I, Claudia (2 page)

Flavia was the youngest of Gaius’s brood and when her mother died in childbirth, she had been fostered out to Gaius’s only surviving sister. Many times Claudia had pondered the conundrum: was Julia frigid because she was childless, or was she childless because she was frigid?

‘I thought you disliked Miss Julia, madam.’

‘Frightful woman. Can’t stand her. Stola, please, Melissa.’

But even a sister-in-law has her uses from time to time. Sweeping into the courtyard in fresh, ice-blue linen, she threw wide her arms. ‘Julia, darling! I had no idea you were here.’

Her sister-in-law, bony, birdlike and a decade older shot her a sideways glance. ‘I thought you were out,’ she said sharply.

‘Oh, you know what slaves are like these days.’ Claudia waved an arm dismissively. ‘I was lying down.’ She tapped her temple. ‘Headache, you know.’

Julia’s eyes became even more hawklike, but Flavia saved the day by bursting into another fit of tears. ‘I don’t want to marry him,’ she howled.

‘Want doesn’t come into it,’ her aunt snapped. ‘It’s arranged and wed him you will. Your father’s fixed a good match with Antonius. He’s a leading figure in the Treasury, isn’t he? Draws a top-grade salary and is an old friend of your father’s as well. What more can you ask for?’

‘He’s old…’

Julia and her sister-in-law exchanged glances. ‘Mature,’ Claudia corrected. Antonius was the same age as Gaius.

‘It’s not fair.’ Flavia began to chew nails which were already down to the quick. ‘First he was engaged to Calpurnia, and when she died he was foisted on to me like some old hand-me-down.’

‘Exactly my point.’ Julia slapped the girl’s hand away from her mouth. ‘Your father thought him good enough for his eldest daughter didn’t he? Give thanks Antonius is still interested in the family alliance.’

Flavia pouted. ‘He wants babies straight away and I don’t. I’m too young.’

‘Nonsense,’ Claudia said briskly. ‘I’d already had one daughter by the time I was your age and was heavy with my second.’

It wasn’t true, of course, but if she stuck to the story well enough, in another year or three—who knows?—she might even come to believe it herself.

Julia moved closer to her sister-in-law. ‘I think it might be the,
er,
physical side that’s putting her off,’ she whispered.

‘Fennel.’

‘Oh?’ Julia’s eyebrows raised in surprise. ‘Does that make you…more…or less…you-know-what?’

‘I meant for her nerves,’ Claudia snapped.

‘Oh.’ The older woman inched further towards her. ‘Actually, I was rather hoping you’d have a word with her about the wedding. Or to be more precise, about what happens
after
the festivities.’

‘Certainly not.’

‘But you and Gaius…the age difference…I mean, you’re Flavia’s stepmother, it would reassure her—’

‘No. And for goodness’ sake, do get the child to shut
up!’

Deaf to her stepdaughter’s tearful protests, Claudia clapped her hands and called for wine. Flavia’s wedding arrangements were part of her duty. Regrettable, but there you are. She resigned herself to lengthy discussions and prayed Jupiter would send a thunderbolt to break up the proceedings quickly. Instead Julia’s thin claw held out her latest pendant.

‘I wanted to canvas your opinion on this,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure the silversmith has got it right, the balance seems somewhat uneven. What do you think?’

Claudia stood up, vowing to make a really good sacrifice to Jupiter first thing in the morning. Maybe a nice white calf?

‘What I think is that my head’s thumping. I’m going to lie down.’

She’d established her presence, there was no need to prolong the ghastly encounter with this constipated old cabbage.

‘Oh?’ Julia hopped forward and peered closely. ‘Hmm. I suppose you don’t look too well. Very pale.’ The hooded lids finally conceded defeat and Julia gathered up her belongings. ‘And rather waxen, too,’ she admitted. ‘You’re not coming down with anything, are you?’

Claudia shrugged noncommittally. ‘Who knows?’ she said feebly. ‘Who knows?’

The veiled threat was sufficient to send Julia and her snivelling stepdaughter packing with all speed, and Claudia sincerely hoped it might be sufficient to keep the tiresome pair at bay for at least another week. Snatching up a goblet and a jug of honeyed wine, she marched back up to her bedroom and threw herself down on the couch. A small Egyptian cat with a wedge-shaped face and blue, crossed eyes bounded up beside her, rattling with pleasure.

Melissa poked her head round the doorway. ‘Would you like—’

‘Get out!’ Three fat cushions hurtled towards her. ‘And stay out!’

The cat poured itself into the hollow of her shoulder, butting Claudia’s chin with its head. Stroking it thoughtfully, Claudia sipped at her wine.

‘Well, Drusilla,’ she said at last. ‘Have we pulled it off?’

Sooner or later someone would walk in and discover the dead senator, mother-naked and trussed like wildfowl, and the search would be on for his killer. A noblewoman dressed in the very finest cotton would stick out like a snake among sweetmeats in that tenement, and you simply couldn’t count the number of people who’d seen her go in and come out. That stola was the trouble.

‘Still, it would’ve engendered a damned sight more gossip had I discarded that fine and distinguished symbol of Roman womanhood, don’t you think? Anyway, the point is—would anyone there be likely to recognize us?’

Drusilla began to knead gently, the tips of her claws snagging at the fine linen.

The cat and Claudia had been together for seven years, long before Claudia took up as a dancer in Genoa, and having found each other, both of them lonely and starving and living off their wits, there wasn’t a single secret they hadn’t shared since.

‘Prrrrrr.’

‘Me neither.’

Melissa had burned the evidence, Julia and Flavia had provided the perfect alibi. All the same…

She drained the goblet in one swallow. She’d seen some sights in her time, but many moons would wax and wane before Claudia, inured as she was, would forget the corpse of Quintus Aurelius Crassus, a stab wound to the heart and two bloody, raw holes where his eyes should have been. This made the fourth such murder in the past six months and each of the victims had been a respectable, high-ranking official. The authorities, under that foul-mouthed midget Callisunus, were no doubt sweating their sandals off in the search for a common link. So far they hadn’t found it, but Claudia knew what—or rather who
—
that link was.

Her.

‘We’ve got a problem here, poppet.’

The cat snuggled up under her ear and drew a long, deep, contented breath.

‘It can only be a matter of time before they latch on to us, then dear old Gaius will know what we’ve been up to. Now we can’t have that, can we?’

‘Mrrow.’

Gaius Seferius was old and he was fat and his breath smelled, but he was frightfully rich and, praise be to Hymen, he didn’t pester her for sex. His family was grown up, and he didn’t want another, although his position as one of the most successful wine merchants in the city had dictated that he ought to remarry. So why not take pity on the young and lovely widow of a judge from the Northern Provinces, grieving for an entire family wiped out in the plague? Providing she didn’t interfere in any of his activities, commercial or personal, Claudia had everything at her disposal. She bridged her fingers in concentration.

‘Shame patricians were out of the question, eh, Drusilla?’

Too bloody canny, that’s why. Never dream of taking anyone on face value, no matter how tragic the circumstances. Pity, really, because Claudia was hellbent on having aristocratic children. She might not make the grade herself, but by Jupiter she’d get at least one son in the Senate if it was the last thing she did. One million sesterces, that’s what it needed. One measly million. Still. She had settled for a leading light in the equestrian order, the next best thing, and although the marriage hadn’t been consummated, compensation came in the knowledge that Gaius’s chest pains occurred with increasing regularity. It could only be a matter of time before tragedy struck and she was widowed ‘again’—and
then
she could think about bearing sons for promotion to the Senate.

Yes, indeed. It was merely a question of waiting… Unfortunately, after less than a year of mixing with empty-headed matrons with whom she had nothing whatsoever in common, Claudia realized, somewhat to her disquiet, that wealth, social standing and a life of luxury were nowhere near enough. It wasn’t that she regretted the wheeling and dealing that had been necessary to hook Gaius, far from it, it was simply that she’d been living on the edge for too long to suddenly give up the thrills. In short, she needed stimulation. Thus to feed the giant cuckoo she had hatched, Claudia had resorted to her old business activities.

‘What do you think we should do?’

Drusilla’s rough tongue was abrasive on her cheek, but she made no effort to draw away.

‘So do I, poppet. Because if we don’t find out who’s knocking off our clients, someone else will and that’ll really put the fox among our comfy little chickens.’

She kissed the cat between its ears and swallowed a whole goblet of warm, honeyed wine. Drusilla lifted her face, twitched her ears in the direction of the door and let out a short, guttural growl. Claudia tapped the side of her mouth thoughtfully.

‘Yes, that had crossed my mind, too.’

The cat’s eyes had become mere slits. ‘Rrrrow.’

‘I know, Drusilla. Irrespective of who he is, we’re going to have to kill him, aren’t we?’

I
II

‘There’s a very handsome gentleman to see you, madam. Gives his name as Marcus Cornelius Orbilio.’

Claudia glanced at Melissa in the mirror. ‘To see me? Not my husband?’

‘You, madam.’

She was in a good mood. They had just returned from the Field of Mars, where, victorious from his campaign against the Alpine tribes in Gaul, Augustus unveiled his testament to success, the magnificent Altar of Peace. Watching the Tiber roll gently past as the Emperor expounded on a glorious age of sunshine and gold, where civil war was a thing of the past and expansion of the empire the only way forward, there wasn’t a Roman left standing who wasn’t bursting his tunic with patriotic pride. Mighty restorations had already begun—roads, bridges, temples, the lot. Why, in Rome alone eighty-two major renovation works were in progress. Day and night hammers reverberated round the city, turning brick into marble, clay into stone.

‘Then don’t just stand there, girl. Show him into the garden.’

She dabbed scent delicately behind her earlobes, prodded a wayward curl back into place and slid another gold ring on her long, slim finger. As an afterthought, she clipped a black onyx brooch to her tunic.

He was sitting on a white marble bench in the shade of a sour apple tree. High patrician nose. Firm square jaw. And a mop of dark, curly hair which showed no signs of thinning. Claudia doubted whether there was an ounce of fat on his body and conceded he’d make a formidable adversary, although at the moment he seemed to have met his match.

Back arched and hackles raised, Drusilla advanced sideways, growling menacingly in the back of her throat.

‘Pretty kitty.’

Claudia thought his voice lacked a certain conviction.

‘Mrrrrow.’

‘There you are, poppet.’ She scooped the glowering cat into her arms and turned to her visitor. ‘I see you’ve met Drusilla.’

Marcus Cornelius Orbilio stood up. ‘Claudia Seferius?’

‘Do I look like one of the slaves? What do you want?’

Orbilio glanced at Drusilla, who was scowling at his face as though she’d like to shred it to pieces, and squared his shoulders.

‘I’m empowered by the Security Police to investigate the murders of four high-ranking officials—’ He paused, and Claudia’s quick wits sent her bending to park an indignant Drusilla on the ground, knowing it would pass off the flood of colour to her face.

‘And?’

‘And I wondered whether you could spare me a little of your valuable time.’

Valuable time! Claudia clapped her hands and called for wine and figs and some pecorino cheese, which was her favourite. Then she forced herself to stare him out. Drusilla jumped up on to the sundial and copied her mistress.

‘Yes, well… Perhaps I can begin with asking you how well you knew Crassus.’

‘Who?’

‘Quintus Aurelius Crassus, the senator whose body was found in, shall we say,
unusual
circumstances last Saturday.’

‘Oh, him. Hardly at all. Why?’

‘Didn’t he dine here a week or two back?’

That was a shot in the dark, she thought. If he knew for certain, he’d name the date. ‘Everybody dines here at some stage,’ she said. ‘Was he the one who’d just come back from some dire little outpost?’

She turned to the dark-skinned slave girl hovering with the tray who was obviously hanging on every word. ‘Clear off, you. I’ll see to this.’