Marilyn Todd - Virgin Territory

It was only a tray of corn and lentils, spelt and honey and, yes, she had to admit that it made one hell of a sticky mess, but Aulus went ape. The slave had done it on purpose, he insisted. A slur on himself, his family, his ancestors and his household gods. Deliberate sabotage of this most solemn of occasions.

The boy shot a haunted glance towards Eugenius’s quarters. ‘But the Master-’

That, although he couldn’t have guessed, was his undoing. Whether it was the drink or the build-up of years of frustration from constantly deferring to Eugenius, Claudia would never know, but Aulus exploded.

‘ I am the Master !’ he roared. ‘Do you hear me? I’m the Master, and I’ll teach you to fuck up my ceremony, you clumsy bastard. Everybody! Outside! I’ll have no blood spilled on my floor.’

Blood?

Aulus clapped his hands. ‘Antefa, take this piece of filth out of my sight. You, fetch some torches and light up the yard.’

The boy’s face had gone white. ‘Wh-what are you going to d-do?’

Aulus mimicked his slave’s quivering. ‘I’m going to chop your bloody thumbs off, boy, that’s what I’m going to der-der-do!’

A gasp rose from the slaves before they filed silently towards the rear of the building and into the square. Aulus barked an order to his steward. Claudia glanced round the rest of the assembly. Dexippus had a strange light in his eye. Acte looked sick. Diomedes was pushing his way towards another exit, presumably to fetch his case. Linus had a hand on his eldest son’s shoulders, propelling him towards the orchard. Fabius whispered something in Marius’s ear. Finally, only Claudia and Aulus remained in the atrium. Senbi passed by, weighing an axe in his hand, wearing the sort of grin that a man wears when he particularly enjoys his work. The splash of the fountain made her feel queasy, but Claudia kept her face expressionless.

‘What’s your problem?’ The contempt in Aulus’s bellow could be heard in Sullium. ‘Think it’s too harsh, do you?’

‘I do, yes,’ she replied slowly, ‘but more importantly I think if a man feels the need to establish his supremacy in such a brutal manner, then he’s totally failed to hit his target.’

The point was further emphasized when the boy watched his thumbs fall from his hands without so much as flinching-though whether Aulus realized his servant had retained moral superiority Claudia very much doubted.

‘Who are you writing to?’

Claudia surveyed the small round face which thrust itself in front of her. Marius might well be nine going on ten, but he had yet to add character to his features, which remained typical of rich boys everywhere who have been given everything they want in terms of toys, education, attention and flattery. Everything, that is, except the one thing they truly need. The love and attention of their parents. Perhaps it was no bad thing he’d latched on to Fabius with a single-minded obsession. It might yet be his salvation from a world of sycophants and sybarites, which was where his other uncle, Portius, was heading.

‘My sister-in-law,’ she replied.

In fact she was composing a reply to Leonides, for nothing in the world would have induced her to write to that frightful old bag.

‘I don’t know why girls bother to learn to write.’ He gave a superior sniff. ‘It’s not as if they do anything with it.’

Claudia ignored him.

‘I speak Greek, you know, and I’m only nine. Even boys in Rome don’t start to learn Greek until they’re eleven, do they?’

Claudia decided not to dignify that with an answer either. She just hoped she was around when Popillia trotted out the two sentences she was so earnestly learning by heart.

‘Not that I’ll need Greek in the army.’ He stood stiffly to attention, shoulders back, chest out, chin up.

Claudia’s pen scratched over the parchment. ‘I appreciate your attempts to conceal my whereabouts from Master Orbilio…’

‘Bet you don’t know how to make camp.’

She laid down her pen. Did this boy say bet ?

‘How much?’ she asked.

A calculating look crept into Marius’s eyes. ‘My bulla against that ring there.’

The boy knew his precious gems, then. Claudia eyed up the amulet round his neck, the little golden globe given to him at birth which was supposed to protect him until he was old enough to go it alone. It would weigh at least an ounce.

‘You’re on.’

Claudia held out her hand and when he did the same, she made his eyes pop by clasping his wrist, warrior-style. Before he could recover from the shock, she was reciting as fast as she could.

‘Find a place which offers grazing and fresh water, but without cover where an enemy might be able to hide. Mark out the corners with coloured flags before digging first the outer defence then the inner. Only when that’s completed can you pitch tents, erecting the centurions’ tents at either end of the horseshoe.’

She held out her hand, palm upwards to receive the bulla. Spanish gold. Nice.

Marius stomped off, his face like thunder, and Claudia slipped the bulla into her tunic. Was it her fault her father had been an orderly in the army? But back to the letter writing. Poor Rollo. She had absolutely no idea what he should be doing up at the farm, but if he wanted to start dunging fields and fumigating presses, let him have his bit of fun.

‘Is that a l.t.r. to R.m.?’

Dear Diana, what was it about the garden this afternoon? Usually the place was deserted, but so far she’d had to fob off Diomedes (who was fast beginning to resemble a limpet), then Matidia, then Marius-and now Paulus.

‘Y.?’

Paulus shrugged. ‘Just w.d.r.d.’

‘Then wonder elsewhere, this is private correspondence.’

Claudia hoped that if she ignored Paulus he’d find someone else to annoy and she concerned herself with what Leonides could say to mollify the banker concerning the 200 sesterces of his she’d invested on that charioteer in the Circus Maximus. It was a cumulative bet, that one, and she was all set to win a full 600 on the Red faction-until Blue put a hub through the spokes of Red’s chariot on the last-but-one turn. Bugger.

‘Are you going to the t.t.r. in A.g.t.m. tomorrow?’

‘Paulus, unless you move p.d.q., you’ll feel the full force of my foot up your a.r.s. Now hop it.’

Odious child.

‘…therefore suggest you tell the banker…’

Hang about, what did Paulus say? T.t.r. in A.g.t.m. Theatre in Agrigentum. Theatre? Claudia clenched her fists with joy. Theatre! She blew a mental kiss to Hercules, patron of the arts and leader of the Muses. Fun and pantomime, laughter and music. The crush of the crowd, the colours of the tunics, the blare of the trumpets, the click of the castanets. People. Milling, spilling, fighting and thrilling. She could almost smell the freshly painted scenery, hear the rattles of the sistrum. Thank you, thank you, Hercules, how can I thank you enough! Tomorrow-Tuesday-Claudia Seferius will be there. And the change of scenery won’t hurt Drusilla, either. She comes from Egypt. Her blood must be used to travelling.

Only first that damned letter to Leonides . ‘…tell the banker I’m very sorry, but the money is locked in my room and-’ And what? Think, think. ‘…and unfortunately I seem to have come away with the key.’ Well done. ‘Sell the Parthian, he’s been nothing but trouble…’

‘Mind if I join you?’

Claudia’s pen slid from her hand, leaving a thick trail of black ink right the way down her pale blue tunic. She could feel teeth grinding together.

‘Eugenius, what a charming surprise.’

Bugger, bugger, bugger.