Wolf Whistle

‘Yes. Well.’ Claudia patted the vibrating pelt. ‘Let that be a lesson to you. Oh, there you are, Cypassis, where on earth have you been? The morning’s half over.’

‘It’s little Jovi, madam.’ The Thessalian girl laid out a fine robe of apricot linen. ‘He’s so clingy.’

‘Not for much longer.’ Claudia sank back in her chair and let her maid make sense of her curls. ‘In fact, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if his mother doesn’t claim him this morning.’

‘Because prostitutes worship Fortune?’ Cypassis asked. ‘You think she’ll take time off to collect him?’

‘Good grief, no. This woman’s holding out for a reward.’ If that’s what was needed, so be it. Claudia had offered a hefty sum to lure Jovi’s mother out-although if the greedy bitch expected to collect, she had another think coming. Trying to make capital out of a five-year-old’s misfortune!

‘Now then, Cypassis, is everything on schedule for today? I mean, the musicians and acrobats do know it’s tonight? I don’t want them saying they thought they were playing tomorrow or Monday, and you’ll remember to put food out for Drusilla?’

The tortoiseshell comb cut the air like a conductor’s baton. ‘Yes, yes, I hope so, and…’ She bit her lip and frowned. ‘Was there another question?’

After the Blemish Rites it’s on to the Field of Mars for the Bull Dance then a concert, and back here this evening for a farewell banquet. With emphasis on the FAREWELL.

‘I’ll need flowers strewn right across the floor, plus garlands for each of the old…of my dear husband’s relatives.’ What better display of wealth and extravagance? But there’s a snag. Flowers on that scale are prohibitively expensive. ‘You’ll have to send some of the slaves out, I’m afraid, to pick from the wild.’

‘Wonderful, madam! They love a day in the country.’

Was she serious? Knee deep in bugs and weeds? Surrounded by nothingness? What about the cowpats and the pongs? ‘I want corn cockles and honesty, periwinkles, speedwells, fritillaries.’ Claudia counted them off on her fingers. ‘Crown daisies, alkanet and violets. Have you got that?’

‘Most of it,’ Cypassis said doubtfully.

‘Good.’ Claudia checked her curls in the mirror then ferreted around in her jewel casket until she found a silver brooch in the shape of an owl. Can you imagine a more perfect offering for my very own protectress? Claudia kissed the pin. For you, Fortune. May you continue to smile upon me.

‘There’s been a bit of a stir among the master’s relatives this morning.’

Claudia threaded a purple ribbon in her hair and selected a matching wrap from her chest. ‘Hmm?’ Apricot and purple. Very elegant.

‘Mistress Fannia couldn’t sleep last night.’

Probably that chicken-feather bolster. Claudia fastened the owl to her gown and stood back.

‘Neither could Fortunata or Miss Eppia.’

Silver wasn’t right. It needed gold. Ah, that little filigree dolphin! Just the ticket. ‘One more night’-hoo-bloody-ray-‘and they’ll be back in their own beds.’

‘But they said…’ Cypassis gulped. ‘It was ghosts walking Master Gaius’s bedroom.’

‘Cypassis, you organize the wild flower raid, let me deal with the spirit world, all right?’

Gaius checking out his aunts and cousins? I don’t think so. More likely Larentia seeking arteries to sink her fangs into.

Downstairs, all the old hens were gathered in the atrium, a convoy of litters was lined up outside. However, for the sake of impact, Claudia had protracted the departure. Being the Kalends, the hearth was garlanded with marigolds, the calendulas from which the day took its name, and Claudia felt sure some prayers and a couple of rituals would go far to impress the old bats. She held out her arms, palms upwards and with every appearance of solemnity, intoned, ‘Mighty Juno, on this, your holy…’ She got no further. A fair-haired young man clad in a snowy white toga breezed in. ‘I’m so sorry, am I interrupting?’

‘Porsenna!’

Credit where it’s due, thought Claudia, Larentia had the decency to feign surprise.

As the other women fluttered their greetings, Claudia turned her own attention to the stranger in her hall. Why the shock? What had she imagined the mouse man to look like? Why should he have a face like a pancake? ‘Aunt Larentia, you’re looking absolutely wonderful!’ Young. Handsome. Well dressed. Can’t expect his eyesight to be perfect as well.

‘And you must be Claudia. Larentia, you naughty girl. You omitted to tell me how stunning the young widow was.’ The prospective bridegroom picked up Claudia’s hand and kissed it, and perhaps that was just as well.

Otherwise she’d have balled it into a fist and slammed it straight into Larentia’s teeth.

*