Man Eater

Claudia waved an airy hand. ‘Don’t care, don’t want to know. I appreciate your efforts, but my advice is go to the kitchens then see if you can grab forty winks. In an hour or two, we set sail for Rome.’

‘But, madam-’

‘Butts are where archery is practised, Junius.’ To emphasize her point, she snapped the shutters to.

She heard a finely rounded oath of Gallic origin then, when silence prevailed (or what passed for silence, when you’re billeted next door to a hundred yowling beasts), she flung back the shutters and studied the sky. Was that a break in the clouds she detected?

‘With luck, poppet,’ she picked up Drusilla and swung her several times round in the air, ‘we should be home for the equinox.’

Always a good excuse for a knees-up, and heaven knows she needed one after this. Umbria? You can keep it. It’ll take a lot to prise me away from Rome in the future, and then if I travel, I stick to main roads. ‘Bbbrow!’

That’s the trouble with Egyptian cats. The effect of twirling them isn’t immediately obvious, they’re bosseyed to start with.

The bath was tempting but… ‘Let’s just see how that report reads, shall we?’

Claudia threw herself face-down on the bed. Drusilla dived through the open window without so much as a backward glance.

‘Ingrate!’ Bet you won’t be so proud when it comes to a piece of bacon at lunchtime.

Claudia broke the seal and flipped open the letter. ‘Madam,’ it read, ‘I am pleased to report that I have assessed the two Etruscan sites and my conclusions are as follows. With reference to the damage by fire, this is entirely superficial and has no real bearing on the plans you have for either property…’ blah, blah, blah ‘…and in conclusion, I would say this. Hunter’s Grove would be a suitable proposition for the growing of vines since the soil, though light, has excellent water-retention properties and is devoid of both chalk and tufa. White grapes will grow best here, and I strongly recommend the Thrasian variety to optimize soil conditions.’

Thrasian grapes, eh? He was smarter than she thought, this surveyor chappie.

‘As for Vixen Hill, although the site is superficially appealing, being south-facing and fed by a small brook, it is my recommendation that you steer clear of this property, since the land is not, as has been made to appear, in a state of neglect. The soil is exhausted and totally unsuitable for wine production, or indeed any other agricultural project. Should you require any further…’ etc, etc, etc. She let the scroll drop on to the floor and rested her chin on the bolster. The auction is on Saturday, the same day as the spring equinox. Do I bid in person or do I send an agent? No matter. There are far more pressing issues. Such as, which of Tulola’s brightly coloured tunics could I borrow next? And can I be certain the bath house operates a segregation policy?

The last thing Claudia wanted at the moment was to find herself naked and alone with Timoleon or Barea barging in, but at least the Celt wouldn’t be a problem. The fastest way to get Taranis out of a bath is to open the taps.

The changing-room steward assured her there was no chance of men barging in on her ablutions and left her in the capable hands of a large Cappadocian woman with characteristically curled hair and a laugh that rattled the finials on the roof.

‘Hot room? Wouldn’t if I was you, ducks.’ Not madam. Ducks. ‘You want them cuts to seal over, don’t yer? Well, steam ’em and clean ’em, that’s old Cinna’s motto. Right now, luvvie, into the buskins. Don’t want them pretty feet burned on the tiles, do we?’

Which just about set the pattern for the next half-hour. To a backdrop of life in the Cappadocian Uplands, which this woman could only ever have heard second hand, Claudia’s flesh surrendered itself to be oiled and scraped, steamed and massaged. Truly heaven on earth!

‘Them weals round your ankles looks worse than they are, but old Cinna’s camomile compress’ll fix ’em in a jiffy. By tomorrow they won’t even show.’

Between the harmonious scrape of the strigil, the lilt of the woman’s voice and the impenetrable swirling steam, aches eased and bruises were banished. Bastard, she thought. She didn’t even know the man, why should he pick on her? Still, he was dead now-and it was a death Claudia wouldn’t have wished on her worst enemy. Except, hang on, he was her worst enemy! He was the one who’d deliberately planned to feed her to the crocodiles. Hell, yes-and I tried to save the bugger, too.

‘My word, you have been in the wars. Rub my balsam salve on them bumps and cuts, luvvie, and they’ll be gone before you look in the mirror. Oh, hello, duck. Which do you want, the hot room or the steam?’

Tulola ungirdled her gown. Like all her tunics, this was also designed to slide away in one piece and she wore neither breast band nor thong underneath.

‘Steam’s fine,’ she purred, her eyes raking Claudia’s naked back. ‘Is that your famous rose oil I can smell?’