I, Claudia

by Marilyn Todd

  She tried to wriggle free, but his grip merely tightened. He smelled of roses. Must have been out pruning. He was the only one in the house she could trust to look after them properly.

  ‘It wasn’t a seizure,’ he said quietly. ‘The master committed suicide.’

  ‘Suicide? Gaius? Don’t be ridiculous. Gaius is the last man in the world to top himself. Must have been an accident.’

  The boy’s fingers dug into her shoulders. ‘It was no accident, madam. Master Seferius fell on his sword.’

  XXIII

  Claudia’s litter set her down outside the modest white-fronted house sandwiched between a butcher and a wig-maker on the lower end of the Esquiline near the old temple of Juno. Opposite, a goldsmith calmly pounded his precious dust, impervious to the cries of the pedlars, the beggars, the children pressing in around him. In spite of the circumstances, Claudia hadn’t forgotten her promise to herself, and the litter no longer sported the ostentatious orange so envied by that little copycat Marcia but was draped instead with the palest blue any mercer could lay his hands on. Every spot would show, of course, but that wasn’t the point—was it, Marcia?

  Waiting until it was confirmed the master was at home before dismissing her entourage, Claudia stepped into the atrium. One thing about these patricians, they had taste, she thought, looking around. The frescoes were quieter, the shades subdued, radiating calm even in this bustling corner of the city. The predominant colour was ivory, contrasting spectacularly with maplewood inlaid with tortoiseshell and the occasional hint of gold. Vesta’s sacred flame burned in the centre of an intricate mosaic depicting the wanderings of Odysseus. Low fountains gushed in the corner. Even the servants oozed tranquillity. A mournful-looking Libyan with perfect Latin informed her politely he was extremely sorry, the master was engaged with a visitor at present, would Milady mind waiting? No, Milady would not, nor would she care for any refreshment, thank you, or company, or fanning, or entertainment and, no, she was perfectly happy here, rather than in the peristyle. The servant glided away, leaving the atrium once again the peaceful haven expected of it as Claudia’s fingers traced the carved lion that comprised the arm of the chair.

  She’d far rather have married into one of the patrician families, she thought. Class had been bred into them, style and elegance came naturally. Her mouth twisted at one corner. Alas, so did suspicion. Forged pedigrees aren’t commonplace, but then again they aren’t such a rarity that the patricians don’t make assiduous checks into a person’s background and Claudia had to admit that, had Gaius been more thorough, she’d never have got past the first post.

  Poor old Gaius! To her credit, Cypassis had known how to organize a decent funeral, thanks, largely, to her having gone through the whole palaver quite recently when her old master the oil merchant popped off. The mourning women were that professional you were left with the serious impression Gaius had been closely related to every single one of them, and the dirges—oh, the dirges were sung with such a depth of feeling it left your gut churning. Oh yes, the funeral had been a tremendous success, apart from one thing.

  Without doubt it turned out to be the splendiferous occasion Claudia had wanted it to be, the funeral that eclipsed all others when it came to being talked about in years to come. It simply hadn’t been in the way she’d either planned or expected…

  Despite Junius’s insistence that she be spared the sight of her husband’s corpse, still in situ, on Monday, Claudia lost no time reminding him who was in charge here and marched up to see for herself.

  Dear Diana, it was a depressing spectacle.

  The heat of the day had intensified the sickly combination of blood and wine, of body odour and bad teeth. Black and green flies had already begun to cluster. Worse, the huge figure of Gaius Seferius seemed to have shrunk by an alarming degree and the bald spot he worked so hard to conceal was shining like a frypan in the midday sun. Quietly Claudia closed the door behind her.

  ‘Gaius, you silly daft sod, what did you do this for, eh?’ She stroked the hair back over the glistening dome. ‘In this scruffy old tunic, too. You should be ashamed of yourself.’

  His neck, twisted and turned inwards, ended in a face which, though waxen, seemed placid enough, and the eyes, thankfully, were closed. She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. It was obvious what had happened. He’d sat in the chair, positioned his sword—that splendid symbol of his rise to the equestrian order—then lunged forward. Her eyes roamed his bedroom. Rarely, so very rarely, did she enter his private domain yet how familiar it seemed. Every piece of furniture, every knick-knack, every picture on the frieze screamed of Gaius. From the redness of the decor to the heavyhandedness of the silver-work, from the marble statuary to the leopardskin on the floor, it reflected his flamboyancy, his extravagance, his love of the good life and, perhaps most importantly, the fruits of his labours. Slowly her hand travelled across his writing table, over his rolls of papyrus, the wax tablets, his favourite stylus, the dolphin seal. How typical of Gaius’s attitude to life, she thought. Two dolphins in midleap. She felt a shudder run through her body. What a bloody, bloody shame it had to end like this.

  Claudia broke the seal on the letter and opened it out. The page was shaking so violently, she was forced to spread it over the desk before she could read the words.

  ‘I’m sorry, my sweet, but this is for the best. Love always, Gaius.’

  Oh, shit. She sank down on to the bed. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!

  Several long minutes had passed before Claudia Seferius stood up, blew her nose, brushed specks of dandruff from her husband’s tunic, pinched her cheeks and strode to the door.

  ‘LEONIDES!’

  The lanky Macedonian, hollow-eyed from shock, was wringing his hands. Small wonder she thought. It was bad enough when Melissa topped herself, the whole contingent of household slaves thought retribution would fall upon their uncombed heads. Who could imagine the terror in their veins now the master was dead as well? Tempting as it was to reassure them, Claudia realized that she’d get far more out of them by letting them stew for a while.

  ‘Leonides, go straight to the temple of Venus up on the Esquiline. You’ll need to register the death immediately.’ She wasn’t prepared to let Marcellus start meddling in affairs that didn’t concern him. ‘Cypassis?’

  ‘Yes, madam.’

  At least this one looked in control of herself.

  ‘Go with him. Order the best mourners, musicians, dancers money can buy. Spare no expense, do you hear me?’

  ‘Pardon me, madam.’ The steward stepped forward. ‘But I think the undertakers will want to organize that themselves.’

  ‘I’m sure they will, Leonides, which is precisely why I’m sending you and Cypassis. I don’t want any outside interference, we’ll do this ourselves.’

  The banquet might not have been the eye-popping extravaganza Gaius had hoped for but, by Jupiter his funeral procession would be. She owed him that at least.

  ‘Report back to me as soon as you can. I’ll be in my room.’

  Julia, Flavia, Marcellus, Antonius, they’d all be huddled in the garden, pretending how sorry they were, the hypocritical sons of bitches, and she couldn’t trust herself to speak to them. Not at the moment.

  ‘Junius! I don’t want Gaius’s old bed on display in the atrium, see if you can lay your hands on something a little grander can you?’ Poor sod deserved a decent lying-in-state. ‘Something fancy, with a bit of gold on it, perhaps. Or ivory. And, Junius, I know you’re not his personal slave, but would you mind…laying him out?’

  It was a filthy job, but the boy not only shook his head with considerable vigour he actually seemed happy to do it. Which only goes to show, you can never really get inside these strange Gaulish minds, can you?

  ‘It means…taking the sword out.’

  ‘No problem, madam.’

  ‘He’s already stiffening…’

  ‘Leave it to me.’

  ‘Yes—well—’ Claudia cleared her thr
oat. ‘His parade uniform should still fit, so once you’ve got him, er, cleaned up, perhaps you could…?’

  He’d need help, of course, but she was sure the boy was more than capable of sorting that out by himself. What Claudia had needed more than anything else was peace and quiet and time to think. Think, think, think.

  She caught the Macedonian at the door. ‘Leonides, before you slink off I want you to tell me exactly what happened this morning.’

  The steward was unable to meet her eye. He was very sorry, but there didn’t seem to be much to tell. The master started drinking the moment he came downstairs, apparently oblivious to the argument raging around him, and when he retreated to his room to consolidate the job of getting drunk, it seemed the family wouldn’t leave him in peace. How easily Claudia pictured the scene. Flavia, screaming that she wasn’t going to marry Scaevola, never, ever, ever. Julia, nagging her brother to put his foot down. Antonius, demanding what the hell was going on. And finally Marcellus, shoving his two asses’ worth in by suggesting that Gaius wasn’t pulling his weight here. Some of them went up two or three times, the steward said, and he felt very sorry for the master in the end.

  ‘Although I didn’t think he’d kill himself because of it,’ he added hastily. ‘Had I realized—’

  ‘What was his mood like?’

  Again Leonides had been reluctant to answer but eventually Claudia got him to admit that Gaius had been crying constantly, refusing to see clients who called, refusing even to wash. The only clear word he’d uttered all morning was ‘Lucius’.

  Well, he was with Lucius now…

  A feather drifted down through the open roof of this fine patrician house to settle on Odysseus’s big toe. Immediately a young slave girl pounced and carried it silently away.

  Claudia thought of the green glass bowl containing Gaius’s ashes. Tomorrow they’d be carried in a leaden basket to be interred, alongside the son he adored, in a handsome tiled chamber along the Appian Way. She leaned forward, supporting her head in her hands. Who could have predicted a month ago, when he was giving Lucius’s funeral oration, that his own would have followed so quickly?

  Without a male heir, it had fallen upon the widow to deliver Gaius’s tribute, which, because the occasion demanded something sensational in view of the rumours, she’d secretly hired Syphax the playwright to script for her. He may only have had twenty-four hours to knock it into shape, but if she said so herself it was exceptional, and she would have defied anyone listening to keep a dry eye when she read it aloud. And here lay the flaw in the entire arrangement.

  No one had turned up to listen.

  Oh yes, this was the funeral to set Rome talking about for generations, all right! The funeral of Gaius Seferius, that jolly old wine merchant. Remember him? How we liked the fellow—thought him the salt of the earth?

  And then look what happens. Turns out he’s the one who gouged out the eyes of his colleagues! Rumours began to circulate almost before the body had cooled. Some you’d expect, considering that, contrary to custom and expectation, Gaius left his entire fortune to that young wife of his. Talk about scandal! And as much as Claudia denied knowledge of the will, it was clear Julia, Marcellus and especially Flavia believed otherwise. They could not, however contest it. The signatures of five prominent Roman citizens testified to Gaius’s wishes, and that should have been that.

  Except it wasn’t.

  On account of the letter Gaius had attached to his will, a letter for Claudia’s eyes only.

  A letter which she had subsequently burned.

  But the new will contributed to the fact that Gaius Seferius had lain on his bier for two days—feet towards the door, coins over his eyes, cakes in his hands—in perfect preparation for the afterlife, yet with not one single person from his own lifetime coming to pay their respects. Including his family, who suddenly disowned him.

  ‘Bastards!’

  Her oath echoed round the stillness of the room.

  Of course, it wasn’t the rumours about the will that put off the rest of Rome. Scaevola brought the news late on Monday evening.

  ‘Callisunus has closed the case,’ he said, red in the face and puffing profusely. ‘It’s official.’

  She hadn’t believed him. ‘Rumours,’ she’d said. ‘The city’s full of them—’

  ‘Claudia, I heard it from Callisunus himself. Seferius is the killer he said, he was one hundred per cent positive. That’s why I’m out of breath, I came straight round. There’s something else, too. He’s asked the Senate to issue an edict forbidding people to attend the funeral. Says it’s the day of the Volcanalia, people should attend the rites at the Circus instead.’

  Give me strength! ‘And just what explanation does this adjectivally challenged dwarf offer for arriving at this idiotic conclusion?’

  ‘He refuses to elaborate, except to stress the case is closed.’

  Indeed? Well there was only one source from which such waters flowed, so Claudia had come straight to the spring…to Marcus Cornelius Orbilio.

  A door slammed in the distance and a long-legged girl came running through the atrium, tears streaming down her face. The tall Libyan came trotting after her but it was too late, she’d seen herself out. She heard a second set of footsteps.

  ‘Claudia?’

  There was a distinct feeling of satisfaction, watching his handsome face redden. He shot a glance at the Libyan, who promptly dissolved into thin air, and combed his hair with his hands.

  ‘Claudia…’

  ‘So far so good, Orbilio, you’ve got my name right. I’m afraid it’s the only thing you have got right, but I’m sure you’re not responsible. Tell me, did you inherit imbecility from your mother’s side, or your father’s?’

  ‘I’m sorry about Gaius.’

  ‘Not sorry enough to attend his funeral, though. Or did I miss you in the crush?’

  ‘Blame Callisunus. I told him I didn’t think it right for Gaius to be shunned, that I was intending to join the procession regardless, but’—he held out his wrists, which showed raw, red bands round them—‘he clapped me in irons for the day. Said it would be, and I quote, an embarrassment to him, the Emperor and the citizens of Rome for anyone to turn up. Especially me.’

  Claudia rose to her feet and shook the crinkles out of her stola. ‘Especially you, yes, seeing as how you were the person who convinced Callisunus to close the case in the first place.’

  He scratched at a freckle on his thumb, his eyes riveted on the operation. ‘Claudia, I’m sorry Gaius was the killer, because I liked him, I—’

  ‘And he liked you, you treacherous bastard.’

  Funny. The room had gone misty.

  ‘You worm your way into his house, prying and snooping, hoping to find some poor bugger to hang these murders on, and you pick on Gaius Seferius. What had he ever done to you, eh?’

  ‘Claudia, sit down. Dammit, woman, I said sit down and listen to me. Just listen, all right?’

  Orbilio pulled up a chair and sat opposite her. Her eyes were flashing, her lips were pursed white, but, thank goodness, she was at least prepared to hear him out.

  ‘What Gaius did, falling on his sword and all that, it was for the best, you must believe me.’

  ‘Bullshit!’

  ‘You don’t accept Gaius killed six men?’

  ‘Never.’

  Orbilio ran his hand over his chin. There was stubble there, because he hadn’t had time to shave this morning. Callisunus, the little toe-rag, had kept him locked up all night, and, when he returned home, Petronella was waiting. She’d left the locksmith, she told him. Oh, she didn’t expect a man like Marcus to marry her, but she’d send for her things straight away and be everything he’d want of a wife. Orbilio felt a proper heel telling her it was over, and the last person he expected to find under his roof after that pitiful encounter was Claudia Seferius, defending a husband who, no matter how affable on the surface, transpired to be a single-minded lunatic on the inside.

  ‘
Suppose I gave you cast-iron proof?’

  To his astonishment, she twisted her head on one side and smiled. ‘Suppose I asked you how many murder cases you’ve solved?’

  Orbilio scratched his head and blew out his cheeks. ‘Ooh, let me think. Including this case?’

  ‘Including this case.’

  ‘Um…’ He stared at the flame flickering beside him. ‘One,’ he said quietly, feeling the colour flood his face.

  Claudia nodded serenely. ‘That’s rather what I suspected. Orbilio, I want you to re-open the case.’

  She was mad!

  ‘Even if I could—and I can’t—Callisunus wouldn’t wear it. However much it hurts, Claudia, the evidence is solid, believe me, and he’s tied me up so tight on this Verianus fraud case that I haven’t got a minute to call my own.’

  ‘Then we’ll have to clear up this wretched Verianus business, won’t we?’

  ‘What do you mean, we?’

  ‘Don’t interrupt. Now is it Verianus who’s accused of fraud?’

  ‘The Senator? Good heavens, no! But someone in his employment, probably his own brother, has been syphoning off large sums of money over the last couple of years. It’s a question of proof.’

  ‘Decimus?’

  ‘No, the younger brother. Tullius. Hell, why am I telling you all this?’

  Claudia ignored him. ‘Suppose I provide you with a confession? Will you re-open the murder case?’

  ‘No, I will not. I can’t condone forged confessions simply because you want—’

  ‘This’ll be perfectly above board, Orbilio. Friday morning, you have my word on it, Tullius will be spilling his heart out to Callisunus. On the strict understanding, of course, that the affair will be covered up quietly. He’ll return the money, Verianus will drop the case, you’ll be a hero. How does that sound?’

  Orbilio wrinkled his nose. ‘Highly suspicious.’

  Claudia waved a hand dismissively. ‘Trust me,’ she said simply.