Marilyn Todd - Man Eater

Civil unrest was a possibility.

Military unrest was a genuine threat.

Even before he’d buried his friend, Augustus would have been battening down every corner of the Empire, moving his generals like men in a game of Twelve Lines, appeasing, reassuring, castigating if necessary. Without doubt the Prefect intended to play a full part in the crisis for which, joy of joys, he’d have to do without full dress uniform. Claudia heard disembodied humming and discovered it was hers.

Pallas claimed he had no idea who provided her alibi indeed, with his sense of mischief, it could well have been the fat man himself-but more perplexing than who, was the why. Because by protecting Claudia, someone had very cleverly covered themselves…

A flurry of activity along the colonnade caught her eye. A messenger. Then Macer. Then much urgent mumbling. The two men disappeared indoors, leaving other sounds to tell the story. Hobnail boots as the legionaries were rounded up. Jangling harnesses as horses were saddled.

‘What happening, you know?’ Taranis, appearing from nowhere, scratched at his stubble as the hoofbeats echoed into the twilight.

Since it was not in Claudia’s interests to enlighten him-or anyone else for that matter-she shrugged and examined a broken nail.

The Celt failed to take the hint. ‘You and me, we go see, yes? Er-’ His itch seemed to spread to his uncombed thatch. Either that or he was puzzled about something. ‘You-all right?’

The furrow in his brow was so deep his eyebrows met in the middle. Taranis was confused. Here is Roman noblewoman pinching thumb and first finger and making circles over her head. Is not normal.

‘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.

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?