Marilyn Todd - Virgin Territory

It did not occur to her to ask the boy how he knew she intended to confront Collatinus.

*

You’d think nothing out of the ordinary had taken place. Slaves with buckets scrubbed the floors, polished the statues, dusted the tables, chairs and couches. A smell of sprats and cabbage and poached plums filtered through from the kitchen, and someone was singing a song to which Claudia sang different words. Marius and Paulus lay flat on their stomachs, prodding a wooden boat back and forth across the pool. Vilbia sat, tongue between her teeth in concentration, playing with her favourite knitted doll.

Claudia crossed to the garden, alive with the crunch of sand against stone as paths were swept, laurels were clipped and plants were watered. Eugenius’s room was at the far end, but before she could reach it, a blond figure intercepted.

‘Claudia!’ He was slightly out of breath, his hands hidden in an unsightly lump beneath his pallium. ‘You look as ravishing as ever.’

It was true. Between them, Claudia’s make-up box and her natural instinct to hide her emotions had veiled every trace of the turmoil within.

‘I…’ The beguiling accent hesitated. ‘I have something for you. A gift.’

From his pallium he revealed his secret. Claudia blinked several times.

‘Why, um, thank you.’ A pigeon? ‘Diomedes, that is… Well, what I mean to say is…’ She gave what she hoped was a light, silvery laugh as he pressed the fluttering bird into her hands. ‘You’ve no idea how much this means to me.’

‘Really?’ His cheeks flushed.

‘Oh yes. Really. I shall…treasure it. Always.’ Dammit, the bloody thing was already pecking her finger, but Diomedes looked so happy it seemed churlish to throw it back at him.

To her infinite relief he said, ‘I must go now,’ and his eyes, surprisingly, were moist.

Claudia’s smile was both practised and perfect, and the instant his back was turned, she stuffed the pigeon into the hands of the slave collecting the clippings. If it was going to poop, let it poop on someone else. She shook her stola, mint green and flattering, leaving a sprinkle of white feathers in her wake. She did not wait for Eugenius to reply to her knock.

‘Welcome back, my dear.’ The old man sat in his chair behind a desk, papers spread in front of him. Dexippus sat to his right, Fabius and Linus stood before him. ‘Enjoy the celebrations?’

For one absurd moment she thought he was referring to Utti, then remembered the festivities in Agrigentum in honour of some local deity whose name began with a K or an F or something, and which seemed years away, rather than hours.

‘Splendid.’ He hadn’t waited for an answer, the response was automatic.

A small shiver ran through Claudia as her senses sharpened and her brain clicked up a gear. She was about to witness the real Eugenius in action. Not the sanitized version he had allowed her to see up till now, the old-man-reminiscing version, the old-man-with-his-family version, which, whilst not actually exuding warmth and affection, was not cold or wooden either. No, the gloves were off and the self-same instincts that fired the inveterate gambler in Claudia were aroused. Her heart beat just that little bit faster, her eyes were just that little bit sharper, her mouth just that little bit drier.

Eugenius started laying into Linus, leaving Claudia with a sackful of mixed feelings. It was unquestionably satisfying, watching him wither and wilt under the onslaught, shrinking with each verbal missile, but Linus was not the type to let it rest. He would vent his anger and frustration later. On his wife.

‘How many times have I told you, you fathead, I don’t want cattle on my farm. I’m a sheep farmer, not a bloody cow man.’

‘But-’

‘Those brutes are neither use nor ornament. How much did you pay for them?’

‘About-’

‘You were ripped off. The buggers are too old to breed, and if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times, good cattle have thick necks. Janus, I could wring one of those in my own puny fist!’

‘I wanted-’

‘Get out.’

Linus opened his mouth.

‘I said, get out!’

Linus’s face was dark with indignation, but Claudia noticed the door closed quietly on its hinges. Dexippus’s thick lips smirked openly as Eugenius turned his attentions to his favourite.

‘And you, boy, I expected better things from you.’ Fabius had drawn himself up to his full height, shoulders back, staring straight ahead, two decades of army training standing him in good stead.

‘Yessir.’

‘White rams, I said, and what do you bring me? White rams with-what, boy?’

‘Black tongues, sir.’

‘What did I tell you about black-tongued rams?’

‘They breed black-spotted lambs.’

‘And do I want black-spotted lambs?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Then get rid of them.’

‘Yessir.’

That was Fabius for you. Nerves of steel and a brain to match. It was interesting, she thought, as he reached the door in three long strides, to see the sprig of bay clipped to his tunic. She had learned much from her father, the army orderly. Admittedly he wasn’t home very often, but you picked up a lot in the short time he was there. Like, for instance, how soldiers wore bay to sanctify them from the blood they had spilled…

Her mind was busy digesting this when Eugenius rounded on his secretary. ‘And you, you idle oaf, get off your fat arse and chase up that bitumen shipment. You know damned well I can’t dip my sheep until it arrives.’

‘I checked yesterday, Master.’

‘It should have been here yesterday, you dithering fool, now get out there and see what’s holding it up.’

The smirk on Dexippus’s face had given way to an expression dripping with obsequiousness. ‘I’ll see to it straight away, Master. You can rely on me, Master.’

He backed out of the door, and Eugenius swept the papers on his desk onto the floor with a backward flip of the hand.

‘Where’s Acte?’

The question startled her. ‘She’s er-’

‘Dammit, I don’t know what she’s up to lately, didn’t even bother to bring me my breakfast this morning. Have you signed that contract yet?’

Claudia felt she was walking on quicksand. ‘Contract?’ She was stalling and he knew it.

‘You know damn fine what I’m talking about, young lady, and I want to know when-’

He stopped, realizing that he was in danger of overstepping the mark. This was the very reason he hadn’t shown his true colours before, and he wouldn’t risk spoiling his chances now.

‘Pour us both a drink,’ he said, ‘and tell me whether you think that position there is humanly possible, or whether the woman would need to be double-jointed.’

Claudia did not look at the pornographic frieze he was pointing to, neither did she pour the wine.

Eugenius Collatinus knew a challenge when it was dangled in front of him, and his eyes twinkled appreciatively. ‘I like you,’ he said.

‘It’s not mutual,’ she replied, but there was no sting in her voice.

‘You’ll make a good team, you and-Aieee!’ His face contorted and his hands flew to his stomach.

‘I’ll fetch Diom-’ she began, and got no further.

‘Stay.’ There was no mistaking the authority, even through the pain. ‘It’s just the colic.’

Claudia waited until the pains abated before pointing out, purely as a matter of interest, that she had seen colic.

He winced as he gave a short laugh. His face was grey and beaded with sweat. He drank the wine she poured, and they both pretended it was alum water.

‘I like sheep,’ he said eventually. ‘I dip them, I brand them, I clip them, I lamb them.’ He looked very small and shrivelled in his ivory chair. ‘I don’t have to bother about plagues of thistles or how bad the blight will be this year.’