He wished his own father had been more like Gaius. Jovial, loving, dedicated. But more than that, he wished-Juno, how he wished-that he could hate this man who had married a red-blooded vixen with skin like thistledown and eyes the colour of beechnuts. No doubt if he thought the man’s big hands kneaded Claudia’s magnificent breasts on a regular basis it would be a different matter. In fact if Orbilio thought of him between her thighs, grunting and groaning, his huge belly pressed into her soft flesh, quite likely he’d kill him.
‘Why not, Gaius?’ he said at last, wrapping his arm round the big man’s shoulder. ‘Why the hell not?’
XXI
The familiar sensations returned with a vengeance. Even after an absence of several weeks where, for one reason or another the games and the races had been out of reach, Claudia felt the age-old tingle of excitement, the rush of colour in her cheeks, the rapid heartbeat long before the first blast on the trumpet or the first beat of the drums. With half of Rome scurrying to escape the punishing summer heat, you’d think there’d be more empty seats, but the place was practically full. Something to do with celebrating a good harvest, she supposed. Which was all right if you were into peas and beans and olives and things, and enjoyed watching that half-baked priest make a fool of himself. Idiot! Tripping over his cloak and knocking himself out on the underground altar right under the noses of the Vestal Virgins, too. Claudia would lay money that next year Consus’s festival runs as smooth as a water-clock…without the interference of that bumbling dwarf in the silly hat.
She watched the nobles take their seats, the best in the Circus to befit their status, her eyes automatically sweeping to see where Orbilio might be sitting. Not that she was interested in this particular patrician personally, but if he was attending these wretched races, it would do no harm to avoid the irritating little tick, would it? A hush settled over the auditorium. Some puffed-up little state official, feeling superior in his purple robe and gilded laurels, thought he could brook convention by making a speech. The crowd quickly taught him otherwise and, crestfallen, he dropped his white napkin sullenly into the sand, and that was it. Business began in earnest.
Claudia tapped her foot. The preliminaries were entertaining, she supposed, on a superficial level. If you enjoyed this leaping from horse to horse lark, or riders standing on their heads, fine, it was all very clever, except it lacked the element of chance to which she was addicted. Junius, thank heavens, was stationed in his usual place, though for once she hadn’t given him any money to bet with. She’d regret it, she knew she would, but she simply had to knuckle down and do things by the book for a while. What the hell? It wasn’t as though playing the dutiful wife was a novelty, she’d kept up the pretence for virtually the first year of her marriage, the discipline would do her good.
So why, then, was her mouth so dry?
Junius hadn’t turned out to be the problem she anticipated. Suspecting blackmail, she tried wheedling, she tried bullying, but eventually came to the conclusion that she might have done the boy an injustice. Whatever motive kept him under the Seferius roof, it was a mighty powerful one, because the young Gaul was adamant. He did not want his freedom, thank you all the same. It rankled like hell that he’d pocketed a grand merely for the privilege of having his ribs cracked, and had it been left to Claudia she’d have given him his marching orders and no messing. Unfortunately, she did say the boy saved her life, and it only goes to show, doesn’t it? Liars get what they deserve. She glanced across at him, hoping to find his eyes sweeping the seats in search of the lover he’d told her about. But no, his eyes were fixed on his mistress, loyal as ever dammit.
She drew a deep breath. Most people in this stadium supported a particular faction, be it red, blue, green or white, which often erupted in fights, even riots, as one group of supporters taunted a rival team. For Claudia Seferius, the races represented an altogether different excitement and she knew, she just knew, the big Libyan from the red stable would win the first race hands down. By betting twenty sesterces on Red, she could place her winnings on White in the subsequent race, no one handled a team of four the way that wiry Rhodian did. Then she could…
‘Having fun, love?’ Marcellus slid into the seat beside her.
‘Not any more.’ Good life in Illyria, if she moved any further to the left, she’d be sitting in her neighbour’s lap.
‘My money’s on the Blue, what do you think?’
Claudia twisted her lip. ‘I’ll wager one hundred sesterces Red wins by-oooh-three lengths. Are you on?’
Claudia, are you mad?
Her brother-in-law gave a nervous laugh. ‘Shame about Valeria’s baby,’ he said.
‘Heart-rending. A hundred on the big Libyan, what do you say?’
He fiddled with his toga, avoiding the directness of her stare. ‘Gaius is absolutely devastated, I hear.’
‘Gutted. Marcellus, they’re lining up. Are you game or not?’
He made a vague gesture with his hands and gave a false laugh. ‘I…well, no. Not at the moment. I’ve been a bit strapped lately.’
‘Nonsense, you’re loaded. Julia’s always bragging about it. Now watch this Libyan, Marcellus. See the way he stands? Firm as a rock, you won’t catch him overturning on the bends.’
They were two-horse chariots in the first race, and what magnificent beasts they were. Pearls in their manes, ribbons in their knotted tails, charms and medallions blazing from their breastplates. In terms of splendour, the drivers came a very poor second.
‘Julia’s a snob, just like her mother. The fact is, Claudia, I’m stony broke.’
‘You’re an architect, for heaven’s sake. Rome’s positively ringing with the sounds of hammers with this massive restoration programme. You can’t possibly be broke.’ The four charioteers had completed the first lap and were manoeuvring on the next turn. It was going to be tight. Claudia could feel her nails biting into the palm of her hand.
‘Ah! Well, that’s the rub. I’ve made one or two foolish investments and I was wondering-I don’t suppose you could see your way to loaning me a quadran or two, just to tide me over?’
A collective gasp went up from the crowd as Green misjudged slightly. The horse on the inside stumbled, the chariot rocked. By the time Green had adjusted his reins and rejoined the race he was at least two lengths behind. A quarter of the crowd began to boo, while the remaining three factions heard rousing cheers to spur them on.
‘Categorically not.’ Was he kidding? When she owed Lucan two grand? ‘Have you approached Gaius?’ Gaius, she knew, had been injecting capital into his brother-in-law’s business for some time.
‘Ah. Bit tricky, that. You see, since last November I’ve been dipping into Flavia’s allowance, and last night didn’t seem appropriate.’
On the fourth circuit, Green was still trailing, Blue was encountering difficulty on the bends, so it was neck and neck between White and Red. Claudia’s heart was pounding, it was all she could do not to jump up and cheer the Libyan.
‘I mean him rolling home, drunk as a boiled owl. Not like Gaius, is it?’ The pock-marked face leaned closer. ‘Or is it?’ he whispered. ‘Is that why you sleep in separate rooms?’
‘Marcellus, if you don’t get your tongue out of my ear this second, you’ll be sleeping in separate rooms-a different part of you in each one. Now move!’
‘All right, all right, I’m just trying to be friendly, that’s all. Remus, Claudia, you and I could make a great team-’
‘I’m warning you. If that hand goes any further under my stola, you can kiss your nutmegs goodbye right here and now.’