But then again, a dozen bruisers on her tail was better than the course he had actually taken.
As the searing heat beat down upon her back, Claudia groaned. The gods must be wetting themselves on Olympus at the mess she’d gotten into. I ask you, fancy calling out the army! Jupiter, Juno and Mars, what was the silly sod thinking of? Not that the military was concerned with the theft of a few silver denarii-no, no, that was a civil, as opposed to a criminal, misdemeanour. Rather, Claudia believed, their ears pricked up because one of the caskets in that strongroom happened to belong to Tullus’ nephew, who in turn was related by marriage to a second cousin of the Emperor’s wife.
The connection was distant. But not so distant that it failed to qualify as potential treasonable theft!
The authorities could prove nothing, of course. A feeble little thing like me, officer? Surely a case of mistaken identity? I’ll have you know, I’m a respectable young widow, and just look at this house, it boasts two storeys, a peristyle and an internal bath room, do I look like a common criminal? But the authorities weren’t stupid. This theft concerned the Emperor and, like the tiger, they were prepared to stalk their prey, waiting for that one, fatal mistake.
Then the letter came. Luck? Or was the motive more sinister?
Mounting the red marble steps, Claudia glanced back towards the spa’s bath complex, its limestone walls sparkling white in the sunshine with red valerian tumbling from urns set on pedestals. Relax. No one there. To the right of the path, nestling in a grove of immature walnut trees, sat the tiny, circular shrine dedicated to Carya, the nymph of the spring. There was nobody there, either, apart from a toothless old peasant woman rocking herself back and forth, and why should there be? Heaven knows, she’d taken a convoluted enough route to arrive here, had left enough false trails to confuse even the most zealous trufflehound.
In any case, why shouldn’t an old friend of Claudia’s husband cancel his furlough in order to deal with the crisis in the public water supply? And why, having done so, shouldn’t he take pity on the pretty young widow and offer her the booking here instead? Paranoia is setting in once I suspect every stroke of luck which comes my way! There was nothing, she decided, nothing at all which could trouble her here, except maybe her jaws locking open from yawning too much.
‘There you go, poppet.’
Slipping the latch to Drusilla’s cage, Claudia marched towards the entrance, where two liveried Nubians heaved open the mighty oak doors and where, inside, Pylades himself was waiting to greet her.
‘Welcome.’ He stretched out both hands. ‘Welcome, my dear, to Atlantis.’
III
Would you believe it? If someone had asked the resort’s founder what he was expecting, Pylades would have demurred that, with her accommodation paid for by a man whose name was not Seferius, it was really none of his business, and largely this was true. He’d seen them come, he’d seen them go. Some loud and blowsy, some blushing and timid, some actually believing their married benefactors loved them and intended to set up home one day. In this instance, however, when Claudia swept into the Great Hall like a whirlwind, ignoring the vast rolling seascapes which covered the walls and the honeycomb ceiling inset with ivory and mother-of-pearl but complaining instead of a lack of stimulating entertainment, Pylades resolved to break with tradition and make this young lady his business.
When the tornado finally paused for breath and became aware that the temperature in the Great Hall was several degrees cooler than outside, thanks to canvas awnings which shaded the clerestory windows and the cascade of iced water which rippled down a channel in its stepped marble floor, the Greek had already drunk in the rounded curves of her hips, the tilt of her luscious chin, the tumble of her wayward curls-now, there was a neck ripe for nuzzling! He imagined his tongue gliding down to that sumptuous cleavage, where… Clasping his hands together, he held them in front of his body to conceal the change which was beginning to take place.
‘You travel light, I see,’ he said, referring to her single trunk. Always an encouraging sign.
‘Alas,’ she smiled, and he had cause to thank his prudent use of hand space, because her fluttering eyelashes induced a further quivering in his loins, ‘since there was but the one place left on the ship which set me down along the coast, my servants and baggage were forced to follow by road.’
‘Ah, the plague, the plague.’ Pylades nodded wisely. ‘Indeed, my dear, you’re fortunate this reservation was made before the contagion broke out, we are turning even senators away for lack of space.’
Was it too soon to make his move? Like curving a shepherd’s crook, you had to judge the temperature of the chestnut pole absolutely right. Too hot and it’ll snap. Too cold, the wood won’t bend. He considered the accommodation-a room with a wide double couch and a view directly overlooking the lake. Then he considered the sparsity of her luggage and ways she might reward the gift of a brand-new wardrobe complete with slippers, stoles and parasol. Maybe a pendant or two, if she performed that little trick he liked so very much…
‘Your man friend is not accompanying you?’ he ventured.
‘The term, Pylades, is family friend.’
It excited him the way her eyes flashed. Hrrrmph. ‘To the right, across the bridge over the watercourse, is the banqueting hall,’ he explained, ‘and beyond that the twin-storied sun porch. Straight ahead of you is our famous Athens Canal, with the domed loggia leading off to the right.’
As he continued to acquaint her with the layout of Atlantis, Pylades could only think of her eyes shining with gratitude at the magnificent embroideries, the shawls, the sandals he presented her with every time she spread herself across that wide double couch…
‘You will, of course, need a man to guide you,’ he told her, his gaze latching on to the points of her breasts. ‘A red-blooded male, a real man, who can steer you to unimagined pleasures.’
‘Can you point me one out?’
Beneath his clasped hands, something went limp and the arrival of a tall, middle-aged man striding across the hall could not have been better timed. With only a cursory smile at the guest, the newcomer peered at Pylades. ‘Everything all right?’ he enquired. ‘Only you seem somewhat red in the face.’
The Greek smiled wanly back. ‘Kamar,’ he introduced weakly, ‘our resident physician.’
‘Who is either sorely overworked,’ the Seferius woman said tartly, ‘or else has nothing to do.’
‘Pardon me?’
Pylades was glad it was Kamar who stepped in, his own wounds were smarting enough.
‘There seems,’ Claudia waved her arm to embrace the whole resort, ‘a distinct shortage of patients for you, suggesting Atlantis is either deserted or they’re all laid up sick in their beds.’
‘No, no, I told you,’ Pylades had a notion his voice had acquired a peculiarly plaintive quality, ‘we’re full up. It’s just that your arrival coincides with siesta.’ He turned to the Etruscan for support. ‘Kamar, you see, swears by afternoon naps.’
‘He would, wouldn’t he? And should he make a mistake, he can cover that up, as well. With six feet of earth.’
Pylades felt his head spinning. He’d been mauled in public and in private. His resident physician had been savaged. Yet his only desire was to yank the tunic from her body and take her here and now, on the spot. ‘Kamar,’ he growled, ‘could you spare a word in the office?’ Anything to break free of this witch’s spell. Clicking his fingers, he summoned a lackey to take the young lady’s trunk and unpack but as he strode off, he heard his visitor tell the servant that he’d better feed Drusilla while he was about it.