Wolf Whistle

Blue was leaning horizontally across his horses to cut down wind resistance. The tyres of Red’s chariot began smoking, and the faction mechanic would probably lose an earlobe for being so careless, although the way the crowd was baying when Red finally bowed out of the race, he’d probably consider himself lucky to escape with his life. To tumultuous applause, Blue took his victorious chariot on a lap of honour and as he trotted down the length of the long central spine, he stopped at the lap markers and solemnly saluted. Once, lap counts had been tallied by huge wooden eggs, but that great man Agrippa had gifted the Circus with life-size bronze dolphins which need not be removed, simply reversed, and, when not required as lap markers, water gushed from their mouths into brilliant blue basins. Since this was the first time since Agrippa had died that they’d been put to use, by the time Blue saluted the seventh and final dolphin, there was not a dry eye in the house. Even the Emperor was sobbing.

‘That’s where I hoped you might come in,’ Marcus said quietly.

Let me think. Claudia counted the points off on her fingers. There’s a maniac sending vicious death threats. A mother-in-law who is actively seeking ways to disinherit me and who has turned my home into a trout farm. A business which is failing. I’m broke. The ragamuffin I took pity on remains pathetically unclaimed, and the only ray of sunshine in his little unloved life is a monkey intent on demolishing my house. Claudia moved to count the fingers on her other hand. On top of that, we have the man who uncovered my past sleeping in my late husband’s bed, while his illegitimate cousin has not only talked me into harbouring a runaway slave, she’s wearing a death sentence which might well entice a sadistic murderer to visit my house. Have I missed anything? I don’t think so.

‘Why should you think I’d want to help?’

‘Because life at the moment is too dull?’

In spite of herself, Claudia chuckled. ‘Just what is it you want from me, Marcus Cornelius?’

Orbilio’s unseeing gaze looked down at the racetrack. Oh, Claudia, how can I answer you that? Dozens of labourers were now raking the sand, a man up a ladder reversed the gleaming dolphins and another stoked the sacred flame of Mars before adding sweet-smelling resins, which, as they burned, sent up clouds of pungent black smoke. What I want from you, Claudia, is for you to tell me Porsenna means nothing. That he’s no more than a diversion to keep Larentia happy. What I want is to hold you in my arms and as the moon rises high in the heavens, whisper our secrets, our dreams, our hopes, our ambitions. Oh, what I want, Claudia, are your kisses. For my fingers to tangle in your wild, dancing curls, to hear the rich cadences of your laugh in my bed. And, Mother of Tarquin, more than anything, I want the courage to tell you ‘I-’ He cleared his throat and turned to face her. His eyes were dark with emotion, she saw, his face strained, and she felt an invisible vice tighten inside her. He was so close she could smell the rosewater in which his clothes had been rinsed, his sandalwood unguent, the sweet warm scent of his breath on her cheek. ‘Claudia, this might not be the right place, but I have to tell you how I feelJanus! ’

Grabbing her roughly, he jerked her upright and pushed her towards the aisle. Around her, the crowds had risen to their feet.

‘Quick! To the exit!’

Claudia tried to shake off his arm, but he was shoving her with the full strength of his weight. ‘Will you stop this?’ she protested, knowing how a carved wooden soldier feels being shoved along the board. The noise inside the Circus was deafening.

‘For gods’ sake,’ he hissed. ‘Can’t you see what’s happening down there?’

‘Only if I had eyes in my hairclips,’ she snapped. It might not have occurred to him, but she was going in the wrong direction to look at the race track. ‘Orbilio, will you let go of me, people will think I’m under arrest!’

His sole response was to shove harder, and she tripped up the stairs. People were surging towards them, then her feet were more flying than walking. He did not relax either pace or grip until they were outside.

Claudia pulled away and rubbed at the bruise on her arm. ‘What was all that in aid of?’

Orbilio fell against the high stone wall and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. ‘That-’ As he waited to get his breath back, two bands of legionaries converged on the entrance, swords drawn. ‘-stupid, bloody augur! Didn’t you hear him? From the flight of a flock of pigeons passing overhead, he concluded all further races should be cancelled.’

‘What?’

After the death of their hero just a fortnight before, devastating the entire populace of Rome, these Games were just the tonic they needed. And since there were only ever seventeen days of the year on which races could be held, they’d really worked up a head of steam for today. For some silly bugger to cancel the Games on account of a few birds was utter madness.