Marilyn Todd - I, Claudia

‘I’ll come with you, we can talk.’

He looks old, she thought. The lines on his face had deepened, his eyes had retired so far that if they went much further they’d come out of the back of his head.

‘I’d prefer to be alone, if you don’t mind.’ It was bad enough they’d have to share a bedroom in this godforsaken dump, she didn’t want him in the bath house with her as well. She’d never taken her clothes off in front of him before, why the hell start now? Besides-she swallowed a mouthful of dust-he looked so lost, so vulnerable all of a sudden, she had a sneaky feeling that, although he’d never pestered her for sex before, sweet Hymen, he might just change his mind!

She smiled apologetically and patted her stomach. ‘Women’s troubles.’

‘Oh.’ He went pink and his arm fell away from her shoulder. ‘Oh. Well in that case, I, er, I’ll see you later.’

Sometimes we forget how lucky we are, she thought, breaking into a whistle as she headed towards the bath house. We girls take ourselves for granted far too often, we really do.

*

‘You know, Drusilla, I’ve never understood why people enjoy living in the country.’

The cat, curled into a tight ball on Claudia’s lap, didn’t twitch so much as a solitary whisker, even though she was far from sleepy.

‘Look over there. Nothing but fields and trees, vines and hills.’ She stared blankly into her empty glass. ‘Turn your head the other way, and still nothing but fields and trees, vines and hills. Miles of them.’ She hiccuped.

‘And what happens, eh? I’ll tell you what happens, Drusilla. Bugger all.’

She picked up the jug, but it was already drained.

‘Bloody countryside.’

The earthenware jug smashed into a dozen pieces as she hurled it into the middle of the yard. Drusilla, instantly on the alert, found herself being soothed back to sleep.

‘Sorry, poppet, but just look at it, will you? Back home, around now,’ she hiccuped again, ‘the gates would be cranking open to let in the first of the carts. Yep. Lots of wagons piled right up to here with grain and fruit and wine and oil and…and…and…stuff.’

She clapped her hands for wine, but no one answered. It served her right, she supposed, settling down in this stinking yard. The house had been designed to face away from the farm, so who’d know she was even here? The slaves would be clustered round Gaius and his awful, awful family, who’d have finished dinner and would be sitting on the terrace, boring themselves into an early grave. Well, sod the lot of them!

‘And these carts will be rumbling round the city, delivering here, delivering there, and there’d be donkeys braying and torch-bearers to light the way, and the eating houses and the taverns will be mowry and derry…uh-uh, rowdy and merry and everyone’ll be having a wonderful, wonderful time. But here?’

She pointed at the red ball of fire slowly sinking behind the horizon.

‘That, Drusilla, is tonight’s entertainment. No brawls. No robberies. No accidents, no fires, not even a bloody riot to liven things up.’

Another hiccup.

‘They say Rome never sleeps. Well this place, Drusilla, this place never bloody wakes up.’

The cat, hearing a rustle from one of the rectangular cottages that served as labourers’ quarters, stiffened and pricked up her ears. For her the pulsating heart of the Empire wasn’t Rome, it was here-with that big, fat, juicy rat!

‘Mmrrr.’ She crouched low on Claudia’s lap.

‘No gambling. D’you hear that, Drusilla? No gambling. Out here,’ Claudia giggled, ‘I’d have to bet with myself. Oh, to hell with it!’

The glass hurtled through the air and splintered against the cottage wall. A head poked round.

‘Hey, you! Fetch some wine. And another bloody glass.’

The head hesitated.

‘Move!’

Drusilla, unfazed by the rat’s vanishing trick at the sound of breaking glass, yawned, stretched and clambered off in search of another victim to harry. By the time the slave had returned with the wine, she’d found it, in the form of a fat, hairy spider.

‘I know you’re going to tell me there’s been a death in the family and I should make allowances and,’ she gave a soft belch, ‘excuse me, and you’re probably right. But this place is so dull, poppet, it’d bore the freckles off a frog. Not, you understand, that that’s the only reason I hate this poxy place.’

Drusilla looked round, reassured herself that it didn’t matter that Claudia hadn’t noticed her absence, and busied herself with her quarry.

‘It’s that mummified bag of bones I can’t stick. Larentia.’

Claudia gulped at her glass.

‘Do you know what she calls me, eh?’ She wagged her finger. ‘She calls me a gold-digger. Me? I’ve never heard you complain about this life of luxury, I said to her last time I was here. You never wore rings like those when you were a navvy’s wife. Insult me if you like, she says, I recognize your type. Not surprised, I said, you only have to look in the mirror you miserable old fossil. Yes, yes, call me what you will, she says, but you can’t fool me, you only married my son for his money. Ah, well, I had her there, Drusilla. Pinned like a winkle, she was. I leaned forward, till my nose was nearly touching hers. And your son only married me for my looks, I said. Which is more than you can say for your old man! Drusilla? Drusilla?’ Her eyes swept the courtyard. ‘Juno, even the bloody cat’s gone now.’

She staggered to her feet, steadied herself against the brick wall and set her sights on the door. Cursing the threshold gods for tripping her she kicked off her sandals and padded silently across the mosaic. What a frightful design. She’d lay money it was Larentia’s choice, because what that woman knew about taste could be engraved on one of the tesselae.

‘Claudia! How lovely.’ Bugger. It would be Marcellus she ran into. ‘Have you been avoiding us? I say, what happened? Looks like you’ve been on the sand with the gladiators.’

Claudia’s senses were never so addled that she couldn’t remember the things that were important. She sobered instantly. He couldn’t have overheard! This was coincidence, surely. Yet-yes, those were the self-same words she’d used to Ligarius on Friday…

‘No, Marcellus. I only wrestle elephants on my birthday. When did you arrive at the villa?’

‘Came out for a breather.’ He nodded towards the garden. ‘Heavy stuff going on out there.’

‘Hardly surprising, but-’

‘It’s always hard going after a funeral. Of course, Gaius’s taken the blow like a man and Valeria’s putting a brave face on widowhood, but as for Larentia, well-you can never tell with her, and Flavia’s really cut up about it.’

‘Don’t be naive, Marcellus. Flavia hated her brother, she was as jealous as sin. Tell me, when did you get here?’

‘Felt dutybound to come, of course, if only to give Julia a break from being cooped up with the presence of death all the time.’

Give me strength. ‘I asked when, not why.’

‘Dunno. Not long. Who cares? Coming to join us?’

Not bloody likely. ‘I’m tired.’

‘It’s early.’

‘It’s boring.’

Marcellus ran the flat of his hand over her shoulder blade. ‘We could change that, you and I.’ He glanced around. ‘No one would even notice we were missing.’

‘You know, Marcellus, you really are an offensive little wart.’

For some unaccountable reason, he seemed to find that funny-although not quite funny enough to leave his hand where it was. ‘So why the black eye, Claudia? Did some bloke try to-’

‘If he did, Marcellus, he’d be in the city mortuary by now.’

‘What, then?’