She railed mightily against the advantages vouchsafed to her brother Gaius, studying under the Greek pedagogue Timeon in this very house, but her parents had baulked not just at the cost, but at the very idea of asking someone as stiff on tradition as Lucius to include a girl in his class. He might have paid a fortune for Timeon, but had shrewdly recouped that outlay by selling his services to the sons of his neighbours, this having the added advantage of giving Marcellus playmates of the right sort.
Necessity, as well as the desire to manipulate, had made Valeria cunning, so that she was experienced in the art of playing with adult emotions to gain her ends. That ability was extended to those her own age, particularly her brother’s friends, and recently she had discovered that there was more than one method of discomfiting these naive boys. As her figure blossomed she put aside the taunts of the child, in favour of the disdain of a woman.
The object of her admiration looked at her suddenly, aware that Valeria had been staring for some time. Claudia knew the girl; in such a cloistered society, where the rich and powerful continually gathered at the same events, she had come across her many times. The girl did not blush to be discovered or try to look away and Claudia, in registering this, also saw that Valeria had grown, had flowered, and looked quite fetching in her simple, youthful dress.
The stare, very close to a challenge, was typical; she had always thought the girl a trifle temperamental, given to emotional tantrums, which her parents not only allowed but succumbed to, helpless in the face of their daughter’s moods. Not, herself, a strict person, she nevertheless felt that a dose of good old-fashioned Roman discipline would do Valeria Trebonia the world of good. Yet the change made her curious; if the shrewish child had disappeared, to be replaced by a striking young woman, had the temperament gone with it? Claudia beckoned and Valeria stood up, her recently gained height, plus her carriage, reinforcing the impression of a burgeoning beauty.
‘Sit with me, child.’
Valeria frowned, which amused Claudia, who had used the appellation ‘child’ quite deliberately. But the face cleared quickly; this young lady was not going to allow herself to be discomfited.
‘Thank you, Lady Claudia,’ she replied, and sat down after a perfunctory curtsy.
There is a ritual in these encounters, which no amount of self-possession can avoid. Claudia had to ask after her parents, even if her mother was plainly visible on the other side of the room, struggling to control Valeria’s noisy young siblings. Equally they must identify the last time they had met and remark on the pleasant nature of that occasion. Mutual condolences had to be exchanged; Claudia had lost a husband, while Valeria’s grandfather had been cruelly hacked to death by the same Illyrian rebels. But Claudia was determined to avoid one convention, that of saying to the girl that she had grown, partly to avoid the need to flatter her, but more, because in dealing with this young woman, such an observation was superfluous.
‘At least you can comfort yourself that your grandfather died as a Roman should.’
Valeria looked a little excited as she replied. ‘I wish I’d been there to see it.’
‘What!’ Claudia exclaimed, her composure quite deserting her.
‘We found one of the soldiers who saw him die, a centurion called Didius Flaccus. My father brought him to the house, and paid him so that he could relate the story and swear, in the family chapel, that our name had been enhanced by grandfather’s deeds.’
Claudia was still shocked, seeing in Valeria’s flushed cheeks and in her eyes a gleam that was disconcerting. She knew that the Trebonii were lax in the way they raised their children, but she could not believe that they had allowed their daughter to attend on such an occasion.
‘And you were there?’
That brought some of the shrew back to Valeria’s face, and a level of bitterness to her voice. ‘No. But Gaius was permitted to attend. I had to eavesdrop to hear anything.’
It seemed pointless to observe that what she had done was both impious and wrong; besides, it was no part of her duty to rebuke someone else’s child. Not that she got the chance; the excitement had returned to Valeria’s face and her voice had a breathless quality, as she recounted what she had heard. ‘All the women were raped, of course, long before they hacked grandfather to death. They couldn’t find any trace of him, you know, so we had to make a death-mask from memory. Then the rebels piled the bodies up in a heap. Flaccus said that they had laid them together, men and women, as if they were…’
Valeria faltered there, not sure which word to use, but Claudia had the distinct impression that, in her excited state, she had been about to blaspheme, and only collected herself just in time.
‘I cannot imagine what makes you say you wish you’d been there!’
Valeria put a hand on Claudia’s arm, pressing down to make her point. ‘But don’t you see, it would bring the stories alive.’
‘What stories?’
‘Those written by Posidonius, about the tribesmen in the Alpine mountains. He’s a good historian and he tells you lots about the Celts and their customs, but he leaves out so much about what really takes place.’
‘Like mass rape and men hacked to pieces.’
If Claudia hoped for a reasoned response from the girl, she was disappointed; Valeria nodded emphatically. ‘Can you imagine what it must be like, to fight and spill blood, to kill a man standing before he kills you, to be wounded and bleed, or watch a man burn alive in a wicker cage?’
‘No, thank the Gods,’ replied Claudia, standing up, clearly upset. ‘And if I were you, young lady, I’d turn my mind to gentler visions.’
Valeria grinned at Claudia’s elegant back as she walked away. She still admired her and had not set out to upset the older woman, but it gave her a thrill of pleasure to have done so, even if it had been an unconscious act. The cries from outside, where the boys were playing, caught her ears. That broadened the grin as she went out to watch, promising, as it did, even more mischief.
The ball flew from one hand to another as the players skipped and leapt about. It never spent as much as a second in any palm, being caught and immediately thrown to someone else as the watching girls squealed with delight and called eagerly to their favourites. Marcellus caught the hard leather ball in his hand, spun on his heel and threw it underhand to Gaius Trebonius, wrong-footing him completely since he had moved to cover the obvious possibility of an overhead throw. He corkscrewed in mid-air as he sought to leap backwards, while still moving forwards, and his fingertips touched the ball, but he could not hold it and it flew past him to land in the dust. Gaius did likewise, landing heavily and painfully on his hip.
‘He got you that time, Gaius,’ shouted Publius Calvinus.
Marcellus had already moved to help him up, enquiring if he had hurt himself. The other boy’s face was screwed up in pain, having come down on earth baked hard by the sun, but he shook his head nonetheless; he would never hear the end of it if he admitted to feeling pain. Marcellus dusted him off as he balanced on his good leg, then walked over to fetch the ball, which had landed at the feet of Gaius’s sister, Valeria, though she had made no attempt to pick it up.
Marcellus’s lower belly turned over as he looked at her, which made him feel ridiculous; he had known and disliked her all his life, yet something had happened to that gawky pest who had always contrived to ruin their boyish games. She had suddenly filled out and her face, with her hair dressed on this formal occasion, looked somehow different. As he bent to pick up the ball, his nose detected the scent of her body and he found himself staring at the outline of her long legs, easily visible through the material of her fine woollen dress, his eyes inexorably drawn up towards the vee at the top.