Wolf Whistle

Her instinct about Loverboy had been spot on, she thought bitterly. Whether it’s cold commercial negotiations or hot limbs writhing in a bed, sure they’ll dally with the merchant classes, fool with the freeborn, lavish trinkets on girls from the slums. But when push comes to shove, patricians don’t sign a contract outside their own caste.

She threw the almond bun on the floor and ground it under her heel. Blue blood runs thicker than a merchant woman’s scent…

XV

Since there is nothing like a Bull Dance to fire the blood, the atmosphere was electric. Surrounded by the rainbow awnings, trumpet fanfares, cymbals, horns and rattles, a troupe of bare-breasted dancers with painted nipples snaked up and down the aisles, tapping tambourines and clacking castanets. Dwarves in masks and clowns in silly hats scampered over the sand, mimicking the audience and telling bawdy jokes while buffoons in motley dress ran loose among the crowds, lifting skirts and tunics, blowing down the backs of necks. Ten thousand feet stamped on wooden boards, vibrating the benches and echoing round the elliptical timber structure. Voices roared and, captured by the cambric roof, the temperature catapulted upwards.

‘My word, this is not what we’re used to,’ observed Cousin Fortunata, casting sly wistful glances towards the buffoons. ‘Most uninhibited.’

Claudia ignored her. Theirs were good seats, but they were not the best seats. The best seats were reserved for the aristocracy, and there they were, in the very front row, applauding the antics of the clowns. Supersnoop appeared to have his arm fused to Miss Lovely’s shapely shoulders and they threw their heads back together when they laughed. Claudia’s nail snapped where she chewed through it.

Shuffling closer to Porsenna, she rested her arm against his. If Loverboy looked over, he’d see her practically sitting in his lap.

If.

Not that she gave a damn, anyway.

As the dancers, clowns and motley melted away, a hush fell over the auditorium. The temperature climbed further, heating the marjoram and mint strewn on the steep wooden terraces. Wraps slipped off shoulders, sleeves were rolled up, and the exposure of flesh added to the earthiness inside the amphitheatre. It was perhaps solely down to the silence that Claudia noticed the meeting of two longhaired dandies, red-faced from recent exertion, each apologizing for their own lateness, but this was not what drew her attention. That was the wolf with a streak of silver down its back. A rumble of drums interrupted both the hush and Claudia’s astonishment. With a blast on the trumpets, the curtain at each tip of the oval drew back and horsemen in bright scarlet loincloths galloped into the ring. Gasps rose up. The skill of these Thessalian plainsmen had not been witnessed in Rome before now. They rode bareback, they did handstands, they rode balanced between two foam-flecked horses, cutting across one another with breathtaking precision. As far as Claudia was concerned, the wolf was history as horsemen turned somersaults or rode clinging to their black stallions’ bellies. And this was merely a taster. The Bull Dance was yet to come.

Still Marcus Cornelius did not turn his head.

Claudia coiled herself round a smug looking Porsenna and regretted not doubling the dose of her Runaway Success. Larentia smiled. But then, so do crocodiles.

To tumultuous applause and earsplitting whistles, the panting horsemen collected their wreaths and their accolades and retired. Musicians and tumblers came on in the interlude, and it was only when Orbilio moved to stretch his long, patrician legs that he noticed the stunning creature in the apricot gown six rows behind him. One curl, as usual, had come adrift from its mooring.

‘That blond rider was particularly handsome,’ Fortunata was saying. ‘Don’t you agree, Cousin Claudia?’

‘Not a patch on Porsenna,’ she simpered, linking her hand into his and pretending not to notice the tall aristocrat turning in the seat below as she whispered ‘It’s so hot in here’ to Porsenna. Let Hotshot make of that what he will. From the corner of her eye, she saw him ease his way up the steps.

‘That’ll be the crowd,’ replied the mouse man.

Give me strength. Nevertheless, Claudia set free a silvery laugh. ‘Oh, but Porsenna, I feel we’ve been alone from the moment we first met.’ She glanced up at the man hovering in the aisle. ‘Orbilio. What a surprise.’

He seemed amused. His eyes were twinkling. Did he think she hadn’t noticed his hands all over Miss Syrian Linens down below? But of course he did. This slick, handsome bastard was playing on the fact.

He indicated the food and drink vendors. ‘Can I get you anything?’

‘No thanks.’ Her eyes swivelled to the handsome mouse farmer, who was dispensing his charm to Larentia. ‘I have everything I need right here.’

Emotion flashed across his eyes, she thought it might have been hostility. Or something worse.