Marilyn Todd - I, Claudia

He glanced under the shrubs, but didn’t sit.

‘And Drusilla’s indoors.’

He sat.

‘Now you seem very tense today, Orbilio,’ she said, patting his thigh. ‘Something the matter?’ She was met by a look of undisguised distrust, and she shrugged. ‘Suit yourself.’

She leant backwards, picked up her lyre and began to strum. From the corner of her eye she could see he was as stiff as a ramrod.

‘Tell me about the Thracian,’ he said quietly. ‘Who was he?’

‘Have you adopted that guttersnipe?’

‘What?’

‘Simple question. I’m asking you whether you’ve adopted that little arab out there.’

‘No, of course I haven’t. Oh, come on, you can’t believe I’m bribing the boy.’

Claudia smiled. ‘As if I would. No, no. I merely wondered why he’s trailing round with you. I presume you’re the one responsible for cleaning him up and giving him a proper tunic?’

Orbilio’s back lost some of its starch. ‘I felt sorry for him. Living off scraps, sleeping in doorways. That’s no life for a lad of his age.’

‘And what do you propose to do with him now?’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Give him some money, I suppose.’

‘You’ve picked him up, washed him down, filled his belly, filled his pocket-and that absolves you of any further responsibility? Orbilio, you’re a fool. You should have left him where he was.’

‘I couldn’t.’

‘Yes, you could. It would have been kinder for the boy. Now you’ve given him a taste of what he can never have, how do you think he’ll feel after that?’

She placed the lyre on the seat, stood up, smoothed her tunic and smiled. ‘As I said, Orbilio. You really are a fool.’

With that, she opened her mouth and let out a bloodcurdling scream. Orbilio sprang to his feet. ‘What the-’

‘Aaaargh!’

‘Claudia, for pity’s sake!’

‘I’m sorry, Orbilio. I did warn you that if you came back, there’d be trouble. There’s only one rock, you see, and we can’t both be cock of it. Aaaargh !’

In two quick strides, Orbilio was across the garden, covering her mouth with his hand. She bit it and he let go. ‘ Aaaargh !’

‘Claudia, for pity’s sake, what are you doing?’

He lunged towards her, but the move had been anticipated. Claudia sidestepped him. Unfortunately, she’d under-estimated his athleticism and on the next move he’d overpowered her. Terrific, she thought. Better than I’d hoped. There can be little doubt about Cousin Markie’s intentions now. Squirming free, Claudia opened her mouth to scream again. Bloody slaves. Always earwigging when they’re not supposed to, never around when you need them!

From behind, Orbilio’s hand suddenly clamped over her mouth to stifle the scream, and this time he’d preempted the bite. She tried to elbow him in the ribs, but his free arm lashed her shoulders tight against his body. Entwined, they fought and writhed until the backs of his knees collided with the seat, toppling them both backwards into a bed of lavender and parsley. And when help did finally come, it was to find Marcus Cornelius Orbilio spreadeagled on his back with Claudia’s head grasped firmly underneath his arm.

It was characteristic of Gaius Seferius that, having decided to make his fortune from wine, he should do so with the same style of military precision that was proving so successful in broadening the Empire. Well-thought-out strategies, attention to detail and a modicum of luck until, day by day, little by little, the outposts of his own empire were extended to the point where it, too, became almost unassailable. For any man this was a considerable achievement, but for the son of a road builder it was truly exceptional.

Despite an outward appearance of bonhomie, Claudia quickly realized he was as ruthless as he was logical. He divorced his first wife, Plotina, because he believed her barren, and a man like Gaius Seferius would not allow fourteen years of marriage to stand in the way of what he called progress. By the age of twenty-four, he’d accumulated sufficient funds from his foray into the world of viniculture to purchase land suitable for the production of his own wine and when, at the age of twenty-eight, no heir stood to inherit his flourishing empire, he felt he had little option but to put Plotina aside. To his credit, Gaius had gone to considerable lengths to arrange a decent remarriage for her and it was one of life’s ironies, Claudia reflected soulfully, that the poor woman had fallen pregnant almost immediately and then had had the misfortune to die in childbirth.

The fright that Plotina’s pregnancy had given Gaius was immense. It set him questioning his own fertility until, to his utter relief, his new bride allayed his worst fears by announcing her own gravidity and when she finally produced a bouncing boy she named Lucius it coincided with Gaius’s twenty-ninth birthday. In the eight years that followed she dutifully birthed several more children, three of them healthy, until she, too, was claimed by childbed fever. By then Lucius, small as he was, had been groomed to take over. Gaius had engaged personal tutors at the expense of Secundus and Calpumia, whose upbringing he entrusted to his mother without asking or even caring, and he fostered baby, Flavia, out to his sister, with scant regard to either her or Marcellus who, at the time, was struggling to set up as an architect.

It was equally characteristic of Gaius, Claudia thought, that he should choose his land so carefully. Call it luck, call it fate, call it skill if you like, but the hundred hectares of fertile land he’d purchased was as good as you’d get anywhere for the price. Near a main road and with access to the sea, he could ship his wine all round the Mediterranean from the one place. You had to hand it to him, you really did. Under his shrewd and careful eye, his fortune seemed to multiply with an almost consummate ease, the pinnacle of his career, of course, being his appointment to the equestrian order.

The wagon rumbled into the farmyard after what seemed an eternity on the road, and Claudia wondered whether she’d be bow-legged for the rest of her life or whether it would pass after a week or two. Certainly she’d never lose the stoop. The scene before her presented a picture of rural tranquillity-clear skies and pure air, interrupted only by the droning of bumble bees and the warble of songbirds. Moonshine, of course. The place was a seething hive of labouring activity, with slaves of every creed and colour from every corner of the Empire working their skins off to fill a never-ending succession of barrels with the very finest Seferius wine. But that, thought Claudia, is always the case. Turbulence is invariably hidden below the surface and that, unfortunately, is when it’s at its most dangerous.

Gaius ambled into the yard to greet her. She had hoped he’d be busy inspecting whatever frightful little things one had to inspect on a vineyard in the middle of July, thus giving her ample time to plaster a spot of white chalk on her face to cover the bruises and disguise the whole damn lot with a generous dollop of rouge. Isn’t life a bitch?

‘Good grief, Claudia, what happened?’ There was no mistaking the look of genuine consternation on his face.

‘It’s a long story, Gaius,’ she said, twisting her mouth. ‘I’ll tell you about it later.’

He helped her out of the wagon. ‘Good journey?’

‘Foul. I’m covered in dung and dust, splinters and blisters.’

‘Then what you need is a bath. It’s all ready.’

Claudia did something she’d only ever done twice before in her life. She wrapped her arms around her husband and kissed him warmly on the cheek. ‘Bless you.’ You can shower me with gems, Gaius, but sometimes water can be more precious than gold.