Marilyn Todd - Virgin Territory

‘Too late now,’ Claudia said aloud to no one in particular. Drusilla was chomping on a flatfish, and Slingshot here was on the horns of a dilemma. Should he continue the ascent or quit while he was ahead?

Cypassis flung open the door and began dashing round. ‘I’m sorry I’m late, madam.’ She collected Claudia’s tunic and sandals and put them away, refilled the water bowl and lit four more lamps all more or less at the same time.

Claudia unhooked the squealing mountaineer and placed him amongst his siblings, who were blotto on the blanket. ‘Slow down, slow down.’

She was in no great hurry, anyway. There was, after all, a limit to the number of castanet-clacking Arabian dancers a girl could cope with over dinner and frankly, that last lot of breast-wobbling came too close to her custard for comfort.

As Cypassis began to heat the curling irons in the brazier and ease the pins from her mistress’s hair, Claudia noticed a silver bangle round her wrist.

‘Where did you get that?’

‘One of the magistrates.’ The Thessalian girl’s cheeks darkened to the colour of half-ripe bilberries. ‘Did I do wrong?’

Claudia let out a throaty chuckle. ‘Let’s just say you didn’t do badly. Now for gods’ sake, get those bloody tongs out before they get too hot to handle.’

Of all the revelries which Julius Domiticus Decianus had planned, tonight’s feast was to be the pinnacle. Urgulania had ordered everything from peacocks’ brains to ostrich steaks, bear cutlets to stuffed crane, and entertainments ranged from full-blown political satires to high camp female impersonators. It promised to be quite a night.

‘I’ll wear the white.’

The hairpin froze in Cypassis’s hand. ‘The white, madam?’

‘Does silver make you deaf? I’m talking about the outfit I bought today.’

She knew what was going through the girl’s mind. Slaves wore white. Noblemen wore white. Noblewomen, most assuredly, did not wear white. Especially not to a banquet given by a city prefect. But since when did etiquette count? All that concerned Claudia was that, when everyone was reclining on the couches, eyes would be exactly where she intended them to be. On the widow of Gaius Seferius, now the owner of a large and prosperous wine business. When transaction time came (and it would) Claudia wanted to be absolutely certain they remembered her.

She ate little and drank less as she scanned the hall for potential clients, but each time her eyes made the tour they were caught by the intensity of one young man in particular. He was wealthy, you could tell from the cut of his tunic, the rings on his fingers, although he was neither patrician nor equestrian or he wouldn’t have been stuck at the back. You couldn’t say he was good-looking-his brow was too low, his eyes too small-but in any case, the look he gave her was not sexual. Just unblinking. Hell, the whole idea was to get noticed, she could hardly complain…

The heat in the banqueting room was fast becoming intolerable and she excused herself to take a walk in the peristyle. Darkness had fallen and yesterday’s drizzle had turned into a steady downpour, but there was no breeze and the colonnade offered shelter enough from the elements. The rain hammering on to the herbs sent up a heavenly waft of bay and rosemary, lavender and roses, while the fountain gurgled and chuckled in the darkness. The statuary here was exquisite, far superior to anything Gaius had commissioned, and she was admiring the compact marble buttocks of a naked warrior when a familiar voice broke the silence.

‘You haven’t savaged me once today. I’m beginning to think you don’t love me any more.’

Marcus Cornelius Orbilio was holding two glasses of wine. When he passed one across, she pretended not to notice the twinkle in his eye.

‘And you practically betrothed to that Mucia trollop!’

She saw his teeth shine in the darkness. ‘I’ll have you know, Claudia Seferius, a lot of women will be sorry when I get married.’

‘Good god, just how many are you planning to marry?’

He laughed softly. ‘Put it this way, I don’t know what you told Julius, but I’m very grateful.’ Wait until you find out what it was.

There was a long silence in which Orbilio leaned one arm against the pillar and propped himself up with it. Claudia continued to scrutinize the white statue.

‘Why aren’t you in Rome?’ he asked eventually.

‘Why aren’t you? It was your damned grainship.’

Tell me about it, he thought. My boss will have my balls on a bellpull for that, and my plans for the Senate have swirled right down the gutter. But when it came to the crunch-

‘It was every bit as criminal for me to walk away as it was for the man who murdered Sabina in the first place.’

‘Gone off Diomedes, then?’

‘Oh, no,’ he said quickly. ‘It’s him all right. I just needed proof.’

‘Which, naturally, you have by the bucketload?’

He jerked his head back so hard it hit the pillar. ‘No,’ he snapped. ‘No, I bloody haven’t.’

The whole purpose of coming to Agrigentum was to find out more about that Greek quack, but no one knew a damn thing about him. Not one damned thing. Still, at least it had established that the manner of Sabina’s murder was-at least on Sicily-quite unique. Evidence, albeit circumstantial, was mounting.

Claudia walked her fingers up the leg of the warrior. ‘That’s not entirely surprising,’ she said. ‘Considering you’ve got the wrong man.’

‘So who’s your money on, that bumbling great oaf Utti?’

Do me a favour. When I bet, I bet on winners. Well, most of the time. ‘No way. He’s forever playing What’s the Time, Mr Wolf with the slave children, giving them piggy-back rides and playing hide and seek.’

Whatever plan he and Tanaquil had hatched, butchering Vestal Virgins wasn’t part of it.

‘Tell me something,’ he said softly. ‘What were you and Sabina up to?’

‘Orbilio, you’ll travel to the Senate a lot faster if you get your damned facts straight.’

‘You’re saying there was no collusion?’

‘You’re the detective. Detect.’

A long silence followed, in which the drumming of the rain on the tiles played accompaniment to the splash of water in the fountain. The scent of pinks filled the cool night air, and a large-winged moth took advantage of the shelter to find nectar in a mallow. Whatever response she might have imagined, it wasn’t to hear him tell her:

‘Your curls have come loose again.’

‘What?’

‘They always do when you shake your head like that.’

This man was so irritating. ‘Come to the point, Orbilio.’

‘Ahem.’

The sound startled them both. Orbilio straightened up and nodded politely. Claudia had to peer round the warrior’s hips to see the intruder. The boy from the banquet? How odd.

‘Claudia Seferius?’ he asked.

She looked him up and down before replying. There was no emotion on his face, only that strange intensity. ‘So?’

Her reaction didn’t throw him. He merely stepped one pace forward and she could see a small mole on his chin. ‘Might I have a word? In private?’

Claudia drained her glass and positioned it carefully, end up, on top of a clipped laurel. ‘You can talk in front of Supersnoop here. He’ll only be eavesdropping in the background otherwise.’

Again no jolt to his confidence, not even a glance at Orbilio. ‘I thought it was time we were acquainted,’ he said casually.

‘Oh, and why’s that?’ she asked.

‘Because my name is Varius Seferius,’ he said. ‘I’m your late husband’s son.’

The rain might have moved on, but the air stayed thick and heavy, the clouds low and oppressive. The windows were wedged open, their hangings fixed back, yet still no breeze found its way to Agrigentum. Every minute of the night threatened to suffocate her and by morning Claudia’s shift was soaked through. Even the wine was warm.