Marilyn Todd - I, Claudia

The old girl sniffed and blew her nose.

‘The key word here, Larentia, is coincidence .’

‘Huh! And was it coincidence that her brother fell under the wheels of a grain wagon?’

‘He was steaming drunk by all accounts, and it was midnight, when only full loads are rolling into the city.’ The grapes had turned to ash in her mouth, but Claudia kept on chewing.

‘Drunk, my arse. Secundus was pushed. Which left Flavia and Lucius between you and my son’s fortune, didn’t it? How many times had you tried before you were successful, eh?’

‘You’re raving.’

Colour flooded Larentia’s gnarled old face. She jabbed Claudia on the breastbone with her index finger.

‘Well, you left it too late, you gold-digging bitch. That child of Valeria’s will inherit jointly alongside Flavia. Or did you plan to murder them both?’

‘I know who I’d like to murder.’

The old woman cackled. ‘Go ahead, let them catch you in the act. I’ve had my day, I’m willing to make the sacrifice. But you can’t do it face to face, can you? No. You pay people to do your dirty work for you. Scum, prepared to slip a poison to a fifteen-year-old girl and watch her die in agony, scum who don’t mind pushing a total stranger under a heavy cart just so long as they get paid. How much did it cost you to poison Lucius?’

Claudia stood up. Funny. Her knees suddenly seemed to find the weight too much for them and idly she wondered whether Larentia could hear them knocking.

‘I’ve had it up to here with you, you fossilized old bat. One more slur from your venomous mouth and I’ll have you buried alive so fast, you’ll be chewing worms within the hour. Do you hear me?’

Larentia curled a lip. ‘You and who else? Think your threats can touch an old woman? If you’re so innocent, why don’t we lay the evidence before Gaius, see what he makes of it?’

‘Leave my husband out of this. He’s had enough on his plate lately.’

‘Worrying himself sick about your debts, most like. Ho, ho, that took the wind out of your sails, didn’t it? Thought because I was stuck out here I didn’t know what was going on? Well, I told you before, Larentia Seferius is nobody’s fool. Two thousand sesterces you owe. Is that how much it cost to murder my grandson?’

Claudia’s teeth were clamped together so hard her jawbones were hurting. She forced herself to take several deep breaths.

‘Larentia, you are one sick woman.’

‘Oh, you’re the one who’ll be sick. Sick as a parrot. You under-estimated me, daughter-in-law, and now you’re going to pay the price. I’m going straight to Gaius, then I’m going to the authorities.’

Claudia made a great show of rearranging her tunic, flicked several imaginary crumbs off her bodice, then walked slowly but purposefully towards the door, Precisely how much this old trout knew and how much of it was guesswork remained to be seen.

‘Nothing you do, Larentia, either interests or concerns me. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a very busy day ahead.’

In a narrow alley, less than fifty paces from the banks of the Tiber, a young slave girl cowered against a wall that reeked of dog piss and cabbages. The moon was not yet up, leaving the alleyway plunged into the colour of estuary mud. Nearby a tavern door opened, spilling light as well as two drunken oarsmen on to the cobbles. The girl flattened herself against the stonework, but the men, arms round each other for mutual support, wove their way down to the river, too engrossed in bawdy song to notice.

In the street at the end of the alley, creaking wagons made their deliveries. She could smell the oxen, hear the bark of directions as loads were hoisted off or on to the carts. Perhaps she could wriggle under one of the sheets? Hide in an empty wooden crate? Escape the city and…

And what? Head north? How? At sixteen, with virtually no money, no friends, no allies, how could she hope to survive?

Again the tavern doors threw a yellow oblong of light into the dingy street and three men tumbled out. Within seconds knuckles were cracking off jawbones, noses squelching under fists, shards of smashed drinking vessels skimming over the cobbles. The girl flinched as a small piece of pottery flicked against her calf and she covered her face with her hands. A yellow-haired whore jeered from the doorway until the tavern keeper threw a bucket of water over them all, including the woman, and suddenly the four were comrades again. The door closed and the alley fell silent once more, with only pools of wine and water to bear witness to the brawl.

She could hide on one of the carts, only…suppose they were being searched? Tears trickled down her cheek, cutting a path through the grime. Even if she escaped the city, she had no real idea which direction to take for home. There were mountains to cross, she knew that. Bleak, bitter mountains, where the wind howled like a wolf and the snow never melted. And what after that? The journey that had brought her to Rome had taken weeks. Months. She could never find her way back without help.

Suppose she slipped on to one of the boats? She shivered in the darkness, recalling tales of horror at what befell stowaways. She was desperate now. She had no one to turn to. She daren’t return to the house to collect her paltry savings, for they would be waiting, with their lies and their accusations.

She drew up her knees, wrapping her arms round her body for comfort. Why were her gods punishing her like this? It had been a normal working day and she’d simply been going about her business. Then, quite without warning, a man she’d never seen before, a man with a limp, had rounded on her and publicly branded her a thief. A crowd had begun to gather. She hadn’t understood. There was no reason for it. He had no grounds, no evidence, but the man insisted on sending for the police.

Then she heard the word ‘murder’.

Murder?

As the crowd’s interest turned to the arrival of the soldiers, she had seized the moment to run and run and run. Ten hours of running and hiding and crying and whimpering already seemed like ten days. Ten years.

She wanted to go home.

Home was where blue-white frosts sharpened your senses. Home was where soft summer rain whispered into the broad leaves of the trees. And home was where those very same leaves blazed copper and bronze and gold after the harvest. There was no dry, dusty wind to choke your lungs up there. Nor a sun which thickened and darkened your skin like leather. Home was kind, benevolent. It would welcome her back to its bosom.

Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, the girl picked up the shard that had scratched her leg. She stared at it long and hard for several seconds, then slashed it deep across her left wrist before plunging it into her right.

Now I am going where they can’t hurt me, she thought. Now I am going home.

By any standards, the journey back to Rome was a damned sight better than the journey out, despite Kano’s continued reluctance to chivvy up those foul-smelling nags, and Claudia thought that if she saw one more swish of a tail after this she’d scream till she exploded. Not that she ought to complain, she decided. She was going home, and in less than no time she’d be rolling around theatre aisles, cheering military parades and living it up at the Circus, you just try and stop her, because in the end the threat to her cosy existence hadn’t come from Larentia, or from the crazed killer whose elimination was imminent. The threat had come from tedium.

Quite why ordinarily level-headed people scuttled to the hills in summer was beyond her. Try the freshness of the air, Gaius suggested, which shows how much he knew, because you couldn’t smell a damned thing in the air, not one damned thing. Good life in Illyria, there were only so many times a girl could inspect the beehives or wander round the orchards or potter in the winery, and you simply couldn’t stay indoors. You either ran into that poisonous old dustbag, Larentia, or else you were faced with poor Valeria’s pregnancy problems, Julia’s nagging or Flavia’s geyser. Claudia would have sold her soul for a party, but it was out of the question, Gaius explained. Not only was the villa isolated, but this was the busiest time of the year for everybody. Thus July fell quietly upon its sword and August showed no signs of improvement as talk continued to revolve around wine and hay, peas and beans. She was pig sick of it.