Marilyn Todd - Virgin Territory

Suddenly them things he’d told that young thief last night didn’t seem that despicable after all. Skinning alive was just what the fiend who killed Sulpica deserved.

This was more like it!

Agrigentum’s theatre was throbbing with bodies several thousand strong, pushing and shoving, laughing and joshing, as they made their collective way forward, and Claudia experienced a buzz of excitement at being back amongst the crush. Sullium, the bay and the villa all reminded her very much of frieze paintings. Beautiful-but lifeless. Here, your senses were assaulted on every front, from the smell of the wine and saffron sprayed on the floor (but which clung to your tastebuds like barnacles) through the thin, reedy tunes from the pan pipes to the cheers for the snake-charmers, the jeers for the alms-seekers. All this frolicking just for some pedestrian local deity whose name began with a P or an N or something. Good life in Illyria, what would they do for Minerva their patron?

Despite grey skies and a wind from the north, the city lost none of its splendour. High on its precipice, honey-coloured walls, built to protect and intimidate, served only to enhance its dignity. Lofty temples stood testimony to its prosperity.

Claudia’s driver negotiated a path through the outstretched cups and cans of the beggars hovering round Golden Gate in the south wall. This wasn’t the fastest route to the theatre, but Claudia had a detour to make.

Covering her head with her palla, she mounted the steps of the temple of Hercules. Vast and majestic, it soared into the clouds, a far cry from that poky little affair in Rome. Of course, in Rome he had two, one as leader of the Muses and one as patron of commerce, so perhaps that made up for it. Then again, they did everything on an ostentatious scale in Agrigentum, didn’t they? On the top step she nodded to Junius, who then began the back-breaking process of lugging two large amphorae of wine up to the vestibule.

Bearded like Aristaeus, his head cocked slightly to the right, Hercules was a handsome devil and no mistake. To allay the suspicions of the precinct priests, Claudia, with a fluttering feminine gesture, laid a lyre at his feet as though in honour of the Muses and the priests retreated, satisfied no sacrilege had been perpetrated. Fools. Claudia lifted her palla to show Hercules the crown of laurel she was wearing, so he’d know the real reason for her visit. His commercial role required a men-only approach-rules, she assumed, made because women didn’t run businesses. Yet.

‘You understand, don’t you?’ Of course he did. If Claudia Seferius was to retain her wine business and make money at it, she needed proper backing.

Two amphorae, a tithe against future revenue. And he wouldn’t mind that it was Collatinus and not Seferius wine, would he? It was top quality after all!

Pausing in the doorway, Claudia looked back. It was the angle of his head, surely, but for a split second she thought Hercules winked. Laughing, she pulled off her laurel crown and sent it skimming across the marble floor, where it came to rest before the sacred sandals of a young priest who couldn’t have looked more horrified had he been gang-raped by five male lepers.

As she descended the steps, shaking bay leaves from her hair, Claudia wondered if she oughtn’t to make a second sacrifice. It was all very well having Hercules behind her, but shouldn’t Bacchus be kept sweet, too? Selling the wretched stuff wasn’t enough, was it? A girl needed to be assured of a continuous market… However, she could do that any old time. Right now there was a play about to start, its audience assembling in earnest.

The backdrop of the stage had been painted to represent a street scene of three housefronts and you could almost cool yourself on the marble columns or contemplate buying one of the statues in the niches, they were so lifelike. Judging by the colours of the tunics, the rainbow had been torn apart and scattered to the winds and the air vibrated with a thick mix of Sicilian brogues, Carthaginian cadences and the excited squeals of the children. Fruit sellers were rushed off their feet and Claudia found it wasn’t so much a question of finding a seat as requiring medical insertion. Then, finally-

‘I’ve always maintained,’ she said, squeezing herself in next to the young man at the front, ‘that if a chap has a face that long, he ought not to be allowed out of doors with it.’

Marcus Cornelius Orbilio turned abruptly, his face suffused with colour as well as an emotion she found difficult to pinpoint.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I make a point of never looking miserable in public for longer than I make love in private-and since my seven seconds are up…

Put it down to the jolly atmosphere in the theatre, it was impossible not to laugh with him.

‘I thought you’d gone back to Rome.’ He was forced to shout. With an increasing threat of rain, huge canvas awnings were being cranked over the seats.

I thought you had, too.

‘What?’ she shouted back. ‘And miss out on a good time?’

‘With the Collatinuses?’

‘You know what they say, never look a gift horse in the mouth.’

Orbilio leaned closer. ‘Then you don’t know much about horses,’ he said. ‘I think you’ve been looking at the wrong end.’

The guy ropes were secured, the awnings tight against any shower which might interrupt, and therefore spoil, the play. Sicily had retained so much of its Greekery, Claudia feared they were about to inflict some dire tragedy upon her. It would go with the mood back in Eugenius’s household. In fact, Oedipus would really hit the spot at the moment.

‘Let me introduce you to my friends.’ He was able to speak normally again. ‘Julius Domiticus Decianus, city prefect and…’

That explained the front row seats. Patricians were entitled to good seats, but the best were reserved for civil servants.

‘…his wife, Urgulania.’

They were a charming couple. Genial, middle aged, the very people who would insist on a young aristocrat taking advantage of their hospitality while he was in the area. Claudia felt very comfortable about inviting herself to the feast afterwards.

‘Do you play Countryman?’ asked Julius.

Do I? It’s why I came to Sicily, to play games indoors and out, attend feasts and pageants, watch the bear-baiting, the cock-fighting, the rope dancers…

‘Like a native.’

Providing they’d got a good supply of balls. Claudia did have a slight tendency to whack too hard and knock the feathers out. Especially when she was in a bit of a mood.

‘And knucklebones?’ asked Urgulania.

‘And knucklebones,’ she confirmed, closing her eyes in ecstasy and wondering whether she could ask another fifty for that Parthian.

‘Ah, here she is!’ exclaimed Julius. ‘What kept you, my dear? Claudia, allow me to introduce my lovely daughter, Mucia.’

He slid along to let his daughter slot in between himself and Orbilio. Eighteen years old, fair, tall and slender, Claudia hated the girl on sight.

‘She’s had a hard time of it lately,’ Marcus whispered. ‘Her fiancé jilted her for an heiress in Parma.’

‘Shame.’ Claudia tut-tutted in sympathy. ‘I can see it’s turned her hair quite blonde with worry.’

He began to splutter so badly that Mucia gave him her fig and Claudia was incensed to see Orbilio actually sink his teeth into it. She hoped the pulp splashed down to stain his dazzling white toga right where it showed the most.

Oh yes, this was definitely the day for Oedipus! Two horn players, their cumbersome instruments wrapped round their middles, marched on to the stage, positioned themselves at either wing and let out three long blares, which brought instant hush across the whole auditorium. Just in case someone, somewhere had missed the point, they blasted out another earsplitter. To the roll of unseen drums, the doors to each false house opened and out tumbled three actors. They skipped across the stage, performed a series of headrolls and cartwheels before jumping to an abrupt halt in perfect synchronization, arms outstretched. The audience was on its feet, clapping and cheering and whistling and, dammit, who needs Oedipus when you can have a show like this?