‘Perfectly,’ Claudia replied, replacing her non-existent money-spider among the borage leaves and was not surprised, upon straightening up, to find herself alone once more with her thoughts. The sun had set, yet the sky retained the same fiery quality that you feel yourself when you embark on a brand-new venture. Around her, the circus animals had pretty well settled down-an occasional howl, the odd bark-it was as quiet as it ever gets down this end of the valley, and even the vultures, constantly scrounging offal and carrion, had flown back to their roosts for the night. Slaves lit the torches, and a smell of fresh apple cakes wafted from the ovens.
Claudia leaned back and thought of the tart her mother used to bake, filled with spinach and smoked cheese and pine nuts. Used to! Ha! She made it just the once, on one of the rare occasions she’d been sober, because Claudia’s father was due home from campaign. He was only an orderly and the glory never rubbed off on the likes of him, so Claudia had suggested the pie as a treat. She never knew what happened to that tart, because within minutes of his walking through the door, her parents were at it hammer and tongs, rowing like he’d never been away, and Claudia had stuffed rags in her ears and hidden behind the woodpile until her father slammed the door and her mother passed out in an alcoholic haze.
‘Taken with my chimera, are you?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
Alis was standing behind her, clutching a set of bronze scoops in one hand and a ceramic jar in another. It was difficult to imagine her in Rome, where domestic chores were assigned to lackeys. Silly cow would probably take up spinning.
‘My statue. I thought you were admiring it.’
Good grief, no. Beastly thing. Quite unintentionally, Claudia’s eyes had been fixed on a fire-breathing marble monster across the courtyard, part lion, part dragon, part goat. ‘Oh yes, I was,’ she smiled, patting the seat in polite invitation.
‘It was a present from Sergius, you know.’ To Claudia’s immense irritation, Alis settled down next to her.
‘Really?’ Unlike the other mythical creations dotted between the topiaries, this did not stand tall and still on its pedestal, it writhed and twisted so its head was at the same level as its cloven hoofs. ‘Hardly your average token of love,’ Claudia murmured.
‘Oh, not a personal gift,’ explained Alis. ‘It was for Isodorus and myself to commemorate our fourth wedding anniversary.’
‘You knew Sergius before you were widowed?’ The revelations about this diffident creature grew more and more complex.
‘Oh-’ Alis blushed and burnished the ring on her wedding finger. ‘Sergius was a friend of my stepfather’s,’ she twittered. ‘The only good thing to come out of that awful alliance, really.’
‘I see.’ And she was beginning to.
Alis darted a sideways glance. ‘Claudia, you’ll think me a strumpet, but I fell in love with Sergius long before Isodorus died. Oh, not that we did anything. Not-not, you know, sexually. But my husband, Isodorus I mean, had been in poor health all his life. Sergius,’ the blush deepened, ‘Sergius was the one who escorted me to the theatre, taught me to play softball and darts and the lyre.’ Her eyelashes fluttered as she twisted her wedding band. ‘It was Sergius who ran in the foot races with my favours pinned to his tunic.’
Was it now?. Heady stuff indeed, when a man-about-town shows a shy, country girl a good time. Somebody fell hook, line and sinker-but was that person Alis? I take it back about the spinning.
‘Alis, my dear, I think you’ll enjoy living in Rome.’
‘Rome?’ Alis laughed quizzically. ‘Why should I want to live in a dirty old city? This valley’s far too beautiful to leave.’
‘But the animals…? Alis, this is hot news. Your husband is about to take Rome by storm, he’ll be feted. A celebrity.’
‘We’ll stay a week, two maybe,’ she said dismissively, ‘but then he can hand over to an agent while he trains the next batch. Have you seen Sergius lately?’ Her pale face creased into a broad beam. ‘He’s a hundred percent again, fit as a fiddle.’
‘That was quick.’ This morning he looked on his last legs.
‘He was right, too, about not needing a doctor.’ Alis stood up and gathered her scoops and pot. ‘But that’s Sergius for you. Always knows what he’s doing.’
The keys at her belt jangled as she walked towards the east wing.
‘Alis,’ Claudia called after her, ‘just as a matter of interest, how did Isodorus die?’
Flickering torchlight reflected gold on the rippling waters of the fishpond and turned the artemesias round the statuary into tiny molten shrubs. Bats squeaked and dived for insects on the wing. A peaceful scene, which would have been all the more restful had Alis not answered in much the same voice you’d use when choosing between soft, scrambled or hard-boiled eggs.
‘Snakebite,’ she said. ‘Right where you’re sitting.’
And suddenly everything in the garden was not lovely any more.
XXIII
The pale blue gown that Claudia stepped into was one of three she’d picked up in Tarsulae. The style might be a little old-fashioned, the linen neither Syrian or Alexandrian, but the colour was perfect-reminiscent of seaspray breaking against rocks. Tulola would not look twice at such subtlety-indeed, when Claudia was returning to her room, it was the woman’s brassy robes embroidered with scarlet that caught her eye long before she noticed the rest of the family grouped around the atrium pool.
Familiar with Tulola’s plans to celebrate the equinox tonight, Claudia had paid scant attention to them. Her own plans had been galloping a somewhat different course, because by the time Tulola’s frolics began, Claudia intended to be tucked up in Narni before her final push to Rome. Damn, damn and double damn! Still, a party is a party. The boys would be in fancy dress, various entertainments were lined up-wrestling, knucklebones and board games, all worthy of a bet or two-and then the feast itself. Why not?
A hennaed talon beckoned her over to the pool. ‘We have so few diversions compared to you capital-dwellers, sweetie, it amuses me to play another little game tonight.’
I’ll bet it does. Except Claudia’s interest lay in her host, rather than his sister. Alis was right, she thought, Sergius Pictor is health personified. A muscle tugged at the side of her mouth. Marcus Cleverclogs Orbilio’s conclusions about poison were way off target. She must remind herself to tell him so.
Tulola stroked her long neck. ‘I think I’ll introduce a note of-how can I put it?’
‘Discord?’ interjected Pallas.
Playfully Tulola bared her teeth at him. ‘Forfeit. Tonight I’ll forgo my perfume…Euphemia, you can forfeit your jewellery’-there was a sharp movement in Miss Moody’s eyes which Claudia could not interpret, but the girl remained silent-‘while you, Alis, what shall we omit for you?’ The cunning bitch actually pretended to consider the problem. ‘I know! Cosmetics!’
Awkward, flustery Alis could not be considered plain exactly, but even she knew that, with a pallid complexion, carmine and antimony were her best friends. She opened her mouth to protest.
‘Excellent!’ In clapping his hands, Sergius very effectively silenced his wife. ‘Tulola, my dear, I don’t know where you get your ideas from. Claudia, what will you do?’
Claudia had smiled sweetly. ‘I, Sergius, will think about it.’
Now, girdling her gown with a single, dark blue ribbon, she watched the dolphins leaping round her bedroom walls, the prickly sea urchins, the squid, the lobster, the writhing sea serpent. Ah, yes. Isodorus. Claudia adjusted the folds of her tunic. The invalid who, curiously, died of snakebite, not his ailments. As though reading her mind, Junius whistled his secret signal.
‘Well?’
Prudence was not a quality one immediately associated with Claudia Seferius, but on this occasion she had deemed it of sufficient importance to find out what she could about the manner of Isodorus’ death and this is where slave gossip became invaluable. She listened, and wasn’t sure she was hearing right.