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‘Mischief?’
‘Just a feeling. .’ Sylvester rose to his feet and gestured to one of the tu
‘Oh, Claudia?’ She turned.
‘Yes, Magister?’
‘When you met Murranus for the first time,’ Sylvester walked over, measuring his footsteps carefully, ‘was it by accident or design? Did he seek you out or did you him?’ He raised a hand in a gesture of peace. ‘Think about that.’
Claudia did so as she raced hot-faced through the tu
‘Don’t be a stupid hussy!’ she whispered. ‘Be more frightened of the living than the dead.’
She strained her ears; there was no sound, and she walked purposefully on. When she reached the steps, she replaced the lantern and found her hat had not been moved. She put it on and climbed up into the sunlight. Gripping her staff, she walked amongst the tombs. An old beggar woman, cloaked in black, hiding in the shadows, stood up abruptly, claw-like hands begging for alms. Claudia recalled the witches and warlocks who frequented this place to sacrifice a black cock at midnight. She would have screamed abuse, but the old woman’s face was seamed by time and her eyes were a milky white.
‘Just a denarii,’ the beggar lisped, ‘some money for some wine.’
Claudia handed across two coins and hurried on. She joined the crowds thronging along the Via Appia, losing herself amongst them, relaxing at the usual smell of dirt, freshly baked bread, spiced meat and the ever-pervasive stench of oil. The travellers to the city were breaking their fast, so the cooks and food sellers, water carriers and wine pedlars were doing a roaring trade. Claudia slaked her thirst whilst gossiping to a farmer laden with two crates full of squabbling ducks. She asked him about his small farm and the prospect of a good harvest. The farmer, flattered by such attention, chatted like a magpie whilst Claudia stared back, narrow-eyed, along the way she had come.
Once inside the city, Claudia left the broad thoroughfare into a warren of side streets. She was in a quarter she knew; the dyers and the ta
She found the She-Asses quiet. Oceanus informed her that Polybius was still sleeping off the effects of the night before, whilst Poppaoe had gone down to the marketplace.
‘You know who I want?’
‘He’s out in the garden, little one.’ Oceanus said, leaning down. ‘He’s got very special visitors.’
Claudia’s heart almost skipped a beat. However, Murranus wasn’t entertaining a lady of the city but a young athlete with a sharp sardonic face and black bushy hair. Next to him squatted a grizzled old man who was allowing a tamed snake to wind itself around his arm. From the staff on the table, with its emblem of Aesculapius, Claudia reckoned he must be a physician. Murranus had his back to her; his visitor leaned over, tapping him on the arm, and pointed. The gladiator sprang to his feet. Instinctively Claudia looked at his wrist and felt guilty: there was no tattoo there. Murranus wasn’t a rapist, a child-killer! She was not so convinced about her admirer’s visitor. He was of medium height, with mocking eyes and cynical lips. A man who had a beautiful body, and revelled in his glorious physique.
‘You know who this is?’ Murranus rubbed his hands. ‘Spicerius, you remember Spicerius? No one forgets Spicerius.’
Claudia nodded, mouth open but nothing to say. Spicerius was staring at her coolly, carefully examining her from head to toe as if she was a slave in the market. The insult was quite studied, then he hastily apologised, rose, grasped Claudia’s hand and lifted it to his lips.
‘A beautiful name, Claudia.’ His light blue eyes were full of mockery. ‘A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.’
He let her hand drop.
‘Murranus, you didn’t tell me about her, at least not in detail.’ For a short while there was laughter, then Spicerius introduced his old friend Valens, formerly physician in the Tenth Pa
‘I came to make my peace with Murranus.’ He smiled.
‘Why so quickly?’ Claudia asked. ‘Some people claim he tried to poison you.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Spicerius laughed, ‘and there’s one good way of finding out. .’ He paused, clutching his stomach. Claudia noticed how his face was painted, delicately, like that of a woman. Nevertheless, this couldn’t hide the shadows around his eyes or the drawn look to his cheeks, or the way his eyelids kept fluttering as if he was still in some discomfort.
‘He’s talking about the betting.’ Murranus spoke up. ‘Polybius and I have proved that neither of us laid wagers on who would win. If we had, Spicerius here might think we were trying to help the odds.’
‘And I saw nothing.’ Spicerius shook his head. ‘I was in the tu
‘What’s the matter?’ Valens, the doctor, spoke up. ‘What’s the matter with you, woman? You look as if you have seen a ghost.’
Claudia half rose to her feet, knocking over the bowl of bread and honey, kicking aside the jug of beer. Murranus grasped her wrist.
‘Claudia, it’s not what you think. .’ But she broke free and, spi
Chapter 3
‘ Omnia Romae cum pretis.’ (‘Everything in Rome comes with a price-tag.’)
Dionysius, follower of Justin and not-so-ardent supporter of the teaching of Arius, was thinking about death: not his own, but death in general. The self-proclaimed philosopher was preparing a speech on that chilling phrase of the sophists: ‘I was not; I am; I am not; I don’t care’.
The Villa Pulchra lay quiet after all the excitement caused by the arrival of the Lords of the Purple in their palanquins and sedan chairs. The Emperor, of course, had arrived on horseback, clattering into the broad cobbled yard bawling for wine and a warm bath to cool the imperial arse. Carts and sumpter ponies had crowded in. Servants and slaves bowed down with burdens hurried around the villa with the furniture and furnishings and personal belongings of Constantine and his court. The kitchens had already been prepared, the oven fires lit, the baking house opened; now the smoke boiled from the kitchens like mist over the river. The air turned savoury with the dishes pla