Marilyn Todd - I, Claudia

She’d wasted no time. The instant the door closed behind him, she’d spun round, wagging her finger.

‘Listen to me, you filthy little meddler, I’ve had it up to here with you. I do not own, and have never owned, a garment in that vile shade of green, and however much you paid that abject little tramp, it wasn’t enough. A bump in the Forum is not proof.’

‘Proof enough,’ he’d said mildly.

‘You aren’t listening,’ she hissed. ‘If I hear so much as one more syllable drop from your lips on this subject, I’ll personally cut your tongue out, chop it into pieces and feed it straight back to you, do you understand?’

‘Is that a threat?’

‘All I need to do is tell my husband how dear old Cousin Markie laid his filthy paws on me and the rest, as they say, is mystery.’

‘Ah! A bribe as well.’

Damn you, Orbilio.

‘Any foul insinuations you make after that will brand you as a vindictive lecher who was spurned once too often and resents it like hell. You’ll be ridiculed from here to Hesperus and you can kiss all your ambitions goodbye.’

If that hasn’t disposed of the irritating little tick once and for all, I’ll eat my shift for breakfast.

A sparrow landed in the courtyard and Drusilla hunkered down, alert and ready to pounce. Claudia threw the bird a piece of bread, which it snatched up and flew off with. The cat stretched and began washing again, too full, too satisfied to think seriously about hunting. The edge had gone. And suddenly Claudia wondered whether her edge had been blunted, too. Without doubt, the hunt was exciting, but what would happen when it came to the kill? ‘Come, Drusilla, we’ve guests arriving shortly.’

Was she too full, too satisfied, to carry it through when it came to the crunch?

The sparrow landed a second time, twisting its head on one side as it hopped closer for more bread. Cheeky little beggar. She smiled at its comical gait and its beady eye and broke off another crust. Suddenly there was a blur of cream and brown. Feathers fluttered in the air. Drops of red splashed over the tiles. And Claudia Seferius had her answer.

*

‘I’m sorry, what were you saying, Gaius?’

‘I said, I’ve invited Ventidius Balbus to my little do.’ Bugger. Now she’d really have to watch her step next Saturday. The slightest hint of any spurious extra-marital activities and he might just make the connection with Genoa. Especially when there’s a nubile young dance troupe breezing around all over the place! Bugger, bugger, bugger.

‘Something the matter, my dove? Your face is all screwed up.’

‘Oh, Balbus is as dull as boiled asparagus. I was merely wondering where to seat him.’

‘Next to Ascanius, I think. I don’t see why he shouldn’t get a dose of the senator’s views on food subsidies, do you?’

That was the thing about Gaius, he could at least make a girl laugh. Which is more than you could say for the old linen merchant!

‘I’ll put them both near the door where they can bore the sandals off each other without troubling the rest of us. Uh-oh, that sounds like Old Sourpuss arriving.’

Gaius patted her shoulder. ‘Don’t be like that, Claudia. It’s not Julia’s fault she’s turned out so…so solemn.’ He picked up his clean tunic. ‘Help me into this, will you, my dove? We so rarely spend time together I don’t want to spoil the moment by calling a slave.’

Sweet Jupiter what a sordid amount of blubber! There were several red marks round his neck and over his chest, which she chose to disregard, but Gaius had caught her noticing them.

‘Yes-um, I can manage the rest.’ Embarrassment darkened his already florid features. ‘Why don’t you go on down and greet them?’

‘Let’s go down together.’ Let Julia think she’d interrupted a bit of hanky-panky. That would stick in the old trout’s craw. ‘Marcellus won’t notice we’re missing, he’ll be too busy eyeing up the slave girls. Julia will be inspecting for dust, Flavia will be trying to avoid Antonius and Antonius will be…well, he’ll just be Antonius.’

If only Flavia could let her hair down, she’d be in for a wonderful time with Scaevola. So what if he was forty years older than her? He was wealthy, generous, virile. Grey rather than bald. Give him the babies he craved and she’d not know she was born. Silly cow.

‘How do I look?’

Frightful. ‘Wonderful. And me?’

‘Claudia, you look as ravishing now as the day I married you.’ He clucked her under the chin, then paused. ‘Tell me, my dove. There must have been times over the last few years when you’ve wanted…a spot of male company, shall we say?’

‘A lover?’

The more direct you are about things, the more it unnerves people. Especially husbands.

‘Ah, well, I wouldn’t go so far as…’

‘Gaius. I assure you, sex is not a problem.’ Or in our case, the distinct lack of it. ‘I wonder what your sister will find to carp about tonight?’

Gaius chuckled. ‘These interchanges are good fun, what?’

Claudia made a noncommittal sound in the back of her throat.

‘Seriously, my little dove.’ Gaius picked up an ivory comb and ran it through his hair, covering the front where it receded. ‘Sweet, domesticated wives are ten a quadran, whereas Seferius has a treasure beyond price.’

‘Oh?’

‘A wife with balls. Rarer than teeth on a duck’s arse.’ They were both chortling when they emerged from his bedroom, and Claudia was delighted to see that Julia looked as though she’d bitten straight through a lemon. Just in case the frosty old turnip had missed the point, she pinched Gaius’s bottom and got a playful slap on her own in return. Her stepdaughter’s jaw had dropped open and Claudia wished someone would have the sense to snap it shut for her. Of Gaius’s four children, Flavia was the least likeable. Whereas her sister Calpurnia, was a lively, amusing creature-until her untimely death at the age of fifteen. Poor old Gaius wasn’t having much luck with his offspring, really. His youngest son, Secundus, a snide little bastard if ever there was one, had managed to fall under the broad wheels of a wagon. He wasn’t much of a loss, though, and Claudia didn’t think even his father had mourned him for longer than a week. Still, he’d at least had a sense of fun, that boy.

‘New tunic, brother?’

‘Pure Campanian wool. Like it?’

Julia wrinkled her nose, but said nothing as she followed them up the other stairs towards the smaller dining room. It was strange to think there were twenty years between brother and sister Claudia reflected. His zest for life and his passion for the wine business knocked years off Gaius, yet Julia could pass for a decade older. The party paused to admire the new frescoes depicting scenes from Greek literature. In the doorway, Marcellus blocked his hostess’s path.

‘Good, was it?’ he sniggered, nodding towards Gaius, who was now gingerly lowering his bulk on to the couch.

Claudia treated him to a sickly smile and patted his pockmarked cheek. ‘Better than you’ll ever be, brother-in-law, better than you’ll ever be.’

She wriggled in between Flavia and Antonius, certain the arrangement would suit them both, although that wasn’t her motive.

‘Could any man want for a more beautiful mother-in-law?’ Scaevola asked, tilting his glass at Claudia. ‘Or a prettier bride?’

Claudia spluttered into her wine. Pretty was stretching the imagination, wasn’t it? Flavia had been sulky and sullen even before the prospect of marriage came along, sitting round-shouldered and biting her nails. Of course, a smile would be a great improvement, but that didn’t seem to be part of the girl’s wardrobe. On the other hand, when you were fifty-three yourself, maybe any fifteen-year-old looks attractive?