‘Of course, my boy! Jupiter, King of the Immortals and Bringer of Justice, gives you his blessing in all your endeavours. Success, my son, will be yours.’ And in a sudden swirl of smoke, they were gone. All of them. His brother, his mother, his father-even the whispering voices fell silent.
Now, in the bathhouse, as the barber rinsed off the last of his whiskers and rubbed balm of Gilead into his chin, that rare and precious oil that the Queen of Sheba presented to Solomon, Cotta regrouped.
Not all facts could be taken at face value, but he had no doubts whatsoever that he had sailed the River Styx, stood at the mouth of the Underworld, spoken with the shades of his kinfolk. By default, then, if he believed in the Oracle’s powers, he must also accept his father’s assurances that Jupiter himself blessed Cotta’s plans.
One way or another, that Senate House was going to blow.
Twenty-Seven
The morning air was chill, but for the first time in days, chinks of brightness penetrated the gloom and, if the farmers’ forecasts were to be believed, Rome might actually see blue skies and sunshine for Saturnalia. Until last night, in fact right up until this morning, the holiday forecast had been uppermost in everyone’s thoughts. With so many celebrations taking place out of doors, fine weather made all the difference. But today on the streets, there was only one topic of conversation. The Halcyon Rapist.
And the news was electric.
‘Did you hear? The victim got away.’
‘It’s true, you know. I heard it from the rope maker, who heard it from the silversmith, who heard it from the hot-food vendor himself!’
‘She wounded him, apparently. Don’t know where she got him, or even how badly the bugger was hurt, but by Jupiter, she got one over on the dirty bastard. He won’t be so hard to hunt down now.’
‘Grabbed him by the balls, the hot-food vendor said, then stabbed him with her knife and ran home.’
‘A bloody heroine, that woman. The Emperor ought to give her a medal.’
*
Orbilio had still not returned, but Claudia was elated by the news. It was like Atlas taking the weight of the world from her shoulders, giving her a reprieve when she didn’t deserve it. And an appetite to match. She was taking breakfast in her office, working on the schedule for Saturnalia with Leonides, when Skyles burst into the garden. He was wheezing and holding his side, as though he’d been running, and sharp eyes searched the courtyard and peristyle. Whoever he was expecting to see wasn’t there and he arranged himself with carefully constructed nonchalance against one of the marble pillars.
‘There are no eggs with my breakfast, Leonides.’
The steward tilted his head on one side. In all these years, the mistress had never asked for eggs with her breakfast. Fruit, yes. Bread, yes. Cheeses, cold meats, salt fish, grilled chicken, goose liver, omelettes and walnuts, yes. But- ‘Eggs, madam?’
‘Little ovally things. Often speckled. You find them in nests.’
‘And…you’d like some right now?’
‘Hard-boiled,’ she replied.
‘Naturally,’ Leonides murmured, and dammit she’d sack him if he wasn’t enslaved. Well, now. Hard-boiling a few eggs must take a good while, she calculated, moving behind the tall bust on the podium where she could look out into the peristyle but not be seen in return.
‘One day a stranger
Rode into our village,’ a clear voice sang.
‘Ravaged with scars of hard battles long past. ‘
‘Adah told me you wanted to see me,’ Erinna said.
‘I have something for you.’ Still propped against the pillar, Skyles dangled a perfect circlet of flowers from his outstretched finger.
Erinna looked at the chaplet then at the flower beds. ‘Does our hostess know you’ve been raiding her garden?’
‘If you’re asking, does this constitute receiving stolen goods, then the answer is “probably”.’
The clown. Always the clown.
‘But with the courts closed and the jails full to overflowing, I don’t think they’ll clap you in irons, Mistress Erinna.’
‘I think you’re missing the point,’ Erinna said.
‘What? That I didn’t actually buy you the flowers? Well, no. But I wove them myself.’
‘That’s not what I meant and you know it.’
Claudia could only see the back of Erinna’s head, but she could see all of Skyles. Especially the dark intensity burning holes in his eye sockets. ‘I’m an arsehole at times,’ he said equably.
‘Aren’t you.’ There was a smile, though, in Erinna’s reply.
‘Good, because if we agree on that, we at least have some common ground.’
‘You’re incorrigible,’ she replied, and of course, it being Skyles, Erinna couldn’t help laughing.
Very slowly, very gently, he positioned the chaplet of crocus and hellebores. They were a perfect fit over Erinna’s tight chestnut bun. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind about going to the Circus and having dinner with me?’
‘No.’
Skyles stared at his feet. ‘Mind if I ask why?’
‘You can ask, but I’ll only lie to you, Skyles. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to rehearse my lines, now that Caspar’s got me playing the Virgin as well.’
A hand fell on her arm. ‘Then let me ask you something else.’
‘No.’
Whatever else followed, Claudia would never know. Julia chose that moment to come flapping into the office, her hair spiked in a dozen different directions as though she’d been taking lessons in coiffure from Hermione.
‘She’s gone,’ she cried. ‘Flavia’s run off with that gigolo just like she threatened.’
‘Calm down.’ Emerging from behind the podium as though it was the most natural place in the world to be standing, Claudia pushed her sister-in-law into a chair and forced a glass of vintage Chian wine down her throat. ‘No one’s run off with Skyles, Julia. See for yourself. The gigolo is outside in the garden.’
‘Then where is she? Her bed’s not been slept in and-’ Bony hands bunched into fists. ‘That little cow’s playing me up again, isn’t she? When I get hold of her, I swear I’ll-’ She broke off as a thought suddenly occurred to her. ‘What am I saying?’ she laughed. ‘Once Flavia meets our handsome oleiculturist, she’ll soon forget about penniless actors!’
‘You do realize that his sexual preferences swing the other way?’
‘What?’ Julia reeled in her seat. ‘My divine Marcus?’
‘Keeps a harem of little black boys in his house on the Esquiline, and another at his estate at the seaside.’
‘Oh, my!’ Julia fanned herself with her hand. ‘So many shocks, one on top of the other, that I’ve come over all-’
‘Queer?’
‘Faint.’
She rose to her feet and made some effort to pull herself together.
‘So much has happened, I nearly forgot,’ she said primly. ‘Sister-in-law, I shall expect you to have bolts fitted to my bedroom door by tonight, and I would advise you, my girl, to have them fitted to yours.’
‘Bolts?’
‘This house,’ Julia hissed, ‘is turning into a brothel.’
With that, she swept out through the door, knocking Leonides aside.
‘Four hard-boiled eggs, milady,’ he said, laying down a covered silver platter.
‘Eggs?’ Claudia scowled as she lifted the lid. ‘ Eggs? Oh, for gods’ sake, Leonides, take them away. You know I can’t stand the bloody things.’
*
Unlike other divinities, the Shrine of Consus was sited underground, below the first turn in the Circus Maximus. In a mirror image of the August festival, when a bowl of earth was removed from its place as centrepiece of the altar, in December a bowl of freshly turned soil was positioned in the empty slot. The gesture was purely symbolic. The August bowl represented the tired soil in which the harvest had been grown. The December bowl symbolized the rich, fertile earth for the new seeds, the idea being to bless the god of the store bin, for in theory without wheat, Rome would starve.