Marilyn Todd - I, Claudia

‘I suppose it’s asking too much of you to get these nags to break into a gallop?’

Kano, the driver broke off from his whistling. ‘’Fraid so,’ he said happily. ‘’Cos horses is like wives, see? Give ’em free rein and a full belly and they’ll serve you well enough-so long as they sets the pace, anyroad.’

‘I’ve never heard such tripe in my life. Now for heaven’s sake use the whip, man, or they’ll die of old age before we reach the next changing station.’

She rolled her eyes as Kano gave a half-hearted crack of the whip. If anything, the wretched animals slowed down and Claudia vowed to have a word with the wagoner’s wife when she got back to Rome. She glanced at the milestone. Actually it wasn’t bad progress. A quick break for a change of animals and they’d make the tavern with an hour to spare before dusk. The cart tipped to one side as the wheels caught the camber and everyone groaned. It would have been better had Junius and Melissa been with her. They were slaves she felt comfortable with-unlike this miserable rabble. Junius, though, was in no fit state even to get out of bed and the girl Claudia had left behind deliberately, because that poxy banquet still needed to be organized, even if it had been postponed. Besides, who else could she trust to deliver the money to Lucan?

They passed a cart clanking with pottery and glassware. Claudia’s eyes narrowed. A shipment like that would be worth a small fortune, she calculated, it would only be a matter of finding a buyer… Impossible, Claudia! Out of the question! Never in a month of Bacchanalias could you of all people hijack a load that size. Robbery needs time and skilful planning, not to mention a healthy contingent of willing, strapping men. One could hardly use slaves-what would you say? Hey you, you and you, cover your faces and come with me, we’re going to hold up a wagon? Supposing in the unlikely event they got away with it, the roads were too well patrolled, she’d be lucky to get five miles. But, and this was a very big but, even if she didn’t get caught, how could she offload the stuff?

Come on, Claudia. There must be smarter ways of raising two or three grand.

‘Kano, exactly why are you stopping in this godforsaken place?’

‘Goldie’s shoe’s fell off,’ the driver replied. ‘Won’t be a tick.’

She watched him lumber up the road, collect the horse’s sandal, then tie it back on, taking advantage of the break to fish out a flask of heady Judean perfume. There was, after all, a limit to what a girl could put up with.

‘Mmmmmrow!’

‘Drusilla, you’ll have to jolly well lump it. Animal smells might be acceptable to you, but I tell you, I’ve had it up to here with the rear end of those bloody nags.’

‘Mmmmmrow.’

‘Oh, don’t sulk!’ She waggled her finger through the bars to scratch the cat’s ear. ‘Fancy this?’

Drusilla scowled at the piece of raw meat that plopped on to the floor of her cage and backed away from it, glowering.

‘I see.’ Claudia sniffed. ‘Well, I’ve no sympathy for you, we’re all in the same wretched boat.’ It hadn’t occurred to either of them that Drusilla might be left behind in Rome.

Kano resettled himself and the wagon began to lurch and rattle once more. She was in a tight spot and no mistake. Gaius did his reckonings once a month on the dot and, bereavement or no, he’d not put the job off. He couldn’t fail to notice a shortfall of three hundred sesterces… A heat haze shimmered over the horizon, casting make-believe pools of water on the road. Bugger decorum, she thought, pulling off her stola. She only wore the bloody thing since it was deemed decent and proper to do so. Julia, being childless, hadn’t been conferred one, why should she be the lucky one? You could poach to death in your own sweat in all this clothing. Her heart missed a beat as she remembered yesterday. Was it really only yesterday? Her clothes were wringing with sweat when she got home after that run-in with Otho, and one thing was sure, she’d never wear Minoan blue again. A flurry of lavender linen flew across the wagon.

And Otho wasn’t the only one she clashed with, either. This is your doing, Minerva, I can smell it! Her toe thudded into the woodwork. That Minerva’s always had it in for me, ever since the day I was born, and I’ll bet she was chuckling her bloomers off yesterday.

It had been a real pig of a day. First she’d been scared spitless by that Thracian psychopath. (When I’ve paid off Lucan, I’m going to get you for that, you bastard!) Then, having sponged herself down and tidied herself up, Claudia had decided the best way to regain her equilibrium was to lose herself in the street bustle. What better way to unwind than in the cries of the pedlars, the smells of the cookshops, the banter of the street barbers urging young dandies to have their hair curled like Nerva the charioteer or dyed like Totila the gladiator? She paused to watch a cobbler astride his sturdy bench, hammering at his last, as she savoured the rich, acidic smell of the leather when a shadow fell over her.

‘Ligarius! Good grief, have you been on the sand with the gladiators?’

‘Oh, this.’ A huge hand gingerly explored the cuts and bruises. ‘Fights come with the territory if you keep a tavern.’

Only the sort you keep.

‘Well, I do hope you get better soon. Nice meeting you again, Ligarius, cheerio.’ She gave him a smile and tried to move on.

‘This is a quiet place. I thought we could talk.’

She felt the afternoon temperature plummet. What did he mean, quiet? ‘Ligarius, have you been following me?’

The big man shrugged. ‘I only want to talk.’

‘And I thought I made it plain last Thursday: I don’t.’

‘But the old days…’ A hand fell on her arm. ‘We had some good times, Claudie.’

Any minute now and someone would see them together. She jerked her head and ducked down a sidestreet. Behind them the clanking of the huge grinding stone of the bakery drowned any conversation from would-be eavesdroppers.

‘How much?’

‘Pardon?’

‘Don’t play games with me, Ligarius.’ This was what he’d been building up to at the games, just before Marcellus interrupted. ‘How many sesterces will it take before you don’t want to talk about the good old days?’

The smell of freshly baked bread seemed horribly incongruous.

His bearded face puckered into a frown. ‘Don’t be daft, I’m not trying to blackmail you. This is the first proper chance I’ve had to talk to you face to face.’

The sound of her breath coming out nearly obliterated the creaking and thumping of the millstone. That was Ligarius all over. All heart and no brains. She wondered what or who Jupiter was thinking of when he dished out Ligarius’s organs, because something had certainly distracted him.

‘Hey.’ He nudged her. ‘We had some good times together, you and me.’

‘Nonsense. You used to drool over that little scrubber, what was her name?’

‘Antonia. I married her when you went away.’

‘More fool you. So what’s the problem? Left you, has she?’

‘She died.’

‘Oh!’ The big ugly lump looked close to tears. ‘Oh, Liggy, I’m sorry! Really I am.’

Dammit, they were good times. Times when she could laugh, times when she could cry, times when she could feel pain.

‘Me too. Mind,’ the sound he let out was half-hiccup, half-laugh, ‘she could be a right shrew when she wanted. Worse than you, sometimes.’

‘Watch your mouth, Ligarius. I have a serious reputation to uphold and I can’t afford word getting around I’m second best.’ She stuck out her tongue. ‘Still as sharp as ever, see?’

‘Hey, remember that striping you gave Lefty for pinching your bum when it weren’t him at all? Poor sod never drank in my tavern again after that.’