Marilyn Todd: Scorpion Rising

Good morning, madam.' Claudia's lanky Macedonian steward bowed dutifully. 'I trust you slept well.' Claudia's eyes swivelled round the atrium, taking in every marble column and each exquisite fresco, noting every detail from the gold that rimmed the fountain to the elaborate mosaic it was set in, and quite frankly couldn't imagine anyone not sleeping well when all this was theirs.

'Like a baby, Leonides, like a baby, except I didn't need burping.' Dear me, was that a smile that almost escaped from his mouth? 'Now then, are the litter bearers outside?'

That was the trouble with these big town houses. No windows faced onto the street, making a perfect buffer from noise, smell and burglars, but of course it meant one had no idea what was happening on the outside.

'Ready and waiting, my lady.'

'Excellent! Then I shall-'

'Before you go.' He leaned down and spoke quietly. 'There's a gentleman to see you.'

'At this ungodly hour of the morning?'

'He's been here since cock-crow, madam.'

'This is June, Leonides. The cocks crow exceedingly early.' 'So I'm told.'

Yes. Definitely a twitch of a smile. 'Did this early bird give a name?'

'He made no conversation at all, other than to state his appointment with the Merchant Seferius, though I detected a slight Spanish accent, if that helps. Shall I show him into your office?'

'No. You can show him the door.'

For one thing, Claudia had no outstanding appointments with Spaniards or otherwise, and for another, the Ides was a public holiday. No one in the Empire was conducting business today, especially — what did Leonides say he'd called her? the Merchant Seferius. As the bearers set her litter down on the Capitol, she decided she wouldn't give the vulgar little upstart the time of day after an insult like that. Dear Diana, business might not be booming, but there were enough chauvinistic pigs around Rome without adding to her burden.

Outside the Temple of Jupiter, the Guild of Flute Players were gathering for their annual festival. Theirs was an important role in society, and whether at public sacrifice or private funeral, their melodies drowned out any sound which might carry bad omens, and when it came to marriage rites, birthdays and triumphal marches their playing enlivened the day. It was only fair they be honoured with their own banquet.

Shaking knife-sharp pleats into place, Claudia thought back to the Vinalia, when the Guild of Wine Merchants celebrated at their festival with wine tastings, feasting and dance. Being a woman, of course, she wasn't invited, though it hadn't stopped her from turning up. Dammit, Seferius wine was good stuff. Those bastards had no right to demand she relinquish the business.

Dressed in long festive robes and colourful headbands, the cream of flute-playing society prepared to stage their spectacular on the steps of the temple. Here, at least, as the widow of an eminent wine merchant, Claudia was entitled to a good seat — though with her dark flashing eyes and even darker glossy hair, she invariably secured a better one. Today was no exception and thanking the little bald man who hoped to make her his mistress but would have better luck building a snow-horse in August, she reflected that she'd inherited the enterprise perfectly legally and for heaven's sake, there was no law to prevent women from being in trade. At least. She ran her fingers down the pleats of her gown. Not yet…

Having tried persuading her to sell up and then failing, the Guild turned to dirtier tactics — and still failed. Currently they were lobbying the Senate for a change in the law, but if that didn't get passed, they wouldn't give up. It stuck in their craw that some flibbertigibbet was making a success of her late husband's business, and whether out of pride, greed or envy, they would not be denied. Claudia sighed. What the Guild didn't know was that they had in fact succeeded. It was true, she mused, as the flautists produced one haunting tune after another. The best way to make a small fortune is to start with a large one. Her affluence was no more than an illusion held together by implication and swagger. Claudia Seferius was broke.

It was midnight by the time the festival finally wound down, and as she closed the door on the rumble of nighttime delivery carts, the silence in the house came as a relief. The slaves were tucked up, even the birds in the aviary had tucked their heads under their jewel-coloured wings. The only sounds came from the occasional spitting of the oil lamps that hung from the candelabra, the gurgle of the fountain and Leonides snoring softly as he lay sprawled over a couch in the atrium, where he'd fallen asleep waiting for his mistress to return.

'As a guard dog I'd want my money back,' she tutted, stepping over his feet. 'But at least you got rid of that odd-bod Spaniard.'

'He did not,' an accented voice swirled out of the shadows. 'That odd-bod Spaniard is still waiting.'

Claudia spun round. 'Well, it's a fine night and the honeysuckle's sweet,' she retorted, and look, not a hint of quiver in her voice. 'I'm sure he won't mind waiting a bit longer. In the street.'

'That, I am afraid, is out of the question. My name is Gabali, and I still have the outstanding matter of our appointment to deal with.'

Had she thought about it, she would have imagined him to be typically Iberian — stocky, with long hair, beard, and his long tunic looped up into what could only be called drawers — and, since he'd dismissively referred to her as the 'merchant' Seferius, she would also have expected him to be oily and slick, with a medallion or three to attest to his manhood. Instead, her visitor was lean, modest, with penetrating brown eyes set in a thin pointed face and hair which she could only describe as longer than a Roman's but shorter than a Gaul's, with a shine you could kohl your eyes in.

She smiled prettily. 'Which I would be only too happy to deal with as well, Gabali, were it not for the fact that I have no appointments outstanding.'

'No,' he agreed, 'but I have.' He moved towards her. 'As you say, the night is warm, the honeysuckle sweet. Shall we take a walk in the garden?'

Claudia glanced at her sleeping steward.

'I wouldn't, if I were you,' the Spaniard said mildly.

'Are you threatening me?'

'More than thirty people sleep in this house, including your own private bodyguard.' He smiled. 'I would have to be mad.'

A ripple of ice fluttered the length of her spine. How long had he been watching? she wondered. How long had it taken him to acquire such intimate details of a world that was not visible from the street?

'It's late, I'm tired and you're leaving,' she snapped. As with the Guild, it was all about bluster.

'You might want to hear me out before you throw me out,' he said, and how come that sounded like an order? Either way, Claudia realized that this man would not simply melt away.

'You have three minutes to satisfy my curiosity, Gabali.'

A flicker of amusement kindled in his eyes. 'Three minutes to satisfy a woman? Personally, I do not think that is enough, but you Romans. Tch, tch. Always in such a rush.' The light died. 'Do you know a warehouse in Santonum in Aquitanian Gaul?'

'I know several.'

Now that the new province was becoming established, trade and peace flourished, as did as a taste for luxury goods. Thanks to the Emperor's ban on viticulture, the tribes were unable to manufacture wine of their own, but were forced to rely (as the wily Augustus intended) on imports. For that reason, Claudia reasoned that it might as well be her wine they swilled as anyone else's.

'During my visit to Aquitania last autumn, I made quite a few contacts in the province's capital,' she told him.