Which left one other individual in the banqueting hall. And Claudia had a feeling he’d been there some time.
Sweeping past, she plumped down on a couch close to the sun porch with a fine view of the lake. Almost immediately, the opposite recliner was occupied.
‘Sleep well?’ Orbilio asked, framing stiff lips into a smile.
‘Hardly a wink.’ Claudia heaped her plate with cheese and shrimps and ignored the fact that she’d slept like a baby. ‘You?’
‘Terrific.’ He saw no reason to mention the cockroaches in the pawnbroker’s attic which he’d been forced to rent since Atlantis was full.
Behind them the general reminisced about some ancient campaign in Galatia and the fat woman picked her teeth.
‘Business first,’ Orbilio began, lacing his fingers and leaning forward, but he was interrupted by the arrival of a brunette practically bursting the seams of her tunic as she sashayed up the banqueting hall, surveying the breakfasters through kohled lashes.
Claudia could not resist a smile. In Rome-indeed anywhere within the paid eyes of the Emperor-standards these days were close to puritanical. In return for bestowing stability and peace on his people, Augustus demanded purity of mind as well as body, family values to reflect this Golden Age, an example to the conquered masses. No gambling, no spinsters, no sex outside marriage. As a law, Claudia felt it didn’t have a lot going for it. For one thing, the rules patently did not apply to him, the Emperor’s infidelities were legendary, and, for another, whilst he bestowed privileges on men fathering endless baby Romans, there were few crackdowns on those who clung to their bachelor freedom, and certainly his vision failed when it came to philandering husbands. But Augustus was a man, and men will have their little jokes, now, won’t they? Like making marriage compulsory for women. Like not letting them speak in the law courts. Like imposing bitter penalties on adulterous wives.
Like forcing widows to remarry within two years of the death of their husband…
For the brunette, filling out her sails both fore and aft, it was unlikely she’d ever heard of moral reforms, let alone put one into practice. Claudia beckoned her over.
‘Do meet Marcus,’ she said, pointing to his couch in invitation. ‘He likes women with big chests and small drawers.’
‘You’ll have to speak up,’ Phoebe trilled. ‘I missed that.’
‘Orbilio here,’ Claudia shouted, ‘said he’s been dying to meet you.’
She thought she heard the girl purr. Then again, it could have been a deep Security Police growl.
Phoebe snuggled against him and pouted when he shuffled along. ‘Is he shy?’ she asked, as though Marcus wasn’t present.
‘Merely stodgy,’ Claudia explained. ‘Poor chap thinks getting a little action means his prunes have started to work.’ She smiled sweetly at Orbilio, who had sucked in his cheeks. ‘In fact, these days his back goes out more than he does.’
Marcus turned a laugh into a cough, but Phoebe’s attention had been caught by Claudia’s gown. ‘That is beautiful,’ she gushed. ‘Harebell blue, so elegant. Goes with absolutely anything.’
‘And there speaks an expert,’ Claudia murmured, fluttering her eyelashes at a man who had all but disappeared into his handkerchief. Louder, she said, ‘As a matter of fact, this gown was a gift.’
Across the table, Marcus stiffened. ‘The Spaniard?’
‘However did you guess?’
To emphasize her point, she stroked the silver pendant at her neck, suggesting this, too, was a present from Tarraco, even though she’d won the thing last week in a game of knucklebones behind the Rostrum. As Phoebe helped herself to chestnut bread, Claudia heard Orbilio mutter underneath his breath, although she failed to catch the definition.
‘Now, now, Marcus,’ she chided cheerfully. ‘Tarraco is handsome, rich and generous, there’s nothing to dislike about him, surely?’ And thought she heard him mumble, ‘No, but give me time,’ as she slipped into her sandals.
Phoebe, straining every stitch, sidled up to her conquest, running her hand along his thigh as she tried to feed him a grape.
‘You two lovebirds must excuse me.’ As Claudia stood up she heard Phoebe entreat Marcus to come with her, she knew exactly how to please a man in bed, and Claudia thought, no you don’t. Phoebe, despite her outward appearance, was no casual conquest. What she sought was love and affection, and certainly what pleases men in bed is none of those you-still-respect-me-don’t-you recriminating conversations, it’s to roll over and drift off to sleep without hearing either the word ‘love’ or its companion, ‘commitment’.
No doubt this voluptuous creature would cotton on one day, but until then a lot of men would have a lot of fun bouncing on her well-upholstered charms.
Orbilio did not look as though he might be one of them. The only man, Claudia reflected cheerfully, who won’t take yes for an answer!
With a radiant smile, Claudia fluffed the frills and ostentatiously smoothed the pleats of this fabulous harebell gown and, just on the offchance that Hotshot hadn’t quite got the message, made her way very, very slowly up the banqueting hall.
Now, with luck, he might sod off back to Rome-and take his official bloody business with him.
*
In fact, the sun was considerably higher than Tullus’ agent had calculated by the time the courier made his way through the twisting alleys of the Aventine Hill to the house next door to the marble merchant’s warehouse. Lean, tough and muscular, he barely panted, though his throat burned dry and dusty as he handed over the letter to a thin-faced individual bizarrely devoid of character. When he ripped open the seal, only the appearance of two high spots of colour on otherwise colourless cheeks hinted that the news he’d received was the best.
‘No reply,’ a monotone voice told the messenger.
Tullus’ nephew waited for him to leave before reaching for his goblet. It was empty, and so was the jug. He clapped hands for a refill. Wine, godammit, was out of the question. In this searing heat, it made his throat drier than ever, even watered, so now he was reduced to gulping fruit juice like that bloated bladder of an uncle. Bloody hell, his bowels were on overtime, yet his windpipe grated like an ungreased hinge.
It was his uncle’s fault he was stuck in this sweatbox! Tullus had assured him that sodding strongroom was secure-‘safe as the State Treasury’ were his words-when in reality he might as well have kept that casket under his bed for all the protection it had been given!
Well. He sipped at the apple juice the dwarf set down and grimaced. There was no point in going over old ground, the damage was done, and with luck the damage was small. He glanced down at the letter from the agent up in Plasimene. The bitch was holing up in Atlantis, was she?
‘Not for long, sweetheart,’ the nephew said softly, steepling his long, skinny fingers. ‘Not for bloody much longer.’
What’s mine is mine, he vowed, and I will have it back, but there’s bugger all time to play with. Already twenty days into May, the bloody Senate sits on the first of next month. His thin lips pinched tight together. For years, I’ve worked towards this goal. Every move, every action has been designed to bring me that little step close and I am so close, Claudia Seferius, so very, very close to fulfilling my self-appointed destiny that I can almost reach out and touch it.
‘The fate of the whole fucking Empire is in my hands,’ he breathed. ‘No meddling bitch can be allowed to interfere with my plans.’
His pen scratched across a sheet of parchment and, sealing the scroll, he rang for his new servant. What a find! Solicitous for his master’s welfare, discreet at all times, willing to undertake a few unusual tasks-what a treasure, this ugly mutant!
‘This letter,’ he said, cursing the dryness in his throat. ‘Deliver it personally, will you, to the visitor who called here yesterday.’
‘Very good, sir.’ The dwarf withdrew, slipped on his outdoor shoes and with a tuneless whistle set off for the apartment house of the fat man who stank of cardamom.