Marilyn Todd - I, Claudia

Claudia tapped her foot. The preliminaries were entertaining, she supposed, on a superficial level. If you enjoyed this leaping from horse to horse lark, or riders standing on their heads, fine, it was all very clever, except it lacked the element of chance to which she was addicted. Junius, thank heavens, was stationed in his usual place, though for once she hadn’t given him any money to bet with. She’d regret it, she knew she would, but she simply had to knuckle down and do things by the book for a while. What the hell? It wasn’t as though playing the dutiful wife was a novelty, she’d kept up the pretence for virtually the first year of her marriage, the discipline would do her good.

So why, then, was her mouth so dry?

Junius hadn’t turned out to be the problem she anticipated. Suspecting blackmail, she tried wheedling, she tried bullying, but eventually came to the conclusion that she might have done the boy an injustice. Whatever motive kept him under the Seferius roof, it was a mighty powerful one, because the young Gaul was adamant. He did not want his freedom, thank you all the same. It rankled like hell that he’d pocketed a grand merely for the privilege of having his ribs cracked, and had it been left to Claudia she’d have given him his marching orders and no messing. Unfortunately, she did say the boy saved her life, and it only goes to show, doesn’t it? Liars get what they deserve. She glanced across at him, hoping to find his eyes sweeping the seats in search of the lover he’d told her about. But no, his eyes were fixed on his mistress, loyal as ever dammit.

She drew a deep breath. Most people in this stadium supported a particular faction, be it red, blue, green or white, which often erupted in fights, even riots, as one group of supporters taunted a rival team. For Claudia Seferius, the races represented an altogether different excitement and she knew, she just knew , the big Libyan from the red stable would win the first race hands down. By betting twenty sesterces on Red, she could place her winnings on White in the subsequent race, no one handled a team of four the way that wiry Rhodian did. Then she could…

‘Having fun, love?’ Marcellus slid into the seat beside her.

‘Not any more.’ Good life in Illyria, if she moved any further to the left, she’d be sitting in her neighbour’s lap.

‘My money’s on the Blue, what do you think?’

Claudia twisted her lip. ‘I’ll wager one hundred sesterces Red wins by-oooh-three lengths. Are you on?’

Claudia, are you mad ?

Her brother-in-law gave a nervous laugh. ‘Shame about Valeria’s baby,’ he said.

‘Heart-rending. A hundred on the big Libyan, what do you say?’

He fiddled with his toga, avoiding the directness of her stare. ‘Gaius is absolutely devastated, I hear.’

‘Gutted. Marcellus, they’re lining up. Are you game or not?’

He made a vague gesture with his hands and gave a false laugh. ‘I…well, no. Not at the moment. I’ve been a bit strapped lately.’

‘Nonsense, you’re loaded. Julia’s always bragging about it. Now watch this Libyan, Marcellus. See the way he stands? Firm as a rock, you won’t catch him overturning on the bends.’

They were two-horse chariots in the first race, and what magnificent beasts they were. Pearls in their manes, ribbons in their knotted tails, charms and medallions blazing from their breastplates. In terms of splendour, the drivers came a very poor second.

‘Julia’s a snob, just like her mother. The fact is, Claudia, I’m stony broke.’

‘You’re an architect, for heaven’s sake. Rome’s positively ringing with the sounds of hammers with this massive restoration programme. You can’t possibly be broke.’ The four charioteers had completed the first lap and were manoeuvring on the next turn. It was going to be tight. Claudia could feel her nails biting into the palm of her hand.

‘Ah! Well, that’s the rub. I’ve made one or two foolish investments and I was wondering-I don’t suppose you could see your way to loaning me a quadran or two, just to tide me over?’

A collective gasp went up from the crowd as Green misjudged slightly. The horse on the inside stumbled, the chariot rocked. By the time Green had adjusted his reins and rejoined the race he was at least two lengths behind. A quarter of the crowd began to boo, while the remaining three factions heard rousing cheers to spur them on.

‘Categorically not.’ Was he kidding? When she owed Lucan two grand? ‘Have you approached Gaius?’ Gaius, she knew, had been injecting capital into his brother-in-law’s business for some time.

‘Ah. Bit tricky, that. You see, since last November I’ve been dipping into Flavia’s allowance, and last night didn’t seem appropriate.’

On the fourth circuit, Green was still trailing, Blue was encountering difficulty on the bends, so it was neck and neck between White and Red. Claudia’s heart was pounding, it was all she could do not to jump up and cheer the Libyan.

‘I mean him rolling home, drunk as a boiled owl. Not like Gaius, is it?’ The pock-marked face leaned closer. ‘Or is it?’ he whispered. ‘Is that why you sleep in separate rooms?’

‘Marcellus, if you don’t get your tongue out of my ear this second, you’ll be sleeping in separate rooms-a different part of you in each one. Now move!’

‘All right, all right, I’m just trying to be friendly, that’s all. Remus, Claudia, you and I could make a great team-’

‘I’m warning you. If that hand goes any further under my stola, you can kiss your nutmegs goodbye right here and now.’

He was getting progressively worse. Last night he actually tried to kiss her in the garden, and his hand slid over her breast as she passed him in the dining room. Both sent shudders of revulsion through her body every time she thought about them.

The charioteers were on the final straight now, and this is where the Libyan knew his stuff. With a toss of the head he straightened his knees, cracked his whip with a flourish and his steeds surged forward. By the time they’d passed the finishing marker Red was declared the winner by three and a half lengths. What a bloody waste, she thought. That could have been another hundred for Lucan.

The thought of that little bloodsucker left a nasty taste in her mouth. Not only had Gaius come home rolling drunk, he’d brought that ferreting investigator back for dinner. It was supposed to be a quiet family affair to discuss the finer points of the wedding and suddenly Gaius, in his cups, starts banging on about extortion and brings up that wretched Otho business.

‘I’m determined to get to the root of this, you know.’ He was slurring his words badly. ‘This is the second time in a month someone’s tried to extort money from my wife.’

Unbelievably Orbilio turns round and says, ‘Oh, I checked Otho’s story out. Pack of lies, old chap. Not one copper quadran owed, according to Lucan.’

Claudia wondered what she owed the miserable little ferret for covering up. It was patently obvious he’d believed Otho’s story, even at this time, and then he’d let the Thracian escape to what? Spare her blushes? Or maybe spare Gaius, because these two seemed to have grown close of late. Damn you to hell, Marcus Cornelius Orbilio. Now you’re off this case, I hope I never see you again. Do you know that for one minute yesterday you actually struck a chord? There I was at the household shrine and you were betting I’d missed you every single hour you’d been away. Well, I’ll admit that maybe, just for a little while, the house had seemed depressingly quiet, but after your magnificent performance last night I can put my hand on my heart and say the emptiness had nothing to do with you. Nothing whatsoever so you can get that idea out of your arrogant head for a start.