Marilyn Todd - Virgin Territory

A gentle scratching at the door received a peremptory ‘Come in,’ and a small slave girl, no more than fifteen and with skin as dark as a chestnut, crept into the room. Drusilla stiffened.

‘Senbi sent me, madam.’

‘Why?’

Drusilla’s ears flattened as she let out a low howl from the back of her throat.

‘Hrroww.’

The girl blinked rapidly. ‘Um-’

‘Come on, spit it out. What do you want?’

‘Hrrro wwwwww.’

The girl backed up tight against the door frame. ‘Your maid’s bin taken sick with the fever,’ she replied in one frantic breath, her eyes riveted on the snarling cat. Claudia sat bolt upright. ‘Cypassis?’

Dear Diana, she was telling Diomedes only yesterday what a treasure that child was!

She considered the timorous creature flattening herself against the wall. ‘Can you dress hair?’

An imperceptible shake of the head.

‘Cosmetics?’

A grimace.

Claudia resisted the impulse to scream. ‘Is it within your powers, do you think, to help me dress?’

At last, a nod.

‘I can try,’ she whispered.

Good life in Illyria, what have I got myself into? Claudia threw off the bedcovers and marched over to the window.

‘For goodness’ sake,’ she said, throwing wide the shutter, ‘pour some water into that bowl and fetch a towel.’

Drusilla was watching the proceedings very carefully, and only when she was completely happy the intruder wasn’t a kitten-skinner in disguise did she ease up on the growling. The girl’s sigh of relief was probably audible the other side of the island.

‘Bring me that mirror.’

There was no way Claudia intended letting this novice loose on her hair and, without Cypassis’s expertise, she wasn’t going to spend half the morning fiddling with curls and plaits and ringlets and things. She’d wear her hair in a bun at her neck. Simple, elegant-and well under two minutes to fix.

‘Now fetch that misty blue tunic, the one with short sleeves and the flounce along the bottom.’

‘And which stola?’

The girl was untrained! ‘For heaven’s sake, you only wear that at formal occasions or when you’re going out.’ Where on earth had the child been? ‘Give me a hand with this belt.’

As the young slave neatened up the overhanging folds, Claudia asked, ‘What’s your name?’

‘Pacquia.’

From the atrium came a clatter, clatter, crash, followed by loud remonstrations met in return with querulous protests that it was not somebody’s fault, she’d tripped over Young Master Marius’s whipping top. Unlike home, where Leonides would sort the matter out quietly and without fuss, Senbi clearly decided that his presence needed to be felt-and in this case, more than just his presence. Claudia could hear the blow from her room. If that had been Leonides, she’d have his Macedonian ears for breakfast. With garlic on.

‘Oi! Pack it in!’

Good old Linus, putting his oar in now the fuss had died down. Typical of the man, a loser if ever there was one. To some extent Claudia could sympathize because he’d given fifteen years to the business and was still, thanks to the law, without an authoritative role.

That was the law which made Linus accountable to his father.

The same law which made Aulus accountable to his father, who had no intention of letting go the legal reins.

In other words, the same law which gave Eugenius Collatinus absolute control over every person and every thing that he owned, including his family.

Unfortunately for Linus, Fabius’s return after twenty years meant even the weak position he held had now been usurped. It was an unenviable situation by any reckoning, but whatever sympathy he might have earned was blown away thanks to his blatant whoring, his persistent bragging and his bullying. Like father, like son. Nothing Corinna did could please him and as an outsider, Corinna found no allies in this house, not even in Matidia.

Especially not Matidia. The old man wouldn’t even delegate the running of the household to his own daughter-in-law, which under normal circumstances was her right as matriarch. Daily, with the others, she had to endure the humiliating morning ritual whereby Dexippus, Eugenius’s secretary, passed across to Acte the wax tablet on which he had written the old man’s instructions and she would call them out to the slaves. Then, when the slaves had left, Dex would hand over a second tablet and she’d read out the old man’s instructions to his family.

Claudia jerked her head towards the hall. ‘How are they taking Sabina’s death this morning?’

Pacquia twiddled the flounces round Claudia’s ankles. ‘It’s all very sad, madam,’ she said without looking up.

‘That’s not what I asked you,’ Claudia replied. ‘I want to know how it’s affecting them.’

Pacquia’s hands trembled slightly, and Claudia relented.

‘Look, you don’t have to go through the motions with me. I’m well aware they’re not playing Happy Families out there, grieving and crying over a much-loved sister. Pass that silver pendant.’

Grief she had not expected. Even assuming the blood line was pure, Sabina had been as much a stranger to them as they were to her, and in four days precious little ground had been gained. Confusing her dream world with reality, Sabina had categorically refused to mix with her relatives and had stuck to Tanaquil like a snail on slime.

‘What happened to her prospective bridegroom, Gavius whatshisface?’

‘Master Labienus? He left on Monday, madam.’

That let him off the hook, then. Sabina was killed yesterday, Tuesday. Not that he could really be considered a suspect. The killer would be a local man.

‘Have they caught the culprit?’

‘There’s a search party out now.’

‘I see. And what does the effervescent Tanaquil have to say about the matter?’ Some fortune teller she turned out to be.

‘Tanaquil, madam?’

‘That flame-haired jack-in-a-box who’s been dossing in the clipshed.’

Sabina might have attached herself to the girl, but Eugenius wouldn’t have what he called the Sicilian trollop in the house. She and the Minotaur had been sleeping rough since they docked.

‘Oh, her .’ Even slaves looked down on these hangers-on, it seemed. ‘She’s gone.’

There was enough good-riddance in Pacquia’s voice for Claudia to save her breath. An admirable decision, she thought, to jump before you’re pushed.

The young slave girl’s fear seemed to have all but evaporated, and her eyes began to glow.

‘You know what they’re saying,’ she whispered, with all the enthusiasm of a gossip five times her age, ‘they’re saying she weren’t their daughter.’

This was more like it. ‘Get away! Who says?’

‘Senbi. I heard him talking to Antefa-and guess what Antefa said?’

‘Tell me.’

Pacquia glanced at the door. ‘He’d heard Aulus, Linus and Portius having a right old barney over how much the master was gonna settle on Miss Sabina.’

‘Was that before or after her run-in with Labienus?’

‘Mmm…’ Pacquia closed her eyes in concentration. ‘Before.’

Claudia leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘And just how much was Eugenius going to settle on Sabina?’

‘Eight thousand sesterces.’

Her breath came out in a whistle. No wonder they were aggrieved. Claudia could imagine that, after thirty years, they felt entitled to that money themselves. They wouldn’t be happy to see their birthright frittered away on a middle-aged fruitcake whose childbearing days were almost over.

Which was all very interesting, of course, and had Sabina been pushed over a cliff on a dark night, might well explain a few things. But she wasn’t. She’d been murdered in a particularly callous and calculating manner.