Virgin Territory (22 page)

‘I’ll wear the white.’

The hairpin froze in Cypassis’s hand. ‘The white, madam?’

‘Does silver make you deaf? I’m talking about the outfit I bought today.’

She knew what was going through the girl’s mind. Slaves wore white. Noblemen wore white. Noblewomen, most assuredly, did not wear white. Especially not to a banquet given by a city prefect. But since when did etiquette count? All that concerned Claudia was that, when everyone was reclining on the couches, eyes would be exactly where she intended them to be. On the widow of Gaius Seferius, now the owner of a large and prosperous wine business. When transaction time came (and it would) Claudia wanted to be absolutely certain they remembered her.

She ate little and drank less as she scanned the hall for potential clients, but each time her eyes made the tour they were caught by the intensity of one young man in particular. He was wealthy, you could tell from the cut of his tunic, the rings on his fingers, although he was neither patrician nor equestrian or he wouldn’t have been stuck at the back. You couldn’t say he was good-looking—his brow was too low, his eyes too small—but in any case, the look he gave her was not sexual. Just unblinking. Hell, the whole idea was to get noticed, she could hardly
complain…

The heat in the banqueting room was fast becoming intolerable and she excused herself to take a walk in the peristyle. Darkness had fallen and yesterday’s drizzle had turned into a steady downpour, but there was no breeze and the colonnade offered shelter enough from the elements. The rain hammering on to the herbs sent up a heavenly waft of bay and rosemary, lavender and roses, while the fountain gurgled and chuckled in the darkness. The statuary here was exquisite, far superior to anything Gaius had commissioned, and she was admiring the compact marble buttocks of a naked warrior when a familiar voice broke the silence.

‘You haven’t savaged me once today. I’m beginning to think you don’t love me any more.’

Marcus Cornelius Orbilio was holding two glasses of wine. When he passed one across, she pretended not to notice the twinkle in his eye.

‘And you practically betrothed to that Mucia trollop!’

She saw his teeth shine in the darkness. ‘I’ll have you know, Claudia Seferius, a lot of women will be sorry when I get married.’

‘Good god, just how many are you planning to marry?’

He laughed softly. ‘Put it this way, I don’t know what you told Julius, but I’m very grateful.’ Wait until you find out what it was.

There was a long silence in which Orbilio leaned one arm against the pillar and propped himself up with it. Claudia continued to scrutinize the white statue.

‘Why aren’t you in Rome?’ he asked eventually.

‘Why aren’t you? It was your damned grainship.’

Tell me about it, he thought. My boss will have my balls on a bellpull for that, and my plans for the Senate have swirled right down the gutter. But when it came to the crunch—

‘It was every bit as criminal for me to walk away as it was for the man who murdered Sabina in the first place.’

‘Gone off Diomedes, then?’

‘Oh, no,’ he said quickly. ‘It’s him all right. I just needed proof.’

‘Which, naturally, you have by the bucketload?’

He jerked his head back so hard it hit the pillar. ‘No,’ he snapped. ‘No, I bloody haven’t.’

The whole purpose of coming to Agrigentum was to find out more about that Greek quack, but no one knew a damn thing about him. Not one damned thing. Still, at least it had established that the manner of Sabina’s murder was—at least on Sicily—quite unique. Evidence, albeit circumstantial, was mounting.

Claudia walked her fingers up the leg of the warrior. ‘That’s not entirely surprising,’ she said. ‘Considering you’ve got the wrong man.’

‘So who’s your money on, that bumbling great oaf Utti?’

Do me a favour. When I bet, I bet on winners. Well, most of the time. ‘No way. He’s forever playing What’s the Time, Mr Wolf with the slave children, giving them piggy-back rides and playing hide and seek.’

Whatever plan he and Tanaquil had hatched, butchering Vestal Virgins wasn’t part of it.

‘Tell me something,’ he said softly. ‘What were you and Sabina up to?’

‘Orbilio, you’ll travel to the Senate a lot faster if you get your damned facts straight.’

‘You’re saying there was no collusion?’

‘You’re the detective. Detect.’

A long silence followed, in which the drumming of the rain on the tiles played accompaniment to the splash of water in the fountain. The scent of pinks filled the cool night air, and a large-winged moth took advantage of the shelter to find nectar in a mallow. Whatever response she might have imagined, it wasn’t to hear him tell her:

‘Your curls have come loose again.’

‘What?’

‘They always do when you shake your head like that.’

This man was so irritating. ‘Come to the point, Orbilio.’

‘Ahem.’

The sound startled them both. Orbilio straightened up and nodded politely. Claudia had to peer round the warrior’s hips to see the intruder. The boy from the banquet? How odd.

‘Claudia Seferius?’ he asked.

She looked him up and down before replying. There was no emotion on his face, only that strange intensity. ‘So?’

Her reaction didn’t throw him. He merely stepped one pace forward and she could see a small mole on his chin. ‘Might I have a word? In private?’

Claudia drained her glass and positioned it carefully, end up, on top of a clipped laurel. ‘You can talk in front of Supersnoop here. He’ll only be eavesdropping in the background otherwise.’

Again no jolt to his confidence, not even a glance at Orbilio. ‘I thought it was time we were acquainted,’ he said casually.

‘Oh, and why’s that?’ she asked.

‘Because my name is Varius Seferius,’ he said. ‘I’m your late husband’s son.’

XXI

The rain might have moved on, but the air stayed thick and heavy, the clouds low and oppressive. The windows were wedged open, their hangings fixed back, yet still no breeze found its way to Agrigentum. Every minute of the night threatened to suffocate her and by morning Claudia’s shift was soaked through. Even the wine was warm.

She leaned over to fan Drusilla. The kittens, eyes rheumy like old men’s, were heady with their recent transition from wiggling to wobbling and were transmitting squeaks which ranged from smug look-at-me’s to frantic helps and back again, all within the space of five seconds. Their mother was content to let them learn the hard way. Claudia was not.

‘Come on, Smallfry, back to mum.’

She scooped up a little lost wanderer and placed the squirming, bleating bundle on the blanket, where he homed in on a warm, secure teat. Claudia swore Drusilla poked her tongue out deliberately.

‘What about that Varius insect?’ she asked, flapping the ostrich feathers over the cat.

‘Meowr.’

‘No, not a real insect, poppet, pay attention. I’m talking about that little creep who thinks he can pass himself off as my stepson.’ His visit last night had shaken her to the core, although she was far too experienced a trooper to let it show.

‘Why, that’s wonderful.’ Fountains and spring water couldn’t gush more profusely. ‘Did you hear that, Marcus? My dear, dear Gaius didn’t die in vain, he has a son to carry his name and father his heirs. Oh!’ She dabbed at her eye with her handkerchief. ‘I’m quite overcome, you
must…(sob)…
excuse me.’

Now
that
was acting. None of those wild, extravagant gestures made in the theatre, where it’s merely a question of throwing your voice and adopting the odd mannerism. This was the genuine article.

‘The question is, what do I do about him?’

Drusilla began to wash Smallfry’s ears as roughly as she could to teach him a lesson for wandering. Claudia could hear the rasp of her tongue on his tiny head and felt for Smallfry, the way he was jerked up and down, poor soul.

‘Mrrrr.’

‘That?’ Drusilla’s ears had pricked up at the scraping sound outside the door. ‘That’s just Urgulania’s slaves dragging the extra tables back out of the banqueting hall.’

She didn’t envy them their job of clearing up, and although the festivities might have peaked, they showed no signs of abating. All this for a local deity whose name began with a C or an F or something.

Cypassis returned, staggering under the weight of a large jug of fresh water. Juno be praised, it was cool. Claudia tipped the whole lot over her head.

‘What’s scheduled for this morning?’ she asked, drying her hair on a towel.

‘Hopscotch and darts, madam.’

The very thought of watching a large party of portly folk playing hopscotch with tunics hitched to their thighs and sweat pouring down their bloated faces, was too dire to contemplate.

‘Shall you be going in to breakfast, madam?’

Claudia pulled on a mint green sleeveless stola. Her face did not show the revulsion her stomach felt at the prospect of food, or the churning inside from her fear of what Varius might do. Think, girl, think! Blame the heat, blame the humidity, blame the noise of moving furniture, whatever the reason, Claudia’s brain had died and gone to heaven. Only the heart-thumping, gut-churning, sweat-inducing fear remained.

‘You stay here and fan Drusilla.’ She picked up Smallfry and kissed him noisily between his spiky, bedraggled ears.

‘Oh, madam! You’re not going out alone?’

‘I shall have Junius and I shall have Kleon,’ she snapped, replacing the kitten amongst its siblings. ‘I shall hardly be alone.’

‘But without a female attendant—’

‘Another word and I’ll slit your tongue clean up the middle.’

‘It’s not decent—’

‘And then rub in salt to stop it knitting together.’ She snatched up her purse, but the drawstring wasn’t tight and coins spilled over the floor. ‘Now look what you’ve done!’

Marching down the atrium, she had to clap twice before her bodyguard materialized.

‘And you two,’ she hissed, smiling graciously at Urgulania as she passed, ‘will be cleaning toilets if you can’t move faster than that.’

‘I’m sorry—’ the Cilician began, but Claudia cut him short.

‘Get out there and hire me a car. Here!’ She fished a silver denarius out of her purse. ‘A nippy, two-wheeled job, Kleon, and make sure it’s not pulled by some sullen nag with a bent back who can barely lift a hoof. And tell the driver to take the tilt off. I want to feel the wind in my hair. Dear Diana, are you still here?’

Kleon blinked rapidly, thought to ask a question and then thought better of it. He was back so quickly, Claudia wondered whether he’d turfed someone out of a passing vehicle and, if so, resolved to promote him the instant they returned home.

‘Get that awning off!’ she commanded the driver.

‘I’m afraid it’s not detachable, milady.’

‘Do you want the damned fare or not?’

The driver stood his ground. ‘I do, milady, but I’m not prepared to wreck the vehicle for—’

Claudia drew a small knife from the folds of her stola and cut the rope. The tilt collapsed at the same speed as the driver’s expression. ‘Hop on,’ she instructed her slaves.

The driver held out his hands. ‘Please, milady! There’s only room for me and one passenger.’

Claudia studied the vehicle. ‘They can sit on the bar at the back.’

‘The car would tip over,’ he said querulously, ‘the mule couldn’t pull—’

Claudia jumped in and adjusted her skirts. ‘Junius. Kleon. Take the day off. And you—’ She turned to the driver, his face contorted with misery. ‘Get some speed up.’

The last thing Kleon heard as the car rattled down the street and out of sight was his mistress shouting, ‘Faster, you idle oaf!’

‘Wouldn’t fancy changing places with that poor sod,’ he said, jovially. ‘D’you reckon she was serious?’

‘What about?’

‘The day off, you daft bugger.’

The young Gaul kept his eyes on the road. ‘You’re new,’ he said, ‘so the quicker you learn Mistress Seferius means precisely what she says, the easier life will be.’

‘Yeah?’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Well in that case, I’m not hanging around this bleeding street any longer. What do you fancy?’

Junius shrugged. ‘I’m not sure what to do,’ he said, staring in the direction the car had taken.

Kleon nudged him in the ribs and pointed. ‘There’s a tart in that tavern who looks tasty. All long legs and big tits. Fancy a nibble?’

‘Not me. Thanks all the same.’

The Cilician leaned closer. ‘Go on,’ he urged. ‘I’ve heard about her, she’s good. Charges ten asses, but she’ll do us together for fifteen.’

‘No. Really.’

‘It’ll be fun. They say she’ll do
anything,
so if we use our imagination…
’

‘What?’

‘You know.’ Kleon gave an exaggerated wink and nodded back towards the house. ‘We can pretend it’s the Mistress.’

He didn’t see the punch which laid him out.

XXII

The problem of her virginity was one which had occupied Acte’s mind for most of her adult life, but now, she thought, closing the orchard gate behind her, the matter was finally settled. And while the prospect of marriage at any age is exciting, a proposal at her age—coming out of the blue—made it ten times more thrilling.

She paused at the clipshed, deserted this time of year apart from its recent occupation by the fortune teller and her brother, but resisted the temptation to slip inside. Oughtn’t she to distance herself from the house? Find space to think? To make sense of this enormous change in her circumstances?