Man Eater

‘Half-sister, really,’ Tulola explained, steering her guest through the labyrinth of pens and sheds, barns and outhouses. ‘Alis’ father divorced her mother on grounds of adultery. Apparently it was only a matter of days from the mother marrying her lover that Euphemia was spared the stigma of bastardy.’

I’m not sure the moody baggage entirely escaped, thought Claudia, with the pungent smell of animals and ordure hitting her full blast as they turned the corner into an open yard. Say what you like about Timoleon, he had a fair point. Dainty leather sandals with open toes would not have been Claudia’s first choice of footwear.

‘Whatever she said, sweetie, just ignore the silly cow, she’s-’

‘Ladies!’ The ancestry of the man who greeted them with an extravagant flourish of his hands was beyond question. Only a true Etruscan stood that tall, moved with such grace but, like most Etruscans, his looks were marred by the distinctive double bump on the bridge of his nose.

‘Our trainer, Corbulo,’ purred Tulola. ‘Scrumptious, isn’t he?’

No, but unlike the other two there was at least an intriguing quality about him, enhanced by the contrast between high cheekbones, which would sit well on a prince, and the horny hands of what was unquestionably a son of the soil. Because for all the splendour of his spangled costume, when he performed that theatrical gesture, the calluses were plain for all to see.

‘You are here to witness the performance to end all performances, is that it?’ Appreciative grey eyes twinkled at Claudia.

‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world.’ Miss Euphemia Sulkyboots would have to wait.

‘This way, then.’

They followed him past a penned rhinoceros, two caged lions and an enclosure packed with beady-eyed ostriches, their sharp beaks barely out of pecking range. Corbulo fell into step with Claudia and grinned.

‘Not afraid of those Mauritanian chickens, are you?’

‘Let’s say the prospect of them being turned into fans perks me up no end.’

They were passing a particularly ugly warthog when Tulola stopped abruptly. ‘Hey! Barea!’ On the far side of the ostrich compound, a skinny individual in a yellow tunic and slicked-back hair was leading a black stallion in a circle by a rope. ‘Come and watch!’

The horse-breaker signalled acknowledgement, handed the rope to a bald man and cleared the fence like a trained athlete. Oh, for gods’ sake, thought Claudia. How many of them are there? What goes through Barea’s head when he smells Timoleon’s unguent on his lover, or are his brains as sparse as his flesh? Does he care? Or was the way she drapes a proprietorial arm around his neck reward enough? Corbulo, busily inspecting a line between two sets of blocks, seemed oblivious. To his left and below them, a palisade enclosed a group of snoozing crocodiles and to his right a curious giraffe poked its head through a special opening in the roof.

‘Hello, lover, who’s your friend?’ Claudia placed the accent as coming from the Iberian peninsular, but couldn’t pin it closer than that.

‘Don’t pretend you don’t know,’ admonished Tulola, playfully biting the young man’s ear. ‘You were there this morning when Claudia had that dreadful encounter with the dead man. You heard the screams.’

Barea’s eyes glistened with curiosity and, like the Celt before him, he seemed to find the prospect of violence exciting. His hands began to caress Tulola’s hips. ‘I trust the experience hasn’t scarred you?’ he asked, not waiting for an answer before his tongue danced with Tulola’s. Sweet Janus. I thought I was disturbing Tulola in the dining room earlier, but clearly it’s Tulola who’s disturbed. In the valley below, gazelle bounded gracefully and smoke from a charcoal kiln rose high into the air. Maybe a cross-eyed cat was also skulking along the wayside?.

‘Feeling better, now?’ Sergius emerged from one of the sheds and made his way down the steps to join Claudia as a gang of labourers lugged an oversized couch into the yard.

‘No.’

‘That’s the spirit.’ The grin he gave was sincerity itself and, despite her circumstances, Claudia laughed inwardly. Smile at the nice lady and she won’t stick a knife in you. Oh, Sergius, Sergius. I wonder what your face will look like once I’ve slapped out my lawsuit.

Tulola jemmied herself free of the horse-breaker and sauntered over to join her brother and his guest. ‘Barea can’t stay. Some trouble with the gelding.’

Claudia glanced over her shoulder. Trouble was an understatement. The rope had caught and the bald man was being pulled round the ring on his stomach as the black stallion reared and bucked in a cloud of dust. Poor sod. If he didn’t get trampled, he’d probably choke to death.