Wolf Whistle

by Marilyn Todd

  From the moment she knocked on Tucca’s door, he’d been playing with her. Why? Because she needed him more than he needed her? Who knows, but one thing was sure. The meeting in that mellow room of curios had ended in a stand-off. For a fraction of a second, as she rubbed the moisturing sap of aloes into her cheeks, Claudia thought she saw reflected in the washbasin the outline of the wolf man. The sharp grey eyes. The tawny mane. The loping tread. Thrusting a fist into the water, Kaeso disappeared in a thousand angry ripples.

  Dammit, she’d asked him to kill the maniac who stalked her and his sole reaction was to arch one eyebrow slowly. Without so much as a word, he’d stacked more wood on the fire before coiling himself in the chair directly opposite. Throwing an arm casually over the back, he’d tipped his head to one side and said, ‘That’s a very unusual request.’

  The fire leapt as the flames caught at the logs, billowing out waves of scented applewood, yet all she had smelled was Kaeso’s clove-like unguent.

  ‘But then,’ he had added, ‘you’re a very unusual woman.’

  It was the roaring fire, surely, which turned her cheeks crimson. ‘But you will kill Magic?’ she asked.

  Kaeso had an object, which he was rippling back and forth between his fingers. Not a coin, it was too well rounded, more like…Claudia’s hand flew to her earlobe. How the hell…?

  ‘That’s magic,’ he laughed, tossing back her missing stud.

  Claudia snatched it out of the air and fixed it back in place. The man was starting to annoy her with his piercing gaze and lazy, powerful frame. She wondered when he’d slipped her earring off. She didn’t remember him leaning so close, and yet—He was dangerous, this Kaeso. And danger is intoxicating… Well, she would not ask again. Let him make a move. She knew he would. And until then she’d called his bluff by studying his strange collection of animals and athletes, frozen by the carver whether in ivory or marble, pottery or bronze.

  ‘When I am asked to extinguish a light,’ Kaeso said eventually, rising to his feet. ‘I deem that light of sufficient importance to make my decision with care. Call back tomorrow, and I’ll give you my answer.’ There had been no time to protest as Kaeso hurriedly covered the width of the room. ‘Tomorrow,’ he stressed, over his shoulder, and by the time Claudia had reached the polished cypress door, the garden and peristyle were deserted. She ran towards the gate and tugged it open, but Kaeso was nowhere in sight and when she looked back to the house, Tucca was standing by the yew tree with her fat hands on her hips, grinning horribly.

  But that was yesterday. Today, a new beginning!

  Claudia stepped out on to her red-painted balcony, and peered down on the street below. Reassuringly noisy, a small boy dangled a duck by its twisted, broken neck and made his sister cry. Sellers of mushrooms and willow, acorns and rueberries funnelled out of the mist towards the Forum. A match-man with his packs of yellow sulphur jostled asses bent beneath herbs and hides and harnesses, and a basket seller balanced his wares on his head with professional ease. Unfortunately for Claudia, the price for wanting Magic off her back was to return to that awful House of Silence, but in the meantime, there was much to cram in. Below, professional mourners beat ash-covered breasts at the head of a funeral procession, probably that of the old Persian tin merchant, he’d been looking grim for ages. In the whole of Rome, she thought, that poor old sod must be the only citizen unaffected by what was arguably the busiest day of the year.

  With so many events converging, Claudia had been hard pressed to decide which to choose for the aunts. Resting her elbows on the rail as funereal drumbeats filled the air, she watched the procession pass down the street. Country dwellers mostly, the old boilers were well aware that disease could strike sprouting crops any time and they’d appreciate rites where peasants and landowners, wholesalers and farmers were eager, if not desperate, to placate Venus, the goddess who presided over the month. Then again, Claudia could take them to the Forum, where the Vestal Virgins were out and about on active duty, or to the Capitol, to rituals sacred to Juno, whose holy day this was.

  Claudia leaned down and inspected her pot plants. The irises were doing nicely, the blue Attic variety looked terrific beside the yellow Damascans. Of course, being Fortune’s Day she could take the Aunts down to the cattle market, that was always good for a laugh. On this one day of the year, middle-aged matrons were suddenly beset by an urge to see for themselves the stockmen beside their beasts and haymen selling their bales—then, my, my, what a coincidence, I’m right outside the Temple of Fortune. You know, I never realized it was here! Such a tiny temple, must have missed it in the past, and what a lot of girls with yellow hair. Working girls you say? You mean it’s true? Fortune really does protect the harlots? What’s that? Oh, every woman’s sex life? Ha, ha, ha, how quaint. And having scoffed at all the rituals—the washing of the statue, the strewing of the petals—off they’d trot, these women, railing against the scourge of prostitution and the scandal that painted trollops were allowed to roam around in daylight, yet each would wander off a trinket short. Which would have miraculously made its way to Fortune’s tiny altar!

  In the end, though, Claudia opted for the Blemish Rites. The aunts wouldn’t have seen anything like it, and would go away soaked with its memory. She moved on along her tubs and planters. The narcissi were looking good, almost as though they thrived in this wretched mist and drizzle, their scent remained quite unaffected. She picked eight snow white and four bright yellow, then added a couple of irises.

  ‘Drusilla.’ She crooked a finger. ‘Drusilla, come here, please.’

  The cat unfurled herself from the foot of Claudia’s couch and trotted over, her tail in the shape of a question mark.

  ‘I’ve told you before, you little toad, not to use these pots as a litter tray.’

  ‘Mrrrow.’ Small wonder my white rock rose isn’t flowering. ‘Don’t you dare rub round my ankles while I’m talking. Sit.’

  ‘Prrr.’ Drusilla leapt up on to the balcony rail, then completed her journey to her mistress’s shoulder. ‘Prrrrr.’

  ‘Yes. Well.’ Claudia patted the vibrating pelt. ‘Let that be a lesson to you. Oh, there you are, Cypassis, where on earth have you been? The morning’s half over.’

  ‘It’s little Jovi, madam.’ The Thessalian girl laid out a fine robe of apricot linen. ‘He’s so clingy.’

  ‘Not for much longer.’ Claudia sank back in her chair and let her maid make sense of her curls. ‘In fact, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if his mother doesn’t claim him this morning.’

  ‘Because prostitutes worship Fortune?’ Cypassis asked. ‘You think she’ll take time off to collect him?’

  ‘Good grief, no. This woman’s holding out for a reward.’ If that’s what was needed, so be it. Claudia had offered a hefty sum to lure Jovi’s mother out—although if the greedy bitch expected to collect, she had another think coming. Trying to make capital out of a five-year-old’s misfortune!

  ‘Now then, Cypassis, is everything on schedule for today? I mean, the musicians and acrobats do know it’s tonight? I don’t want them saying they thought they were playing tomorrow or Monday, and you’ll remember to put food out for Drusilla?’

  The tortoiseshell comb cut the air like a conductor’s baton. ‘Yes, yes, I hope so, and…’ She bit her lip and frowned. ‘Was there another question?’

  After the Blemish Rites it’s on to the Field of Mars for the Bull Dance then a concert, and back here this evening for a farewell banquet. With emphasis on the FAREWELL.

  ‘I’ll need flowers strewn right across the floor, plus garlands for each of the old…of my dear husband’s relatives.’ What better display of wealth and extravagance? But there’s a snag. Flowers on that scale are prohibitively expensive. ‘You’ll have to send some of the slaves out, I’m afraid, to pick from the wild.’

  ‘Wonderful, madam! They love a day in the country.’

  Was she serious? Knee deep in bugs and weeds? Surrounded by nothingness? What about the cowp
ats and the pongs? ‘I want corn cockles and honesty, periwinkles, speedwells, fritillaries.’ Claudia counted them off on her fingers. ‘Crown daisies, alkanet and violets. Have you got that?’

  ‘Most of it,’ Cypassis said doubtfully.

  ‘Good.’ Claudia checked her curls in the mirror then ferreted around in her jewel casket until she found a silver brooch in the shape of an owl. Can you imagine a more perfect offering for my very own protectress? Claudia kissed the pin. For you, Fortune. May you continue to smile upon me.

  ‘There’s been a bit of a stir among the master’s relatives this morning.’

  Claudia threaded a purple ribbon in her hair and selected a matching wrap from her chest. ‘Hmm?’ Apricot and purple. Very elegant.

  ‘Mistress Fannia couldn’t sleep last night.’

  Probably that chicken-feather bolster. Claudia fastened the owl to her gown and stood back.

  ‘Neither could Fortunata or Miss Eppia.’

  Silver wasn’t right. It needed gold. Ah, that little filigree dolphin! Just the ticket. ‘One more night’—hoo-bloody-ray—‘and they’ll be back in their own beds.’

  ‘But they said…’ Cypassis gulped. ‘It was ghosts walking Master Gaius’s bedroom.’

  ‘Cypassis, you organize the wild flower raid, let me deal with the spirit world, all right?’

  Gaius checking out his aunts and cousins? I don’t think so. More likely Larentia seeking arteries to sink her fangs into.

  Downstairs, all the old hens were gathered in the atrium, a convoy of litters was lined up outside. However, for the sake of impact, Claudia had protracted the departure. Being the Kalends, the hearth was garlanded with marigolds, the calendulas from which the day took its name, and Claudia felt sure some prayers and a couple of rituals would go far to impress the old bats. She held out her arms, palms upwards and with every appearance of solemnity, intoned, ‘Mighty Juno, on this, your holy…’ She got no further. A fair-haired young man clad in a snowy white toga breezed in. ‘I’m so sorry, am I interrupting?’

  ‘Porsenna!’

  Credit where it’s due, thought Claudia, Larentia had the decency to feign surprise.

  As the other women fluttered their greetings, Claudia turned her own attention to the stranger in her hall. Why the shock? What had she imagined the mouse man to look like? Why should he have a face like a pancake? ‘Aunt Larentia, you’re looking absolutely wonderful!’ Young. Handsome. Well dressed. Can’t expect his eyesight to be perfect as well.

  ‘And you must be Claudia. Larentia, you naughty girl. You omitted to tell me how stunning the young widow was.’ The prospective bridegroom picked up Claudia’s hand and kissed it, and perhaps that was just as well.

  Otherwise she’d have balled it into a fist and slammed it straight into Larentia’s teeth.

  *

  High, up on the Capitol, in the shadow of the mighty temples of Jupiter and Juno and behind the portico that links them, you will see, on the left, two wooden gates. This is the entrance to the deceptively spacious home of the aedile in charge of the forthcoming games. Long and narrow, it abuts the libraries, school and assembly hall that are an integral part of the temple complex and on most days the chant of monies, weights and measures from the classrooms and all the comings and goings that these establishments entailed tended to override the gentle hum of industry from within the aedile’s house. But not today. The Megalesian Games kicked off in less than three days and the run-up was proving a nightmare.

  The aedile, had he hair left to pull out, would literally have had his hands full. ‘What do you mean, the sponsors won’t stretch to another two grand?’ he shrieked to his cowering minions. ‘How can five charioteers all go down with the fever at once? Where are my lions? By the gods, man, I ordered tubas, not cymbals!’

  His reaction to the news that only half the scenery had been painted drowned even the honking from Juno’s sacred geese, so if you were a slave in this household and you had a quadran’s worth of sense, you’d steer clear of the master for a while. Zygia planned to do just that.

  ‘You’re still in bed,’ Severina shrieked, returning to the box of a room that they shared. ‘Zigs, he’ll go spare.’ Instead of throwing the covers aside, Zygia stretched lazily. ‘He won’t notice with that lot going on. It’ll be like three days holiday for us.’

  ‘For you, you mean.’ Severina wagged a long slim finger. ‘One of these times, you’ll push it too far, and don’t say you weren’t warned.’

  Propped up on one elbow, the swarthy slave girl watched Severina run a comb through her hair. Such long, fair hair. When it caught the light, it was like a waterfall of molten gold cascading down her back. And such beautiful blue eyes, shining with life, and a complexion translucent with health. Zygia sighed. She sure was a stunner, was Sevvi.

  The smell of baking filtered through from the kitchens below. Freshly baked rolls, pancakes and spicy, plump sausages. Pans clanked on the gridirons, there was stirring and scraping and chopping. She glanced round the tiny room. No artists, they’d made the most of it by sneaking in paint and covering the plaster in blues and purples and lavender and splashing out on a portrait or two. It was as close to home as either of them would ever get.

  ‘Relax, Sevvi, and come back to bed.’ Zygia snuggled lower under the covers.

  Severina giggled then laid down her comb. ‘Are you sure we won’t get into trouble? He has a spiteful temper.’

  ‘All bark and no bite. You leave the master to me.’

  ‘Well, bunking off we might be, but…’ When Severina smiled, it was like the sun bursting through the rainclouds. ‘You’ve still got to get up, you lazy piglet.’

  As she lunged for the counterpane, Zygia’s hand clamped over her wrist. ‘Excuse me. Did you say piglet?’ The blonde girl whipped away the sheets with her free hand. ‘Lazy fat piglet, if you prefer.’

  ‘Sevvi, that does it!’ Zygia jumped out of bed. ‘I’ll get you for that!’

  She dived towards Severina, who squealed in delight. ‘Piglet, Ziglet, can’t catch me.’

  Round and round the tiny room they darted and chased, over the bed, under it, screeching at the tops of their voices until finally Zygia brought down her quarry on the couch.

  ‘Gotcha.’

  Severina lay on her back, panting. ‘Told you were lazy,’ she puffed. ‘I thought you’d never catch me.’

  Zygia’s mouth closed over the blonde’s. ‘Liar,’ she whispered hoarsely, unhooking the drawstring on Severina’s tunic and exposing a pretty, pert breast. ‘Beautiful, sexy, wonderful liar.’ She blew lightly on the skin and watched it flutter. ‘Have I told you lately.’ Her nightgown slid to the floor. ‘Just how much I love you?’

  Severina gasped as Zygia’s tongue flicked over her nipple. ‘I love you, too. So much, sometimes it hurts.’ Zygia felt her stiffen, and when she looked up, Severina’s eyes were filled with tears. ‘You won’t leave me, will you, Zigs? Not…not without telling me first?’

  The older girl jerked back sharply. ‘What on earth made you say that?’

  Severina sniffed back her tears. ‘The way you’ve been behaving lately. Secretive. Biting my head off. Little things which…add up.’

  ‘Oh.’ Zygia sat back, tucked one foot under her thigh and spiked her fingers through her short dark curls.

  Severina gulped nervously. ‘Is there someone else?’ The look of horror on her lover’s face answered for her. ‘So, what then?’ She leaned forward impatiently. ‘Zigs, if you’re in trouble…’ The blood drained from her beautiful face. ‘Sweet Janus, it’s this, isn’t it?’

  She ran her finger round the outline of the dragon tattooed on Zygia’s arm and felt a chill of pure terror when the dark girl nodded.

  ‘Yes.’ Zygia’s hand closed over Severina’s. ‘I’ve thought long and hard about this, love, but provided I stay indoors next Friday’—she could not bring herself to say ‘market day’ ‘—and we say I’ve got the fever,’ she kissed Severina’s palm, ‘there’s no p
roblem.’

  Although even under the aedile’s roof it was impossible to be a hundred per cent certain. Too many entrances, exits, visitors bringing retinues of their own as preparations for the forthcoming games were stepped up. Which is why she’d taken to sleeping with a small stabbing knife slipped between the mattress and the webbing. Although she saw no need to worry Sevvi with the knowledge.

  Severina chewed her lower lip. ‘Are you holding out on me?’

  Zygia shrugged and avoided all eye contact.

  Sevvi yanked her hand away. ‘All right, if you won’t tell me, I’ll work it out for myself.’ A heather broom began to scrape along the corridor outside their room. The sweeper was humming. ‘Let’s think. You shared a dormitory with those other girls, didn’t you?’

  She looked at Zygia, chewing the edge of the sheet. So much they had shared, her and Zigs. Suddenly Severina felt a millstone collide with her stomach. So much they had gone through, concealment of feelings was out of the question.

  ‘Oh, no.’ Sevvi sank down on the bed, the colour leached from her face. ‘Holy shit, you know who the killer is, don’t you?’

  Her friend’s tortured face needed no answer.

  ‘Mars almighty, you can’t keep this to yourself, your life’ll be worth zero. You must go to the authorities—’

  Zygia ruffled the blonde girl’s hair. ‘The Empire’s in crisis, Sevvi, everything else is shelved—’

  ‘Even a butcher on the loose?’

  She gave a short laugh. ‘Since when did the deaths of a few common slaves compare with the life of a middle-aged philanderer? It’s who you are that counts, Sevvi, not what you are. Remember that.’