Virgin Territory

XXVI

Claudia did not know where to direct her anger.

From a hundred miles away she heard Tanaquil ask, ‘When?’ and Orbilio reply, ‘Yesterday, at dusk,’ then the sickening reality set in.

Utti. Impaled on a stake. A big man, a tough man, a fighter. Utti, who for those very reasons would have taken hours and hours to die. She imagined the scene, scores of slaves crowding round. Is he dead yet? Is he dead yet? Utti, the wrestler, with his great ham fists and his flattened nose and his cauliflower ears. Utti, the children’s favourite. Utti, impaled on a stake, roaring like a wounded bear, crying like the baby he really was. Alone. Frightened. Unable to comprehend.

Orbilio had dismounted and was doing his best to comfort Tanaquil, who stood as stiff and motionless as a statue. Junius, Kleon, the driver-everyone was open-mouthed and silent.

Claudia leaned against the great wheel of the wagon and was quietly, tidily, efficiently sick. Then, when the shaking subsided, the anger began to grow, intensifying, magnifying, getting hotter and hotter with each passing second until the volcano could contain it no longer.

She wanted to slap Tanaquil, tell her this was her fault, her stupid scams, her stupid brother, couldn’t she see where it would lead?

She wanted to pound her fists into Orbilio, tell him this was his fault, if he’d done his job properly, Utti would be alive and well and so what if it meant living in poverty, at least he’d be alive.

She wanted to shake Eugenius until his eyes rattled, tell him this was his fault, he should have consulted the magistrates, followed proper legal procedures instead of jumping to half-baked conclusions.

She wanted to scream at Aulus, Fabius, Linus, Portius, tell them this was their fault, why didn’t they challenge the old man for once, stuff the law which demands a father’s orders be obeyed, even at the expense of an innocent man.

But most of all, Claudia wanted to claw her fingernails down her arms and draw blood, to watch it drip into the dusty soil and turn brown and harden. This was not her fault, yet she could not rid herself of the guilt.

Before she even realized it, she was slithering down the slope towards the villa. Somewhere in the area-maybe in Fintium, maybe in Sullium-lived a man. A man who killed defenceless women, raping them while they lay paralysed, their lungs unable to supply the air they needed to breathe. A slow, agonizing death. The same man who now thought he had got away with it.

Well, he hadn’t. Not by a long chalk.

There was only the porter at the front gate, and Cerberus who came loping up, wagging his tail, straining on his chain to greet her. Claudia paused to rub his ears and pat his neck. It was sufficient time for Junius to catch up.

‘I didn’t realize you’d gone, madam.’ The words came out stilted because he was out of breath. Sweat poured down his forehead.

Claudia couldn’t speak, even if she wanted to. She wondered whether her face was as pale and pinched as his.

‘May I make a suggestion?’ Junius? Making a suggestion? Well, why not? ‘That you wait a bit before tackling Master Eugenius?’

She gave him a look that told him it was none of his business, but the young Gaul stared so earnestly that it clicked her brain back into action. And Claudia Seferius knew better than most that to succeed in this life, you follow the head, not the heart. And that sometimes it was hard.

She laid her hand on his arm and squeezed gently and didn’t speak. He was right. She had to separate grief from outrage and, to be in any way effective, to channel her anger in the right direction. Towards the man responsible for murdering Acte and Sabina.

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.’

‘Why did you kill Utti?’

‘It’s my poor neighbours who have to worry about weevils in their corn sacks, I just let my sheep graze in their stubble fields.’

‘Let me rephrase the question. Why did you kill Utti?’

‘Where’s Acte?’

‘Who are you covering up for?’

The accusation rattled him. ‘Eugenius Collatinus doesn’t cover up for anybody, my girl, and you’d do well to remember that.’

He drained his glass so fast, wine dribbled down his chin, staining his tunic crimson. Claudia waited. As so often happened with this old man, she met with the unexpected. He banged a wax tablet several times on the table, and a slave came running.

‘Did I hear that red-haired trollop has returned?’

‘You did, Master.’

‘Clap her in irons then.’ When the slave had gone, Eugenius turned to Claudia. ‘You want to know why I executed that ugly, fat bastard? Because he killed my granddaughter.’

A paper-thin hand drummed gnarled fingers on the woodwork. Claudia’s eyes followed them up and down, up and down.

‘Those filthy hands of his had been all over her, he got what he deserved, which is more than my Sabina did.’ The drumming stopped and he leaned forward. ‘She rode in carriages, you know. Fine, fancy carriages whenever there was a special festival.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Eh?’ He looked at Claudia as though she was stupid. ‘We got letters, of course.’

‘Of course. You were saying?’

‘Sabina devoted thirty years of her life to Vesta, that’s a hell of a long time to spend doing nothing except offer sacrifices and make sure the Eternal Flame never whitens to ash. She deserved better.’

‘I agree. You haven’t answered my question.’

Again the change in direction. ‘You were right, it’s not colic. I’ve got ulcers in the intestines, and sometimes it feels like red-hot claws tearing out my liver.’

‘Why won’t you tell the doctor?’

He looked up sharply. ‘None of your damned business! Where’s Acte, have you seen her? Didn’t bring me my breakfast, y’know.’

This was odd. Extremely odd. Surely someone had told the old man about Acte…?

‘Eugenius, look, I’m not sure how to say this-’

‘Probably excited. I’ll let you into a secret, Claudia, just between you and me. I’ve asked her to marry me.’

What? ‘Have you told the family?’

‘She knows how to look after me, I don’t need a bloody charlatan poking about in my innards.’

Claudia was having to absorb so many different shocks, she was in danger of having mental indigestion. To play for time, she bent down and gathered up the rolls and scrolls from the floor.

‘That’s very kind of you, my dear.’ So many shifts of mood, no wonder he was a devil to do business with. He began to arrange them neatly on his desk. ‘I like to keep my accounts in good order,’ he said, ‘and naturally I’ve made provision for Acte.’ He leaned forward and whispered. ‘Another year’s the best I can hope for, but she makes me happy. Don’t tell Dex.’

Still this present tense…

‘Why not?’ The old man cackled. ‘He’s jealous of her, so I wrote the will myself. Find it for me, will you?’

Claudia shot him an old-fashioned look, but was glad of the opportunity to rifle through his papers. Unfortunately there was nothing startling or contentious among them, and she handed him the paper making provision for Acte.

Did he, or did he not, know she had been killed? Had his grief-stricken mind blocked out what it couldn’t bear to face? It happened all the time, but the question was, did it happen to a man like Eugenius Collatinus?

‘I’ll get it witnessed later,’ he said, glancing through the document. ‘You can sign your own contract at the same time.’

‘Oh, can I?’ she asked smoothly, settling herself in the seat Dexippus had vacated.

Eugenius laughed appreciatively. ‘You’re a clever woman, Claudia Seferius.’

She widened her eyes ingenuously.

‘Didn’t take my hint of dismissal,’ he explained unnecessarily. He pretended to fiddle with the scrolls in front of him. ‘You want to know about Utti?’

‘Right.’ At last. We are getting there at last.

He ran his hand sensuously over the lionhead carving on his chair. ‘Let’s start with that little trollop claiming to be his sister.’

‘Claiming?’

Eugenius shrugged. ‘Who knows? Who cares? She stole a horse of mine.’

‘She went to fetch help.’

‘Pah! This has happened before, mark my words. Trace their footsteps and you’ll find a score of butchered women, just like my Sabina, and every time that little whore’s covered up for him.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Tell me what she was doing there yesterday.’

‘Where?’

‘Said she was out for a stroll, but why weren’t they together? How come Utti’s already there?’

‘Where?’

‘The birch grove, where my little Sabina was killed.’ Claudia waited a moment, marshalling her thoughts and resisting the temptation to state the obvious. Finally she said, ‘How do you know he was there?’

‘Utti? Someone saw him.’

‘Who?’

‘Can’t remember.’ He saw the expression on her face. ‘Does it matter?’

Claudia’s eyes continued to bore into his.

‘All right, Marius saw him there. But you can’t convince me it wasn’t that big bastard, because I know it was. Two women have been murdered, both in exactly the same…’

His voice trailed off and the look he gave her was of inconsolable bereavement. He had remembered. What he had spent the day trying to block out had come back to him. Tears scoured his thin, papery cheeks.

‘Acte,’ he wailed. ‘Acte!’

He was still rocking himself when Claudia closed the door behind her, wondering why she felt no pity for the old man, only contempt. In spite of the fact that he’d held the will upside down and pretended to read it.