I, Claudia

IX

Claudia was engrossed in thought as her entourage wove its way through the maze of temples, arches, halls and rostra that comprised the Forum. Progress through the throng of orators and philosophers, barbers and beggars was slow, and donkeys carrying stone for the restorations were becoming bad-tempered in the stifling heat. To her left rose the twin peaks of the Palatine where the imperial residence and a sumptuous temple to Apollo dominated the skyline, while on her right work was in progress on the Capitol in the form of a temple to Jupiter in praise of Augustus’s escape from lightning during his recent Spanish campaign. At times the builders’ hammers threatened to drown the clamour in the Forum. Claudia snapped shut the distinctive orange curtains of her litter.

Poor Gaius. The death of his favourite had come as a body blow. He’d crumpled instantly and remained inconsolable. She chewed her lip. Terrible business. From the moment of his birth, Lucius had been groomed to take over the business, to ensure Seferius wine continued to reach the same exacting standard expected of it, and over the years the boy had proved himself a capable organizer, a hard worker in the mould of his father.

Rollo explained he’d died from eating bad fish, and round the table heads nodded solemnly in commiseration. There was hardly a Roman in the empire who didn’t know of a friend or relative who’d perished along the same unfortunate route. Yet, glancing round the dining room the instant the news was broken, Claudia noticed that, with the exception of Gaius, none of the family looked particularly distressed. Including herself, it had to be said. Surprised, yes, but no signs of grief-even from the boy’s sister. And for Flavia not to snivel was, in itself, rather interesting.

‘Alms! Alms!’

A leprous hand, bound with filthy bandages, thrust itself under the curtains of the litter. Claudia hit it as hard as she could with the sole of her sandal and watched its hasty retreat. The oath that accompanied it lacked a certain charity, she thought.

Driven by grief and a desperate need to oversee this season’s transformation of fruit to wine, Gaius had left at first light the following day, accompanied by the poor bailiff who had been forced to repeat the arduous journey without so much as a decent night’s sleep. Claudia had kept her head down in the fervent hope her husband might have forgotten her until he was well underway-by retiring early and cocking a deaf ear to the clatter of hooves and the shouts of the grooms right under her window-but, luck wasn’t with her. She was hastily summoned to his room on the point of departure and issued with a long list of instructions, culminating in the inevitable: she must join him and the family at the villa when she’d finished, it was her duty.

‘Bugger.’

As the litter lurched, she picked up a fan of ostrich feathers and frantically began flapping. Bugger, bugger, bugger.

‘We can’t stay long,’ Gaius had said miserably. ‘I need to be back in time for the Wine Festival.’

For a wine merchant, this was the second most important event in the calendar, although little consolation that was. Not when there’s a whole blessed month in between with nothing to do except stagnate at that wretched farm. Claudia ground her teeth. I’ll miss all the fun of the festivals, and I do so enjoy the Lucaria. People would congregate in the groves, singing and dancing and picnicking for two luscious days, followed by ten whole days of the Caesarian Games. Then there’d be all the processions, the parties, the thanksgivings-oh, dammit, Gaius, I’ll miss the whole bloody lot! Mind you, I told him straight. This is the Nones, I said, there’s no way one poor helpless female could possibly work through that onerous list before the Ides. No way at all. Sceptical even in grief, Gaius compromised on a week and even as she waved him off Claudia congratulated herself on screwing seven days out of him. Two were more than adequate. Oodles of time to lap up what’s left of Apollo’s Games!

Not that she’d forgotten her quest, because Claudia was well aware that for some poor sod time was running out. It didn’t take a mathematical genius to work out that the murders were being committed with greater frequency and that, by definition, the killer’s confidence would be growing with each one. There had been times, of course, when she’d wondered whether the fact that the four dead men happened to be punters was pure coincidence. Those thoughts, however were confined to moments when the moon was high and her spirits were low. Of the five clients she’d cornered this week, every last one expressed profound shock at the suggestion they might have revealed the relationship. To them the arrangement was as sacrosanct as it was pleasurable, they said-although she freely acknowledged their sentiments may well have been swayed by the knowledge that, if their family and friends found out, they’d be both ostracized and ridiculed.

Moral austerity was the order of the day, with the Emperor introducing more and more laws to tighten any lapses. If the penalties for adultery were crippling, it was nothing compared to those for the type of activities Claudia’s clients were paying for. It was ironic, when you thought about it, such strict decrees from a man who once prostituted himself for three thousand gold pieces, and negotiated his inheritance to the Empire by agreeing to become Julius Caesar’s catamite.

Using charm and guile, she’d also managed to establish alibis for three of them, including Flamininus, the censor who was away in Lanuvium at the time. Claudia continued to flap the ostrich feathers. Pity, really. He’d have been easy to kill and his wife would probably have been exceptionally grateful. She sighed. Such is life, she thought. Never as straightforward as you’d like.

Oh well, she might find out more at the baths this morning, and if not, then there were plenty of compensations to be gained. The steam room, a hot bath, a spot of gossip, a good rub-down-not to mention the prospect of a wager or two on the men in the exercise yard. How many press-ups they could manage, how many balls they could juggle, even silly bets, like how many sausages they might eat. There was always another like mind, eager to swap coins.

‘What the…?’

The mood of the crowd had changed suddenly, turning ugly and riotous and her slaves could no longer maintain the litter at shoulder height. It was now joggling from side to side. Claudia edged the curtains apart a fraction. They were halfway between the Forum and the baths, taking a short-cut down one of the side streets, but the chants and jeers were too close for comfort.

‘Turn back, Junius!’

All too often the populace turned nasty about their handouts of grain-something to do with not getting them, she supposed. Nevertheless, it wasn’t her business.

‘Juno!’

Without warning the litter tipped over, tossing her on to the pavement like a sack of turnips. She managed to land safely, suffering only grazes in the process, and looking around decided she could count herself jolly lucky. Tempers were flaring. Fists were beginning to fly.

‘Down here!’ Claudia beckoned her slaves, but when she glanced over her shoulder she was alone. She paused on the corner. Sweet Jupiter where on earth were they? ‘Melissa? Junius?’

Now she looked carefully, all seven servants seemed to have been swallowed up in the fighting, including the women.

‘Damn!’

Sending up a quick prayer to Mars to keep an eye on them, Claudia decided she could waste no further time. She picked up her skirts and ran full pelt down a dark, deserted alleyway between two tenement blocks. As she raced past the coppersmith’s, an arm lashed out and pulled her into the workshop. She tried to scream, but a strong hand clamped itself over her mouth.

‘Hello, Claudia.’

The voice was soft, low-and very menacing.

Squirming and wriggling, she managed to bite into one of the fingers. ‘Let go of me, you bastard.’

‘I can no do that, Claudia.’ She’d bitten deep, but he’d not so much as winced. ‘Not until we have quiet little chat.’

She spat out his blood. ‘Let me go!’

Her feet were kicking his shins and her nails were clawing at the arm round her waist, but she was held fast. There was a clatter of metal as they crashed into buckets, bowls and sheets of copper.

‘Now, now, Claudia,’ He spoke with a thick Thracian accent. ‘We got few things to sort out, yes? Like, you know, the money you owe Master Lucan.’

She could place him now. It was Otho. The man who breaks legs for a living.

‘Sod off, bonehead.’ She reached for a hammer which he kicked away. Jupiter, he was a big bugger, too. Made of iron, most like. All Thracians were, weren’t they?

‘Tch, tch, tch. That no very ladylike. Why don’t you and me go to the back and talk this thing through? I’m sure we can come to an arrangement to suit everybody, yes? After all,’ his voice sounded quite conversational, ‘you don’t want house calls, no?’

‘Go fuck yourself!’

Suddenly she was slammed against the wall and a huge paw gripped her chin. His thumb and forefinger pinched deep into her cheeks.

‘Listen to Otho, you foul-mouthed bitch. You no in position to tell anybody what to do, understand?’

Her head was hurting badly from where it hit the wall, she’d bitten her tongue and she was also feeling sick. Whether the nausea was from the knock or from fright wasn’t really important.

‘What do you want?’

‘Good girl.’ The voice was back to its low, sibilant menace. ‘Now let’s go out back and talk, yes?’

He jerked his thumb towards the terrified coppersmith cowering in the shadows.

‘And you. Start hammering or you won’t have no hand to hammer with.’

Claudia found herself bundled into the back of the workshop, the ringing of the metal making her dizzy. To her surprise, there were tears in her eyes. Otho shoved her towards the back wall. Close up, she could see there was a deep red scar running the length of his cheek and she shivered. What befell the man who made it didn’t bear thinking about.

‘How much does he want?’ Dear Diana, was that squeak hers?

Otho placed his hands flat against the wall. She wasn’t pinned, but the result was the same. ‘How much you owe Master Lucan?’

‘T-t-two thousand sesterces.’

‘Two thousand four hundred.’ Otho bared his teeth. ‘You forgotten the interest.’

That much? Bugger. This visit was turning into a right bloody mess, she couldn’t let it continue.

‘All right. I’ll send him a hundred sesterces by…by the middle of next week.’ Miracles do happen occasionally, but this at least would buy her time.

Otho leaned forward, his face almost touching her own. ‘Three hundred,’ he whispered. ‘By the weekend.’

She felt whatever colour was left drain out of her face. ‘I can’t do that!’ Even if I throw myself on Gaius’s mercy and for some unbelievable reason he said yes, it was still impossible. ‘My husband’s away. There’s been a death in the family.’ Good heavens, was this pitiful babble really her? ‘I can’t raise three hundred in time.’

One finger gently traced a line down her cheek. ‘Three hundred, Claudia. Or you and I, we be matching book-ends. You have my promise on that.’

Her mind made rapid calculations. Would Gaius divorce her if she was disfigured? Not if she told him it was a vicious street gang. Except…except she’d look like a bloody chequerboard by the time Otho had finished and Lucan still wouldn’t be any closer to getting his account settled!

‘Look. Maybe you and I could do a deal.’ She tried to calm her breathing. ‘Instead of spending your money on tavern girls, suppose you and I…got together?’ The raddled old whores only charged eight asses, it would take three lifetimes!

‘Maybe.’ His accent was so thick now, it was almost unrecognizable. ‘But first let Otho see what he’ll be getting.’

His left hand slid slowly along her shoulder down her upper arm and across to her breast. She shuddered involuntarily and watched his face split into a grin. Claudia thought she’d never seen anything more closely resembling a death rictus. Her heart was thumping. This man enjoys hurting people. She forced herself to look him in the eye as his hand moved inside her stola and under her tunic.

‘Nice tits.’ He began to squeeze.

She could bring her knee up, now, and…

‘Well? Do we have a deal or don’t we?’

As his right hand moved between her legs two men burst through the door from the workshop, dragging a third man, bruised and bleeding.

‘Junius!’

The coppersmith hammered frantically in the background. There was no rhythm to it, he was simply pounding the metal as though his life depended on it. Which, of course, it might.

‘Look what we’ve found sniffing around the shop.’ They were laughing. ‘Her ladyship’s dog.’

Otho grabbed hold of Claudia’s hair and dragged her forward by it. ‘Yours, yes?’ His voice was back to its quiet, conversational menace. ‘What you think this mongrel’s after?’

Junius tried to struggle free, but a boot thudding into his kidneys changed his mind. He buckled to his knees. They hauled him upright.

‘Leave him alone!’

Otho moved forward to look at him. ‘I wonder maybe this dirty dog he cock his leg up her ladyship? What you think, boys?’

The lewd gestures sent Claudia’s blood cold. ‘Don’t be disgusting. He’s just a slave, let him go.’

The two thugs pretended to howl and bark.

“We can no do that, Claudia. You see, he been very bad dog,’ Otho said quietly, fixing Claudia with his eye. ‘He poke around in places that no concern him. We have to teach him a lesson.’

‘He was only looking for me, for pity’s sake. He’d get a thrashing if he returned alone.’

Otho ignored her. ‘Show him price for being naughty, boys.’

The thugs exchanged glances and grinned. Junius’s eyes pleaded with Claudia, but as she moved towards him Otho jerked her back by the hair, bringing tears to her eyes.

‘You watch.’ He twisted her hair round his wrist and pulled it tight.

There was nothing she could do as one thug laughingly headbutted the young Gaul on the nose, sending a stream of blood pouring down his tunic. As Junius’s hands flew towards his face, the headbutter rammed a pole behind his elbows to render him helpless while the other slipped a ring of metal round his knuckles. One held the pole firm as the other systematically pummelled the boy’s ribs. Claudia heard a sickening crack before they turned their attention on the softness of his stomach and kidneys. When they finally finished, panting from their efforts, Junius crumpled to the floor-and this time they left him.

‘Not just dogs.’ Otho ran his finger down Claudia’s cheek again. ‘Naughty bitches, too,’ he whispered. ‘So no forget, Claudia. Three hundred-by the weekend.’

He finally released her hair.

‘Always a pleasure, Claudia.’ When he planted a kiss on her cheek, she nearly threw up. He stood in the doorway and grinned. ‘Nice tits.’

One of the thugs leaned down over Junius, who was groaning quietly, balled his fist and slammed it into the boy’s mouth. There was a series of crashes from the workshop, as they wrecked it on their way out, their laughter carried away on the breeze.

For a moment Claudia couldn’t move. Breath had left her body, her knees could barely support her and she was shaking from head to foot.

‘Junius, I am so sorry.’ Tears were running down her face as she spoke. ‘I am so, so sorry.’

Gingerly she removed the pole and used her palla to wipe the blood from his mouth and stem the bleeding from his nose. The silence seemed more terrifying than the noise and with every second that passed she flinched, half-expecting to see Otho in the doorway.

‘We’ve got to get out of here,’ she said shakily. ‘Can you walk?’

He nodded, but when she tried to lift him to his feet, the effort proved too much for both of them.

‘Hey, you!’ she called.

But the coppersmith had had enough for one day, the workshop was deserted. At the end of the alley the crowd had dispersed, leaving her male slaves, battered and bruised and looking utterly bewildered as they tried to comfort the sobbing women. Damn you, Lucan. Damn you to hell! Claudia wasn’t naive, she knew what she was tangling with, borrowing money from scum like that, and she’d been waiting for some sort of warning. But she’d never in a million years imagined he might engineer a whole bloody riot and send in his heavies. You can’t keep the likes of Lucan waiting for long, but the raw violence, the sheer brutality of this very first warning, was terrifying. All for two thousand sesterces. Plus four hundred in interest. Juno, the gambling had really got out of hand.

Trembling, Claudia despatched two slaves for Junius. He’d have to share the litter. She couldn’t go on to the baths now, there would be too much talk, and even allowing for the riot, it didn’t go halfway to explaining the state she was in. Thank goodness Gaius was away!

At the house Junius was helped into one of the guest bedrooms. It was the least she could do, give him a decent bed until his broken ribs had healed.

‘Junius, I don’t want you to say a word about what you saw or what you heard, do you understand?’

She’d had to wait until his wounds had been tended and he was alone before she could slip in.

The young Gaul opened his only good eye. ‘I won’t.’

‘I’ll reward you for this, Junius. Give you your freedom. I’ll tell Gaius you saved my life or something. But only if you promise not to tell.’

‘Promise.’ He winced. ‘Are you all right?’

No. That was a bloody hard crack she’d received on the back of the head, not to mention the scare Otho had given her. She was still trembling.

‘I’m fine.’

His ribs had been bound, his face was already swollen like a melon and his torso was more purple than anything else. Almost as an afterthought she wondered whether he had a concubine who ought to be notified. He was a handsome enough boy, and she was pretty certain he wasn’t fooling around with any of the Seferius slaves.

‘Do you have a mistress, Junius?’

The eye widened in puzzlement.

‘I mean, are you in love with anyone?’

The head moved slowly up and down.

‘Shall I send word to tell her you’re hurt?’

The head moved slowly from side to side and the eye misted with what might have been a tear.

‘She already knows,’ he said thickly. ‘But thank you for asking.’