Marilyn Todd - I, Claudia

‘Hey, you!’

A snap of the fingers brought a small slave boy running. Born to one of the kitchen women, Claudia had never thought to enquire who the father might be. Quite often, she thought, it was best not to know these things.

‘Send Cypassis to me at once. Tell her to pack a picnic, some raisins, a dish of almonds and a bowl of plums. Oh, a flagon of wine and a glass. Hurry, now.’

The little lad beetled off, his pudgy legs stumping this way and that as he ran. Claudia’s nose wrinkled. Surely the father couldn’t be anyone in this house! She resolved to give the men a closer inspection in future, because if they were going to breed, for heaven’s sake, they really oughtn’t be allowed to spawn such ugly sprogs. She’d have to have a word with Gaius, really she would. She tucked a roll of parchment into the folds of her stola. It was high time, she decided, to make a written list of her clients because, thanks to the deluge of other problems, her mental resources had become decidedly stretched of late and it was a simple enough task on the face of it. Who’s dead, who’s in the clear…and who’s still in the frame?

Her litter, its distinctive orange canopy attracting curious glances wherever it went, set her down in one of the public gardens in the Field of Mars. Once a swamp more or less encircled by a great loop of the Tiber, it had been transformed over the last ten to fifteen years into one of the most beautiful spots in the whole of Rome. Adorned by temples and baths and flanked by hills that ran down to the water’s edge, the Field was all things to all men. A peaceful haven to read or gossip. A place to work out, with ball games and gymnastics. Space for chariot practice, military exercises, horse races and all manner of outdoor athletics that could be grouped under the general heading of Showing Off. Claudia settled herself on the steps of the small but elaborate temple to Anna and chewed the end of her reed pen.

The first list was simple enough. There was Tigellinus, in charge of Juturna’s sacred pool. Horatius, the aedile responsible for the Megalesian Games. Fabianus, the jurist. Crassus the retired senator. And now Publius Caldus the banker. Five men who had met with an undeserved and grisly end, steps urgently needed to be taken to ensure the tally stayed at five. Not out of sentiment, particularly, but before Gaius discovered the link. Amiable as he might appear on the surface, rumour spread like a forest fire in this city and it would need but one small whiff of misdemeanour and Claudia would be out. O-U-T, out. She bit an almond in half and flicked the rest into a clump of pinks. A person had to watch their step with Gaius Seferius. Yes, indeed they did.

Glancing up, she was met by the comical sight of Cypassis staggering under the weight of a silver tray piled high with fruit and wine, a monstrous fan of ostrich plumes trailing across the grass behind her.

‘You don’t have to bring everything at once,’ she said.

Cypassis smiled. ‘Saves a second trip.’

‘A longer tunic, my girl, and you’ll have a different kind of trip. Now for goodness’ sake, drink some of this wine and stop wheezing. No, no, you can start fanning when you’ve got your breath back.’

She’d found Melissa’s replacement at the slave auction on Wednesday. The oil merchant’s widow who Cypassis had served for the past three years was selling up and going to live with her daughter in Capua, and Claudia snapped up the bargain. Gaius expressed surprise at her choice of this big-boned girl from Thessaly, but Claudia had warmed to her instantly, attracted to her wide smile and obvious desire to please. She suspected that had Cypassis been left to her own devices she’d have tumbled not only every boy in her own village but neighbouring villages and surrounding farms as well, leaving them with smiles on their faces and warm memories in their hearts. Maybe it was something to do with the dimples in her cheeks, or maybe it was her bosom, which resembled two diving otters desperate to surface for air, but whatever the reason, Claudia reckoned those memories would have lasted them a lifetime. Reluctantly she returned to the task in hand.

List three, the list of suspects, remained depressingly long. Although she’d questioned several punters over the last few weeks and cleared them of any involvement, there always seemed to be someone she’d forgotten, another contestant for the title ‘Maniac of the Month’.

‘I brought you some cheese, madam.’

‘What? Oh, it’s pecorino! That’s-’

‘Your favourite. Yes, I know, madam.’

Claudia nodded appreciatively. This girl had potential, she really did. Within the space of an hour, Cypassis had made the house her home, her eyebrows twitching a come-on to the male slaves, her dimples instantly diffusing jealousy among the women. Another almond shot into the pinks. Assuming those broad hips intended to fulfil the promise made in her eyes, Claudia might need to teach her maid some tricks about contraception, because she was damned if she was going to lose this gem to childbed fever!

The gentle waving of the ostrich plumes sent ripples of pleasure down her backbone. She leaned back, closed her eyes and began to hum. It was her own special song, the one she had composed years back in Genoa, plaintive, haunting, blatantly sentimental, the perfect accompaniment to the languorous dance with which she always finished her act. Or, to put it more bluntly, the perfect way of ensuring generous tips.

There was one further nominee for list three, a name she’d been reluctant to add. That of Antonius Scaevola, dammit. She liked Scaevola. For a start they enjoyed a different arrangement, since he was no pervert wanting to be trussed up and beaten, or clamped and humiliated. His was a healthy, energetic libido, all bounce and chortle. But for all that, his two previous marriages had failed to provide him with an heir, leaving him with a zest for procreation, even in middle age. Claudia bit clean through her pen and spat out the tip. Scaevola was pivotal in her plans, she couldn’t think of him as a crazed killer. Dear Diana, what am I thinking of? In less than a fortnight he’ll be married off to Flavia and if he doesn’t get her pregnant on her wedding night he will by the second, I’ll lay odds on it.

‘Good morning, my sweet!’

‘Gaius!’

Juno, Jupiter and Mars, look who was with him! Of all people, it was that pasty-faced twit, Balbus, staring at her with a strange half-smile on his face. The sort of halfsmile that is remembering a tune and can’t yet place it…

In her haste to stand up, the parchment fell to the ground. Faster than she could have imagined, Gaius swooped to pick it up.

‘What’s this, then? You? Writing a letter?’

She could barely speak, her legs had turned to aspic. ‘Oh. Yes. You remember Octavia?’

He looked blank.

‘Octavia whatsername. Husband’s big in olive oil. Lives up on the Palatine. Seven children. Mother’s a cripple.’ What on earth’s making her trot out this drivel? ‘Well, she’s sick-thought I’d drop her a note, cheer her up. Usual thing.’

‘Very thoughtful. What’s wrong with her?’

‘VD.’

Claudia, shut your mouth before you swallow your foot altogether!

‘So what brings you this way, Gaius?’ She snatched the list out of his hand, surreptitiously glancing at Ventidius Balbus, who was still smiling blandly. Please, please, please don’t let him make the connection!

‘Oh…things. Business…’ Gaius trailed off. ‘Bumped into Balbus, you remember him?’ he added by way of belated introduction.

I do, Gaius, I do. The question is, does he remember me?

‘You are indeed looking lovelier than ever, Claudia.’ There was little enthusiasm in his voice, but his eyes bored into hers and she decided no, she wouldn’t have slept with him back in Genoa. Starving and desperate she might have been, but never suicidal.