve never understood why people enjoy living in the country.’
The cat, curled into a tight ball on Claudia’s lap, didn’t twitch so much as a solitary whisker, even though she was far from sleepy.
‘Look over there. Nothing but fields and trees, vines and hills.’ She stared blankly into her empty glass. ‘Turn your head the other way, and still nothing but fields and trees, vines and hills. Miles of them.’ She hiccuped.
‘And what happens, eh? I’ll tell you what happens, Drusilla. Bugger all.’
She picked up the jug, but it was already drained.
‘Bloody countryside.’
The earthenware jug smashed into a dozen pieces as she hurled it into the middle of the yard. Drusilla, instantly on the alert, found herself being soothed back to sleep.
‘Sorry, poppet, but just look at it, will you? Back home, around now,’ she hiccuped again, ‘the gates would be cranking open to let in the first of the carts. Yep. Lots of wagons piled right up to here with grain and fruit and wine and oil and…and…and…stuff.’
She clapped her hands for wine, but no one answered. It served her right, she supposed, settling down in this stinking yard. The house had been designed to face away from the farm, so who’d know she was even here? The slaves would be clustered round Gaius and his awful, awful family, who’d have finished dinner and would be sitting on the terrace, boring themselves into an early grave. Well, sod the lot of them!
‘And these carts will be rumbling round the city, delivering here, delivering there, and there’d be donkeys braying and torch-bearers to light the way, and the eating houses and the taverns will be mowry and derry…uh-uh, rowdy and merry and everyone’ll be having a wonderful, wonderful time. But here?’
She pointed at the red ball of fire slowly sinking behind the horizon.
‘That, Drusilla, is tonight’s entertainment. No brawls. No robberies. No accidents, no fires, not even a bloody riot to liven things up.’
Another hiccup.
‘They say Rome never sleeps. Well this place, Drusilla, this place never bloody wakes up.’
The cat, hearing a rustle from one of the rectangular cottages that served as labourers’ quarters, stiffened and pricked up her ears. For her the pulsating heart of the Empire wasn’t Rome, it was here-with that big, fat, juicy rat!