Marilyn Todd - I, Claudia

‘Apparently he’d rather have the money.’

Damn.

‘How much money?’

‘I’ve given him a thousand.’

‘Asses?’

‘Sesterces.’

The duck stuck in her throat, and when her coughing fit eventually subsided, Gaius had actually asked:

‘I think that’s fair don’t you?’

She’d give Junius fair when she got hold of him! A thousand sesterces, indeed! What was wrong with the boy? She’d promised him his freedom, and instead he’s copped enough money to pay off half her debt to Lucan and he’s still hanging round the bloody house. Oh, she’d give him fair all right.

As if I need this hassle, either. Claudia ticked the problems off on her fingers. My husband’s cracking up, babbling away to himself, forgetting to do things like washing or attending his business meetings. My clients are being picked off one by one by a lunatic. I’ve driven my own maid to suicide, and now the whole household’s jittery in case they all get punished for it. My in-laws are giving me hell on all sides, I risk exposure by a bland little civil servant with a propensity for drivel-and now Junius starts playing up. She drained the jug.

‘Oh, poppet, I do feel wretched about Melissa.’

Contrary to what Orbilio had assumed from her tears, she’d neither liked nor disliked the girl, but she had trusted her. More to the point, Melissa had most definitely trusted her mistress, and it was that trust which had killed her. It was a gut-wrenching, stomach-churning sensation, knowing you and you alone bear the responsibility for the death, in some stinking alleyway, of a sixteen-year-old girl who has known nothing but misery. The days were bad enough, but at night the guilt takes on monstrous proportions. It torments you in your dreams, then it prods you awake. As there was no end to it, neither was there an answer. No refuge could be found in tears of self-pity. No amount of recrimination could bring the girl back. This was a burden Claudia would carry for the rest of her life.

‘Not that the silly cow is blameless, you understand. I told her to burn those clothes, but no, she decides to make herself a tunic out of that cotton. It’s her own silly fault.’ The words, she felt, might have carried more conviction had they not been hampered by sobs.

‘Oh, sod the lot of them! Gaius, Balbus, Melissa, Junius, Ligarius-you heard about him, didn’t you? Another one completely round the bend. According to Leonides, he’s still prowling around, except at least the big ugly lump has the sense to keep his mouth shut.’ Refreshed by the tickling, Drusilla sat bolt upright and began to wash her face.

‘Juno, I’ll have his balls, so help me I will, if Liggy makes trouble.’

‘Mmmrow.’

‘Yes, and talking of trouble, that venomous old bitch Larentia isn’t letting up, you know. The latest news from Rollo is that she’s paralysed down her left side, and when she isn’t babbling incoherently she’s shouting how that filthy, gold-digging whore is trying to kill her. I tell you, Drusilla, it’s like walking on splintered glass at the moment. Avoid one obstacle, and you run smack bang into another.’

Clean, invigorated, happy but sensing an end to this session, the cat stretched first the front half of her body, then the back half and leapt noiselessly down on to the rug.

‘That’s it, poppet, you go off and inspect your territory. It’s a beautiful night, warm, the stars are out, there’s a lovely half-moon and just the hint of a breeze.’

Drusilla paused on the windowsill, sniffed the air, then effortlessly launched herself into the void.

Oh, to be a cat, Claudia thought, pulling off her tunic. What a wonderful, wonderful life.

Poor old Publius. Discovered in his stables, Orbilio said, and Claudia found it difficult to keep her face straight. The happy-go-lucky banker would have seen the joke there, because he was, as everyone knew, mad about his horses. Only Claudia, however, was privy to the extent of his obsession. She’d meet him in the stables, where he’d be waiting eagerly with his clothes off (a sight not recommended for the squeamish) and a nosebag over his face. She’d slip a specially crafted bridle over his head (heaven knows what the manufacturer thought when Publius gave him the order), then the banker would go down on his hands and knees for Claudia to put him through his paces like the animal he pretended to be. Once he was well and truly fired up, she would slide a spike round the inside of each ankle, sit astride the banker’s back and spur him on to victory, so to speak.

Ah, well. To each his own, she thought, climbing under the bedclothes. To each his own.

*

She couldn’t hear it, she couldn’t see it, but Claudia knew. Somebody was in her room. The hairs on her neck prickled. Gooseflesh crawled over her arms and thighs. Instinctively her body stiffened, her ears alert to pick up the slightest movement. And then she caught it. Heavy breathing followed by a long, low chuckle.

‘Is no good enough, Claudia.’ Whisper or no, she had little difficulty placing that voice. ‘When Master Lucan ask for five hundred, he mean five hundred. He don’t mean no piddling fifty.’

There was garlic on his breath.

‘How did you get in?’

‘Tch, tch, tch.’ She saw the glint of white teeth in the darkness. ‘You no ask questions like that to a man in my business.’ Otho moved closer to the bed and hunkered down. ‘Five hundred, Claudia. By Monday.’

Her breath was coming short and shallow. ‘All right, all right. Tell him…no problem, he’ll have his damned money. Now get out of here!’

‘I do hope you no lie to me, Claudia.’ A hand reached out and touched her cheek. ‘Such smooth skin, it be shame to spoil it.’

The silence seemed eternal, but she couldn’t bring herself to break it.

‘You maybe want to deal, yes?’

‘No.’

He let out a soft, sibilant chuckle. ‘You no mean that, Claudia. You have no money. I know this. You no have the five hundred.’ He clambered on to the bed beside her. ‘So I ask again, you want to deal?’

‘I’d rather die first.’

‘Suppose we talking, maybe ten sesterces?’ He leaned over her. ‘Ah, you push me away. That mean no, huh? Then suppose we say fifteen- Aieeee !’

Suddenly the huge Thracian was screeching like a banshee, clawing frantically at his face. Blood poured into his eyes.

‘Aieeee!’

Drusilla had returned from her night patrol.

‘Get it off!’ he shouted, his arms flailing. ‘Call your demon off.’

Claudia was still pinned beneath him, her fists pummelling his chest, when the door burst open. Light flooded the room. Strong hands clamped round Otho’s throat, hauling him on to the floor. Redundant now, Drusilla leapt lightly on to the windowsill, from which vantage point she could oversee events, ready to step in again if necessary.

‘What’s happening?’ Now Gaius’s huge frame was blocking the doorway. Behind him, half the household slaves had mustered. ‘Claudia, are you all right?’

Having easily overpowered the Thracian since he’d caught the man off guard, Orbilio began to truss his prey. ‘Looks like this great ape was trying to rape your wife.’

‘Rape, my arse! This bitch invite me, you ask her she-’

Otho was silenced by a fist slamming into his mouth.

‘ Are you all right?’

It was clear Orbilio wasn’t talking to Otho and for the first time Claudia realized she, too, was covered with blood.

‘It’s his,’ she explained. ‘I’m fine.’

‘She bring demons of underworld on me,’ Otho mumbled through the stream of blood pouring out of his mouth. Claudia calculated he’d probably lost a few teeth with that punch.