Marilyn Todd - Virgin Territory

On a table in a corner, fresh fruit stood piled on a silver tray, apples, nectarines, grapes, figs. There was one peach remaining, and she selected it.

‘That’s my peach. Put it down.’

Examining the skin for blemishes, Claudia turned slowly. A small child, no more than eight, stood in the doorway. A pretty child in all probability, with her raven black hair and slender form, but at the moment she was scowling too ferociously to tell.

‘I said, that’s mine. Put it back!’

Small hands became small fists.

Claudia regarded the child carefully, then held the peach to her nose, testing it for ripeness. Small brown eyes blazed with temper.

‘If you eat my peach, I’ll take that pot, I’ll throw it on the floor and then I’ll tell Mama you broke it.’

Her name was Popillia, she was Linus’s and Corinna’s third child and this was her normal disposition.

‘So?’

‘So,’ she said haughtily, ‘it contains Mama’s new perfume, the one she sent for from Syria. She was showing it to Grandmama, only she left it behind by mistake.’

She advanced purposefully across the room and stretched out her hand.

With delicacy, Claudia picked up the ceramic pot, lifted the lid and sniffed appreciatively. ‘Expensive,’ she murmured.

‘Very expensive,’ the child corrected.

Claudia smiled. ‘All right, you win,’ she said, waiting for the light of triumph to fill those little nutbrown eyes before adding, ‘Pity though.’

She opened her fingers. There was a crash and immediately a pungent aroma exploded in the air. The child’s jaw dropped in amazement, her whole body frozen in surprise. Claudia bit deep into the peach, seemingly oblivious to the juice dribbling down her chin.

‘Don’t forget to tell your mama, will you?’ she said, stepping over the broken shards.

In the atrium, as she licked the last vestige of fruit from the stone, she decided that her first encounter with Popillia had not been the most auspicious of starts. Oh well. Claudia let the stone fall noisily on to the mosaic floor then, with a judicious kick, sent it winging into the pool. The resulting plop was more than satisfactory.

*

‘You’ll do as you’re fucking told.’ The voice of Aulus Collatinus was unmistakable. ‘Don’t think you can come back after farting around for twenty-’

‘You call that uprising in Pannonia farting around? I nearly lost an eye, and when-’

‘Don’t change the bloody subject. I’m telling you now, boy, you can forget coming home with big ideas about taking over.’

‘Taking-? I was only checking to see how much wool had been carded up.’

‘Bollocks! You know sod-all about the spinning process, you’re out to undermine my position.’

‘The old man asked me to do it.’

‘Oh! So now you’re sneaking off to him, are you? Trying to worm your way round the old man so you can take over when he pops off? Well, I’ll not have it, d’you hear me?’

Claudia listened at the door for another few moments, but since the exchange was going nowhere, a series of oh-yes-you-are, oh-no-I’m-not’s, she moved on. They were an argumentative bunch at the best of times, this family, but the rain made them ten times worse.

Orbilio came in, tunic and toga soaking wet, hair plastered over his face, his legs streaked with mud.

Claudia said, ‘Still soaking up the atmosphere, I see,’ to which he gave a very-funny-I-don’t-think grin as he squelched across the tiles leaving a long line of drips in his wake. She hoped he got pneumonia and died.

Fabius and his father were still at it hammer and tongs but, two doors along, altercations of a different kind were in progress. Linus, disgust heavy in his voice, was berating Corinna, this time about her hair. Claudia leaned her ear to the door.

‘You’re making a fool of yourself, all those curls piled up. You look like mutton dressed as lamb.’

‘It’s the fashion, Linus. You said I should keep up with it.’

‘Well, you haven’t been, have you, you silly bitch. Remus, can’t you do anything right?’

‘I try, Linus, really-’

‘The hell you do. You’ve only got to look at Claudia to see what a pig’s ear you’ve made of it.’

‘Her maid’s sick, that’s why she’s wearing a bun.’

‘You make me sick, you know that? The old man’s got you tutors for the children, he’s got you nannies and nursemaids coming out your ears-you can’t complain you haven’t got the time.’

‘That’s another thing, Linus, I never get to see my own children.’

‘For gods’ sake, woman, all I ask is you keep yourself smart, be a credit to the Collatinus name, and you can’t even do that right.’

‘I do, Linus. I am. I mean…but the children, I hardly ever-’

‘Then what’s that ridiculous confection stuck on your head? You look like a common tart.’

Claudia shook her head. If there were prizes for being a berk, Linus would win the crown. Given time, he could probably make it an Olympic event.

It was because she was at the far end of the colonnade, listening at Portius’s door, that Claudia failed to catch the rest of what passed between Linus and his wife.

‘You do it on purpose, don’t you, you selfish cow?’

The back of Linus’s hand lashed against Corinna’s cheek, sending her reeling against the table.

‘You embarrass me on bloody purpose.’

Corinna struggled to her feet. ‘Linus, that’s not true-’

‘Shut up, bitch!’

A fist cannoned into her stomach and she fell, doubled up, on to the floor. His foot rammed into her lower back and she screamed out in agony.

‘Do that once more, you worthless cow, and I’ll give you the hiding of your life.’

Linus directed another kick into her ribs, then pulled her to her knees by the hair. He hit her hard in the mouth. Not once, but twice.

‘You show some respect for the family name.’ He jerked her roughly towards him and bent to look at her, a grimace contorting his face. ‘Croesus, you’re ugly.’ He recoiled. ‘Ugly and scrawny and lazy and stupid. No other man would take you if I divorced you-which I could, you know, any day I choose. So what do you say?’

Corinna swallowed the blood in her mouth.

He twisted her hair so hard, a clump came loose in his fingers. ‘I asked you a question.’

‘Th-thank you.’

A balled fist thudded into her breast. ‘Louder, you ungrateful bitch.’

The room swam and went dark, but Corinna forced herself to rally. She daren’t pass out. Not right now.

‘I s-said th-thank you, Linus.’ The words were slurred from the swelling on her lip. ‘I’m g-grateful for everything you’ve done f-for me.’

Linus let go of her hair and straightened up. ‘So you bloody should be.’

Corinna began to sob uncontrollably, her muscles convulsing, as Linus brushed his hands together and finished off the last of his wine.

‘Well, that should teach you a lesson,’ he said conversationally, as he stood over her and began to untie his loin cloth. ‘Now let’s have a bit of fun.’

The deluge might have stopped, but the clouds were still low and threatening as Marcus Cornelius Orbilio slipped unobtrusively out of the slaves’ entrance. For warmth this evening he’d opted for a long cloak rather than his toga, since freedom of movement was essential for the job in hand, and to that end the bulk was thrown over one arm with the weight at the other shoulder taken by a brooch. He was fully aware he looked less the professional on the job, more a young man on the razzle.

He paused in the shadows to sniff the air in the same way a dog will. All too soon the rich scents of Mother Earth would be overwhelmed by the more customary smells of sheep and their by-products, so he filled his lungs with the cool, fresh air. When bleaching started again, when it was dry enough to stretch the wool in the open, the air would be foul with sulphur and some of the pigments they used in the dyeshed stank abominably. He’d enjoy this while he could!