Marilyn Todd - Virgin Territory

‘Nice boys.’

‘Marius is all right.’ The thick Greek accent was utterly beguiling. ‘He’s fallen under Fabius’s spell, can’t wait to join the army himself.’

‘Eugenius must be thrilled.’

Diomedes grinned. ‘The boy’s only nine, he’ll grow out of it.’

‘Fabius didn’t.’

‘Fabius is an exception.’

True. Soft living and privilege are rarely given up voluntarily, and not for the first time Claudia wondered what had caused Fabius to turn rebel.

‘Paulus, by contrast, is a right little b.s.t.d.’

That was what he did, Paulus, he abbreviated words to form a kind of code you had to crack to converse with him and Claudia knew it drove Eugenius up the wall, tutors coming and going like nobody’s business. Because there was no continuity, problems were exacerbated rather than reduced and Piso’s recent appointment aggravated the matter even further. His obsessive predilection for the cane had concerned more families than you could count and he had moved from pillar to post in consequence. Yet it was that very quality which Eugenius felt might, quite literally, whip the children into line. Time would tell…

‘He’s not alone,’ she replied. ‘Paulus thinks because he’s born rich it gives him all sorts of rights. He-’

Eugenius’s door opened. ‘Diomedes,’ Acte hissed, beckoning frantically. ‘He’s going spare in here!’

‘Coming.’ The Greek pulled a face of reluctance and carried the now congealed meal in to his patient.

Claudia’s mouth twisted in displeasure as she thought of her steward’s letter. Orbilio wasn’t the only subject Leonides had raised. Rollo, the bailiff up at the farm, was after his instructions. Should he start dunging the fields, cleaning the cellars and fumigating the wine press? Also, her banker had called twice, wondering what had happened to the 200 sesterces he lent Mistress Seferius for the weekend, and there was bad blood brewing between two of the slaves, an Iberian and a Parthian, which was causing friction throughout the whole household. Finally, he couldn’t be sure, but Leonides had a feeling someone was syphoning off the household funds, since fifty silver denarii were unaccounted for.

Bugger.

From behind the laurel Claudia was aware of a door opening a mere fraction. It was such a furtive movement in such a bustly house that it aroused the very curiosity it was undoubtedly trying to avoid. She bobbed back behind the bush. Cautiously, a woman covered head to foot in stone-coloured cotton tiptoed out and darted down to the bath house. Intrigued, Claudia counted to thirty then followed. The sight that met her eyes took her breath away.

‘For gods’ sake, Corinna, what happened?’

Her face was puffed up like a pig’s bladder. Somewhere in there was an eye, she supposed. Corinna made a grab for her clothes, but not before Claudia had seen the vast expanse of purple bruising on her body.

‘Has Diomedes seen this?’

Corinna shook her head.

‘Well, he’s in the house now, I’ll call him over-’

A strangled cry cut her short. ‘No!’

‘Corinna, for pity’s sake, you need medical help!’

‘I’m fine. Really. I’m fine.’ She tried so hard to smile. ‘I–I went for a walk in the rain the other night. I tripped, I lost my footing and I fell down the hillside.’

Of course she had. ‘How often do you…trip down the hillside?’

Corinna’s shoulders sagged. ‘Please, if you want to help me, keep this our secret.’

Claudia had been happy to dismiss her as a mouse-well, more a mole, really, since she rarely surfaced-and had she been the one with a claim to invisibility, rather than Sabina, Claudia could have understood it. Now it made sense, the stooped shoulders, the self-effacing colours, the downcast gaze.

‘Give me one good reason.’

Tears welled in Corinna’s eyes. Eye! ‘Just promise me, Claudia. Please .’

She suppressed a shudder. What Linus would do, if he found out she’d been talking, she didn’t dare think about. The beatings were bad enough, but what he expected her to do afterwards was revolting. And it was getting worse. With increased frequency, he was finding new and more humiliating sexual practices to inflict upon her.

‘I’ll do no such thing. Your husband uses you as a punchbag and you expect-’

Corinna gripped her arm with both hands. ‘You don’t understand,’ she wailed. ‘It’s my fault.’

‘Balls.’

‘It is, it’s my fault, I’m a lousy wife, I know I am-’

‘Corinna, stop blaming yourself for this.’ Claudia picked up a sponge and began to bathe the bruises as gently as she could. ‘You need vinegar compresses on those swellings and balsam where the skin’s split.’

‘I don’t keep balsam.’ Corinna didn’t seem to have noticed that no promise was given.

‘I’ll get you some. Then, when you’re better, you pack your things and leave.’

‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘I’ve got four children-’

‘Take them with you.’

‘Eugenius will never let me. He’s got plans for them, plans in the business.’

Claudia steered Corinna into the warm water. A long soak would ease matters considerably, especially if she could put some chalk or something in it. She’d have to check with Diomedes-she could do it at the same time she picked up the balsam.

‘When Eugenius dies, Aulus takes over. Aulus is still under sixty, so by the time he pops off, Fabius will be in his mid-, maybe even late fifties, probably with sons of his own to take over.’

‘But-’

‘But nothing, Corinna. Go back to your family, divorce Linus-ssh! I know it’s difficult, but it’s not unheard of and I’ll stand witness for you.’ Hell, she’d stand up in court and give such a graphic account of Linus’s brutality, half the Collatinus fortune would end up settled on Corinna. ‘It’s the only solution.’

She wondered how grateful Corinna would be. In terms of gold pieces, that is. After all, she was still on the right side of thirty and if she put some weight on the old bones and smiled a bit, she could bag herself a catch in next to no time. She left her thinking it over.

Since only Pacquia and Cypassis were allowed in her room-that was Drusilla’s decision, not Claudia’s-she decided to pick up some titbits for the cat and was just heaping a plate with chicken, duck and sardines when a buzz of excitement went up.

The huntsman is coming, the huntsman is coming.

Claudia practically threw Drusilla’s dinner at her. She didn’t stop to consider what dangerous compulsion motivated her going into the hills with a man so big he could strangle her with one hand, a man whose hut was so remote her body could be picked clean by vultures, devoured by ants. All she knew was that there was something exciting, scary, intoxicating about a man who controlled you with his eyes and with his actions.

A huge boar covered much of the floor space. There was a pile of birds-quail, pheasant, partridge, songbird-and a few hares. No venison, which was a pity, although the last lot was as tough as old boots. In fact, it could well have been a pair of Fabius’s. Smoothing her hair and straightening her tunic, Claudia picked her way to the outside door, where the kitchen slaves had congregated, plying him with wine and honey cakes. Her cheeks were flushed, her heartbeat rapid as she approached the huntsman.

Who was short and squat and approximately ten years older than Aristaeus.

Dammit, she should have realized there’d be swarms of the little beggars.

*

The pines offered shade and a delicious, heady scent. They also offered company. Magpies hopped and chattered in the branches, a squirrel noisily nibbled the seeds of the large, round, stalkless cones, fishing terns splashed into the waters. Claudia scooped up a handful of white sand and let it drift through her fingers. Against her will, the image of a tall, handsome, willowy woman formed itself in her mind, an image which it took considerable effort to dissolve until, finally, all that remained were a few fragments of blue glass.