The last of the timber rumbled past as Claudia wondered why Marcellus was so keen to talk about Orbilio’s behaviour at dinner last night. Until Gaius came home, the five of them-Julia, Flavia, Antonius, Marcellus and herself-had been discussing the banquet for the wedding. Mentally Claudia had been counting off the days (fourteen, to be exact!) when her husband and so-called cousin had come rolling arm in arm through the front door. Orbilio was singing at the top of his off-key voice, something to do with the sexual adventures of a particularly well-endowed youth called Varex, if her memory served her correctly. Strangely enough, she’d got a fleeting impression that he wanted to rush over and kiss her, not a peck on the cheek, but the sort of kiss that lasts for ever. Which only goes to show how stupid you can be at times.
They’d all trooped upstairs to the dining room (that was where Claudia’s breast assaulted Marcellus’s hand), kicked off their shoes and reclined in preparation for eating. Except for Flavia. Until then, Claudia had been only vaguely aware that the girl’s sulky expression had vanished, but in the dining room the child turned into…well, what could, quite honestly, only be described as a tramp. With a sensuality Claudia could never have imagined in the child, she slipped off one sandal (showing far more leg than was decent), then the other and instead of filling the gap between her aunt and her betrothed, the little trollop slid slowly between Marcellus and Orbilio, wriggling her adolescent hips in a thoroughly vulgar fashion. Claudia felt Antonius stiffen with rage, although at this stage Julia and Marcellus were embroiled in the trivia of the wedding arrangements and Gaius was staring solemnly into his glass. His eyes dancing with mischief, Orbilio gave one slow, blatant wink at Claudia as Flavia nestled closer and after that-well! It was sickening to watch them. The little hussy giggled and fawned and made doe eyes at him all bloody night, and he was no better. Flattering her on everything from her fingertips to her toes.
It took a few quiet words to calm Scaevola, whose face was positively suffused by the time the first set of dishes was cleared away. Claudia barely touched her own food. Orbilio’s plate, on the other hand, was littered with chicken bones. That idle strumpet grew bolder and bolder with every course, and Orbilio positively lapped it up. She was shoulder to shoulder with him after the eggs and lettuce, and by the time the fruit was wheeled in, she was running her little fat ankle up and down his calf and lifting his tunic with her toes.
At one stage, Claudia had to put her hand on Scaevola’s arm to steady him when he growled: ‘What the fuck’s her game?’ and began to clamber to his feet.
Quick thinking was called for. She promised him it was the usual case of pre-wedding nerves with dear little Flavia testing her fiancé to see whether he really loved her, which she could only prove by making him jealous, couldn’t he see that? Naturally she also assured him her cousin’s affections were firmly engaged elsewhere, it was something of a family joke, ha, ha, ha, but on this occasion he had to agree to conspire with the bride-to-be on such an important issue, surely Antonius could understand that? From the look he shot her, it seemed unlikely Antonius was convinced on any point, but at least he calmed down sufficiently to continue the meal without making a scene in front of Gaius who, by now, had tears rolling down his cheeks and was mumbling to himself. He needed to buck himself up, he really did. It was bad enough at the villa, though Rollo and the huge amount of work seemed to hold him in check, but since coming home he’d fallen apart. If he wasn’t slobbering in his cups he was wailing to everyone and anyone who happened to be passing that his babies, his babies, look what was happening to his babies. His mother was dying, his children were dead, his grandchild, they were all dead. Dead or dying.
Sod that for a game of knucklebones, she thought now, dodging a small boy playing in the gutter. Gaius had precious little time to pull himself together. The business was falling apart, he wasn’t meeting clients, he was negligent about deliveries, sloppy over pricing. Heaven only knew what muddle poor old Rollo was having to contend with, but the main thing was, in thirteen days’ time, Flavia Seferius was marrying Antonius Scaevola. If he hadn’t slapped himself into shape by then, by Jupiter Claudia would bloody well do it for him.
For all the hordes crammed into the Circus Maximus, the streets were no less of an ant’s nest. A builder’s wagon, one of the few vehicles allowed into the city during the daytime and that only due to the urgency of the work, was blocking one of the narrower streets and causing chaos. People were trying to clamber over the cart, marble and all, as the driver was torn between fighting them off and goading his oxen, the same oaths encompassing both. Claudia decided to avoid the route in case the weight of the people on top of the load collapsed the axle. Too many crushed limbs for her taste.
As she rounded the corner she collided with a soldier, whose nailed sole ground into her toe. He quickly apologized, but the string of obscenities with which he was greeted fairly took his breath away. She swerved round porters’ poles, shoved a beggar out of the way, heedless of upturning his bowl in the process, and elbowed aside a juggler in mid-juggle. It was truly a pleasure to turn into her own street, away from the congestion, knowing that, inside, the fountains and frescoes, marbles and mosaics could soothe away the foulest of tempers. There was something wonderfully refreshing about the pale blue frieze with its long-necked cranes and elegant panthers-the whiteness of the ostriches, the grace of the antelope-which was missing in almost every other house she’d visited.
The minute she crossed the threshold she realized something was wrong. For once the usual criss-crossing of slaves was absent. There was a strange hush in the air. Her eyes sought Leonides, but it was Junius who shuffled forward to meet her.
‘It’s Flavia, isn’t it?’ She could tell. ‘Don’t tell me! She’s run off with that snake Orbilio, am I right?’
Ashen-faced, the young Gaul shook his head. ‘No, madam. I’m sorry, but-’
‘But what, Junius? I haven’t got all bloody day, spit it out.’
‘It-it’s the master.’
She noticed his eyes had flicked to Gaius’s bedroom. ‘Oh, no, not another seizure. Have you fetched the doctor?’
She flew across the atrium towards the staircase, but Junius ran after her. Strong hands on her shoulders stopped her from going any further.
‘Don’t go up,’ he pleaded.
From his tunic waistband he drew out a letter sealed with wax and imprinted with Gaius’s own private seal of two leaping dolphins. She noticed the boy’s hand was trembling.
‘He’s dead, madam.’
Colour flooded Claudia’s face. ‘Juno, I knew this would happen! That bloody child and her tantrums! How dare she! Where is the little bitch? I’ll give her a seizure, you wait and see.’
She tried to wriggle free, but his grip merely tightened. He smelled of roses. Must have been out pruning. He was the only one in the house she could trust to look after them properly.
‘It wasn’t a seizure,’ he said quietly. ‘The master committed suicide.’
‘Suicide? Gaius? Don’t be ridiculous. Gaius is the last man in the world to top himself. Must have been an accident.’
The boy’s fingers dug into her shoulders. ‘It was no accident, madam. Master Seferius fell on his sword.’
XXIII
Claudia’s litter set her down outside the modest white-fronted house sandwiched between a butcher and a wig-maker on the lower end of the Esquiline near the old temple of Juno. Opposite, a goldsmith calmly pounded his precious dust, impervious to the cries of the pedlars, the beggars, the children pressing in around him. In spite of the circumstances, Claudia hadn’t forgotten her promise to herself, and the litter no longer sported the ostentatious orange so envied by that little copycat Marcia but was draped instead with the palest blue any mercer could lay his hands on. Every spot would show, of course, but that wasn’t the point-was it, Marcia?