Yes, but two younger men and two older women in the same town in the same circumstances at the same time…?
I bought a delightful townhouse in Mercurium with my dowry, which of course I get back if Lars and I should divorce.
But what happens should Eunice die? Lars would inherit the lot, and suddenly there was a smell of fish in the air which had nothing to do with the salmon being skinned in the kitchens.
Drifting away from the courtyard to a quiet corner of the garden where the light from the lamps couldn't penetrate, Claudia settled herself beneath one of the newly planted plane trees and rested her chin on her knees. It was night now, but in daylight all you could see from this spot were neat rows of vines hanging dutifully from their crossbars and the stately elm trees that supported them stretching into infinity. The buds on the vines had only just sprung into leaf, but according to her bailiff, it was still too early to prune. He was waiting until the last chance of frost had passed, something that was monitored, apparently, by the next full lunar cycle known locally as the red-headed moon.
Red-headed moon.
Claudia rolled the words round on her tongue. Funny how different people call things by different names. To her, it was merely a moon that waxed full at the back end of May. To those involved in wine production, however, this moon was the difference between a harvest or a famine on the vine.
Same thing, different viewpoints.
To her, the dodges she'd had to resort to, to keep the Guild of Wine Merchants at bay, were simply survival tactics. Whereas, to the Security Police, forgery, fraud, tax evasion and those other little things which were far too petty to mention, constituted a criminal offence. The Security Police were quite wrong. Claudia had every intention of repaying her creditors once funds started flowing, and heaven knows the Empire's moneybox wasn't creaking on its hinges for want of a few paltry back taxes. Indeed, the State coffers were quite capable of waiting another year, if not two, and no doubt would have been perfectly content to do so, had it not been for a certain patrician.
Marcus Cornelius Orbilio.
Three more words to roll around on her tongue, except these left a sour taste in their wake. Like rocks that split open beneath the plough to reveal the skeletons of creatures long-dead, Marcus Cornelius had the word 'ambition' fossilized in his bones. Young, tall and unnecessarily handsome, he employed centuries of inbred charm to snare any prey he couldn't ambush through more orthodox methods. Indeed, Claudia had almost fallen into his trap herself. Back in Aquitania, she'd been this close to making a fool of herself and she thanked every Immortal up on Olympus that he and that ridiculous floppy fringe of his — that mop of dark wavy hair, his impossibly bronzed skin and deep rich baritone — were setting up their own branch of the Security Police in Gaul. Good luck and good riddance, quite frankly. Already his features were erased from her memory, including that faint smell of sandalwood that always seemed to surround him.
Across the dark Tuscan landscape, a barn owl swooped silently over the vines like a ghost. Ah, yes, ghosts.
Who was this wind walker who went to great pains to ensure no bad luck befell Larentia? She shifted position. Indeed, who suggested to her in the first place that an epidemic was going round? It took Claudia about ten seconds to establish that Larentia was no more senile than she was, so who would her mother-in-law trust enough to swallow such garbage? Candace? If so, how on earth did she convince her that bad luck was contagious? Aromas of honey-roasted lamb filtered out from the kitchens, but Claudia's mouth didn't water.
And what of Darius? What of this man whose voice had trodden the path to Hell? For once she was able to rule out the Guild, because why court Larentia? It would have been easier, and drawn far less attention, to woo Claudia direct, but why had Darius paid for these renovations? If he had no intention of living here after his marriage, why cover the cost of works on somebody else's estate, especially works that were ornamental rather than critical? Whether he was the horse-breeder he claimed or a fortune-sniffing rat, he'd have gone through Larentia's finances with a flea comb. He'd know every last detail of Gaius's will, be well aware that the widow inherited every penny.
'The bastard!'
Watching the three-quarter moon slip behind the hills, she suddenly understood why Darius had made a play for Larentia and not her. And knew that nothing on earth would stop him from marrying the old bag.
Roman law was ambiguous on many issues, but as Eunice so rightly pointed out, the subject of women wasn't one of them. Regardless of status, they were under the protection of men from the moment they were born. First they were their father's chattels, then their husband's, and finally, if widowed, they became either a son's or the closest male family member's. In Larentia's case, she was officially under the protection of her son-in-law, Marcellus, Flavia's foster father. But Marcellus was weak. He was also impoverished. Ever since Gaius's death, the family had relied on Claudia for support, which meant that on the face of it, Larentia's marriage to Darius would simply transfer that responsibility, taking Larentia off Claudia's hands.
But in a world where women are the property of men, Darius could argue that Claudia, as his wife's widowed daughter-in-law, was his responsibility as well. Bang goes her inheritance, as the head of the family takes over through the back door, something that would be impossible if he'd knocked on the front.
'Over my dead body,' she hissed. 'Over my dead body, you bastard.'
'You want to be careful using phrases like that.' Soft as a shadow, Darius stepped out from behind one of the peach trees and his teeth shone white as he smiled. 'Someone might be tempted to take you at your word.'
'I say, Terrence! Terrence, darling, do come and meet Claudia.' Eunice lowered her voice and whispered in Claudia's ear. 'He is the most eligible bachelor. His father was in silver or gold or something, so he's absolutely filthy rich, owns most of Tuscany and at least half of Umbria, and he throws the most lavish bashes you could ever hope to attend.'
'Pay no attention,' Terrence laughed. 'It's only half of Tuscany and a quarter of Umbria, and the only gold my father saw was through his role as a banker. But Eunice is right on one point. I'm a sucker for extravagant entertainment, and for that reason, if nothing else, I hope you'll join in my celebrations for the Lamb Festival, though I should warn you. The whole town is invited and by the time it finally winds down, what started off as cute little lambs have usually grown into ropey old muttons. Mercurium likes to have a good time.'
'A debonair party-throwing landowner, who's still unmarried in his thirties,' Claudia murmured, as a slave topped up her wine.
'The law has an abundance of loopholes, providing one knows where to look.' Green eyes appraised Claudia's glistening tiara, the emeralds at her throat, the gold earrings shaped like chariots, then slowly followed the soft curves of her dusky pink robe.
'And one certainly seems to know where to look,' she said sweetly.
One eyebrow twitched amused acknowledgement. 'Claudia, I think you and I should get together for-'
'Terrence!' A young woman with the same sandy-coloured hair and enormous round eyes came rushing up. 'Terrence, have you heard?'
'My sister,' he said, and though his smile never wavered, there was a distinct edge to his voice. 'Thalia, this is Claudia.'
'Oh.' Thalia's pale skin suffused in a rush of pink. 'I'm so sorry. How rude of me to barge in.' She curtsied in apology. 'Only Larentia didn't mention you'd be here — I mean, that's not to say she said you weren't welcome — I mean, of course you'd be, it's your house