Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 122, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 745 & 746, September/October 2003

With all the excitement, she’d almost forgotten poor Gaius. Yet the whole point of marrying someone older, fatter, and in the terminal stages of halitosis was for these vineyards, wasn’t it? Well, not the vineyards exactly. She had married Gaius for what they’d been worth, although the bargain wasn’t one-sided. Gaius Seferius had had what he wanted, as well — a beautiful, witty trophy wife, and one who was less than half his age at that. Both sides had been content with the arrangement, knowing that by the time he finally broke through the ribbon of life’s finishing line, Gaius would be leaving his lovely widow in a very comfortable position. In practice, it worked out better than Claudia had hoped.

Maybe not for Gaius, who had been summoned across the River Styx a tad earlier than he’d expected, and certainly before he would have wished.

And maybe not for his family, either, who were written out of his will.

But for Claudia, who’d inherited everything from the spread of Etruscan vineyards to numerous investments in commercial enterprises, from this fabulous house with its wealth of marbles and mosaics, right down to the contents of his bursting treasure chests, life could not have turned out sweeter if she’d planned it. So why, then, hadn’t she simply sold up and walked away? It was how she’d envisaged her future after Gaius. No responsibilities. Draw a line. Start again. Instead, she hadn’t just hung on to the wine business, she’d taken an active, some might say principal, role. And as for his grasping, two-faced family, goodness knows why she continued to support them! Something to do with not wanting them to root around in her past, she supposed, but that was not the point.

The point was, she must remember to lay some flowers beside her husband’s tomb sometime. And maybe she’d have his bust repainted this year, too. After all, it couldn’t exactly be improving down there in the cellar.

“Junius, I want you to run down to the Forum and hire a messenger. The ones by the basilica are usually reliable, but if there’s no one left today, and I’ll be very surprised if there is, given that it’s a holiday for slaves, try the place behind the Records Office.”

“Me?” The Gaul was shocked. “B-but I can’t possibly leave you here alone, madam.”

“I promise that if a gang of murdering marauders come barging in, I’ll ask them to wait until you’re back to protect my honour, and that way we can both get killed. How’s that?”

“With respect,” his freckled face had darkened to a worried purple, “I don’t consider danger a joking matter. These are the dog days of summer. Men are driven mad by the appalling heat, madam, and by the sickness and disease that grips the city. With rich folk decamped to the country, only criminals and undertakers flourish in Rome at the moment.”

Claudia nodded. “Very eloquently put, Junius. You are, of course, absolutely correct, and if you don’t hurry, there won’t be any messengers at the place behind the Records Office, either.”

“But, madam—”

“It’s a straight choice, Junius. Either you hire a courier to gallop like the wind to my estate, pick a dozen bunches of the ripest grapes, then ride straight back, where we might — just might — make it in the five days we have left and therefore save the day. Or I turn you into cash at the slave auction in the Forum in the morning.”

The young Gaul drew himself up to his full height, squared his impressive shoulders, and clicked his heels together. “In that case, madam.” This time he didn’t look at her, but stared straight ahead. “In that case, I see I have no alternative.”

Excellent. Using the full services of the post houses and changing stations, the messenger-

“You will have to sell me in the morning.”

What? The remaining feathers sprayed out of the fan as Claudia crushed it in her fist. “This is not a debatable issue, Junius. You will—”

“I am not leaving you alone and that’s final.”

Jupiter, Juno, and Mars, that’s all I need. The only slave left on the entire premises turns out to be as stubborn as a stable full of mules! She looked at the rigid line to his mouth, the square set to his chin, and resisted the urge to punch him on it. Remind me of the position again?

A storm threatens to wipe out this year’s harvest.

The offering to propitiate the god who threatens that storm isn’t coming.

There’s no one available to go and fetch it.

And the only person who could help is throwing tantrums.

In short, if she wanted a courier, Claudia would have to trek out in this ghastly, fly-blown, disease-ridden heat and hire one herself, a role her bodyguard would be very happy for her to undertake, because at least he could be on hand when robbers, thieves, and rapists set upon them.

Was there, she wondered, anything else which that bitch Fortune could throw in her path today?

The goddess’s reply came almost at once.

She delivered it in the form of a bloodcurdling scream.

Which came from Claudia’s very own garden.