Marilyn Todd - I, Claudia

‘Excuse me.’

The gentle tap on her shoulder made her jump. A small child, clean and reasonably well dressed, was standing behind her holding a scroll in her little fat hand.

‘Gentleman said to give you this.’

Claudia took the letter. ‘Which gentleman?’

The small face screwed itself up and the tiny shoulders shrugged. ‘Don’t know,’ she said quietly.

Claudia smiled and passed the girl a peach, which was instantly pounced upon. Freeborn she might be, but you had to have a lot of money in this city to afford a peach of that quality. She watched the child skip off to rejoin her family, gleefully waving her trophy. She pointed towards Claudia, who waved back, but when she tried to show them who had given her the letter in the first place, it was clear the child could neither remember nor spot him in the crowd. Too bad. Claudia ripped open the seal.

I love you.

She turned it over. Was that it? I love you? No endearments, no flattery, no compliments, no signature? Just a bald I-love-you?

More equestrian prowess, this time in the form of bare-back riding, swooping down to collect trophies from the sand. The riders could fall off and get trampled to death, for all she cared. Had the author of this feeble missive settled Lucan’s bill? Why should the two be connected, anyway? Hell, she’d had more love letters than glasses of Seferius wine, and the fact that she was married didn’t mean a damned thing, either. She’d lost count of the number of young bloods falling at her feet, swearing undying devotion and threatening suicide. She’d had poetry written for her, plays staged in her honour, more songs about unrequited love sung than you could tally.

Claudia stood up, straightening her back, smoothed her curls and ran her hands down the side of her body. Slowly. Very, very slowly. I know you’re watching me, you bastard, so take note. She let splayed fingers glide down her neck, pausing tantalizingly at the neck of her tunic. With her eyes on the racetrack, she twisted her head this way and that, tossed her curls, stretched and yawned. Let this be a lesson to you. Claudia Seferius is a sophisticated, sensual woman-she held the parchment high and tore it slowly and deliberately into a dozen pieces-for whom three poxy words on a page isn’t enough. Fragments fluttered away on the breeze. Got it?

Smiling to herself, she sat back in her seat. And next time, you can damned well put your name to it.

Whoever the author, one thing was certain. It wasn’t Cousin Markie! Dammit, for a while she’d had to watch herself, because whenever Orbilio was around the air seemed to crackle between them. It wasn’t anything he said-his words were professional enough-or in his facial expressions, which he masked more often than not. But his eyes. Dear Diana, his eyes! They twinkled and danced and laughed and blazed, telling more stories than a minstrel. Oh, yes. There was sin in those eyes.

The feelings he’d dredged up, feelings she thought she’d left long behind, were too dangerous to dwell on. It was nothing deeper than sexual chemistry, any fool could tell that, but she’d be damned glad when he disappeared back into the hole he crawled out of and left her in peace.

Weary in spite of the races, Claudia made her way towards the exit at the Appian end. What the hell’s wrong with you, anyway, wasting time on that two-faced, smooth-tongued, womanizing bastard? He’s got nothing other men haven’t got. You need your head testing if you think his attentions meant anything special. Did they hell! So long as he was on the case and had his famous hunch about apple-green cotton, he was as charming as they come, the minute Callisunus puts him to work on something else, we see the little weasel in his true colours, don’t we?

She slapped one of the race attendants out of her way.

So much time wasted! The catch in her breath every time she saw him. The way he walked. His famous halfsmile. Oh, she’d like to bet he practised that one in the mirror of a morning.

‘Bastard!’

The janitor’s eyes popped out of their sockets in surprise.

‘Not you, you imbecile. Now open this bloody door, will you?’

The heat outside was intolerable. Far too hot to walk. Well you’ve got no one to blame but yourself, Claudia Seferius. You made this choice. You were the one who said it was too hot for the litter-bearers to hang around all day and sent them home again. If you’d stuck inside the Circus as you’d planned, you wouldn’t have to walk home, would you? Not you, though. You decide you’ve had enough by midday. Well, you’ll have to bloody well pay the price, won’t you?

She’d taken the best part of a hundred paces before she realized she was stomping up the wrong hill. Swearing loudly, she turned round and stomped up the right one.

Why on earth did they have to build Rome on seven bloody great hills? She glanced down. These were not the sandals she would have chosen for walking in, either. Bugger, bugger, bugger. Over the heads of the crowds, Claudia caught a glimpse of bright orange. Terrific! Her very own litter was beating a path through the throng-then suddenly she realized it was a cheap imitation. She ducked into a doorway as it went past. Sweet Jupiter it was Marcia, the linen merchant’s widow. Claudia kicked the doorpost. They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but she’d be damned if she’d let that little cow get away with this. First thing in the morning she’d have her own litter re-upholstered.

She paused to let through a consignment of timber, recognizing the portico as one of her brother-in-law’s projects. Strange, Marcellus being on his uppers. What did he call it, a few unwise investments? Serves him right, she thought. Gaius had been carrying him for years. The lazy sod never put much effort into anything, and that included his marriage. She wondered how far Julia’s awareness stretched. Did she condone embezzling Flavia’s funds? Did she even know about it? One thing was sure. If Gaius finds out he’ll hit the roof.

The last of the timber rumbled past as Claudia wondered why Marcellus was so keen to talk about Orbilio’s behaviour at dinner last night. Until Gaius came home, the five of them-Julia, Flavia, Antonius, Marcellus and herself-had been discussing the banquet for the wedding. Mentally Claudia had been counting off the days (fourteen, to be exact!) when her husband and so-called cousin had come rolling arm in arm through the front door. Orbilio was singing at the top of his off-key voice, something to do with the sexual adventures of a particularly well-endowed youth called Varex, if her memory served her correctly. Strangely enough, she’d got a fleeting impression that he wanted to rush over and kiss her, not a peck on the cheek, but the sort of kiss that lasts for ever. Which only goes to show how stupid you can be at times.

They’d all trooped upstairs to the dining room (that was where Claudia’s breast assaulted Marcellus’s hand), kicked off their shoes and reclined in preparation for eating. Except for Flavia. Until then, Claudia had been only vaguely aware that the girl’s sulky expression had vanished, but in the dining room the child turned into…well, what could, quite honestly, only be described as a tramp. With a sensuality Claudia could never have imagined in the child, she slipped off one sandal (showing far more leg than was decent), then the other and instead of filling the gap between her aunt and her betrothed, the little trollop slid slowly between Marcellus and Orbilio, wriggling her adolescent hips in a thoroughly vulgar fashion. Claudia felt Antonius stiffen with rage, although at this stage Julia and Marcellus were embroiled in the trivia of the wedding arrangements and Gaius was staring solemnly into his glass. His eyes dancing with mischief, Orbilio gave one slow, blatant wink at Claudia as Flavia nestled closer and after that-well! It was sickening to watch them. The little hussy giggled and fawned and made doe eyes at him all bloody night, and he was no better. Flattering her on everything from her fingertips to her toes.