Wolf Whistle

A lump formed in Zygia’s throat. ‘Don’t be daft,’ she said, forcing a smile. ‘Nothing, Severina, will happen to you and that’s a promise.’ She pulled her into her arms and hugged her till the choking had subsided. ‘And I shall never, ever leave you, do you understand?’ How could she survive without Sevvi? She kissed the cascade of blonde hair and slid off the couch. ‘So maybe I’ll nip off to Annia’s. Get it over with.’

‘Now?’

‘Yes, now.’ Outside, in the yard, the aedile was screaming for his secretaries. ‘When I won’t be missed.’

‘Please be careful.’

‘Severina, my love, you worry too much.’ Zygia pulled on a fresh tunic scented with bayberries. ‘Today’s the Festival of Fortune, not market day.’ She tied a single blue ribbon round her short, dark hair and splashed a dab of scent behind her ears. ‘So one thing we can be sure of. In broad daylight, with all those crowds buzzing around, I couldn’t be safer had I an armed escort alongside.’

XIV

Despite Porsenna’s limp and limpet charm, Claudia was in a buoyant mood. The Blemish Rites had proved a rip-roaring success, the idea being that in exchange for a gift of frankincense and myrtle, Fortune renders invisible a woman’s sags and wrinkles. Believe that and you’ll believe anything, but the number of women who “just happened” to be passing with a fragrant white wreath in their hair beggared belief. The aunts had thrown themselves into the ceremonies with relish, and providing the old sourpusses were happy, Claudia was happy. One more night, just one more night, and her life would be her own again.

As morning moved to afternoon, the litters loaded up and yet again Claudia allowed herself to be engineered into sharing the mouse man’s carriage, with its comfy cushions and turquoise screens which screamed of intimacy and privacy. And yet again, Porsenna failed to deliver. Claudia smiled to herself. Poor old Larentia. Finds the perfect foil for her takeover of Gaius’ business, only he’s too weak even to understand what it’s about. When Larentia told him to be charming, he must have dashed out to buy a book of platitudes and, bless him, he’d used them all. However, so long as Claudia smiled in all the right places and nodded appreciatively, Larentia would remain unaware of her puppet’s shortcomings-and that was sweeter still.

From time to time, as the litter wallowed its way towards the Field of Mars, Porsenna’s voice drifted in and out of her awareness. ‘…roll the mice first in honey, then in poppyseeds…keep them caged and keep them fat…the skins alone can fetch a price…’

And from time to time, she interjected a ‘really’ or a ‘no!’ and sometimes a ‘tell me more’, but her mind was elsewhere. Part of it was with the astrologers who’d been hanging round the baths, because on the morning when the sun slid out of Pisces and sneaked into Aries, the time was ripe for mapping out futures, and if this involved vain women parting with silver, who’s to complain? Another part of her mind was with the water organ (star of the concert), and another part was with the Thessalian horse riders who’d be taking on the bulls this afternoon. It had filed Kaeso to one side, blocked out the Market Day Murder and thus it was purely nuisance value when the litter was halted, its path blocked because a cart had caught its offside wheel on the curb and overturned. All around, citizens were cursing.

‘This bleeding building programme! Fine for Augustus to say tear this down, put this up, restore that other one, what of us what lives here?’

‘Scaffolds over half the city, brick dust in yer hair! Do they have to lug great wagonloads of tufa through in the middle of the day? Everyone else makes do with night deliveries, why can’t they?’

Yet one voice stood clear from the sea of shouts, the thrashing of the oxen on their sides, the hundred different dialects. A distinctive canine howl. Claudia felt her blood run chill. It was that shaggy black dog which chased her off the map two days ago. So close, she could even hear him sniffing.

‘I know a diversion,’ she hissed to Porsenna.

‘Then I’d better tell Larentia,’ he replied. ‘Won’t be a tick.’

Too late. Claudia thought. You already are one. Close by, the dog yelped. She fingered her filigree dolphin and wished now she’d left it for Fortune.

‘Listen to me, slimeball.’

Brilliant. That was the moneylender’s voice, and a trickle of sweat snaked its way down her backbone as shaking fingers parted the turquoise cotton drapes. Dammit, his stall was barely fifteen paces away, she could see his balances and his moneybox. Heedless of the weather, the hounds were straining on their leashes. The loanshark grabbed his whey-faced client by the cloth around his neck and pulled the man’s face close to his. Claudia recognized the man he was snarling at. A baker from the Caelian.

‘If you don’t settle up in full, in six days from today, I shall personally tear your ovens down, smash your millstone and hang your kneecaps round your neck.’

‘B-b-but-’