one achieves the right effect for dear Eugenius, he has taken so much trouble over his new banqueting hall.’ She lowered her voice to an outraged whisper. ‘He actually had the temerity to suggest that Acte person should choose the cushions, you know. Can you imagine it? A slave ?’
Having seen the animated Acte, more companion than nurse to the old man and with more taste in her big toe than the rest of the family put together, Claudia could imagine it.
Matidia turned to the mercer. ‘Talk me through these cushions again.’
Overhead, a middle-aged matron began shaking a blanket from her balcony and Claudia moved away to dodge the dust and find a place to take the weight off her feet. Not that there was much choice in this town. Talk about small. She began to pace the pavement like a caged leopard. Juno be praised, at least she didn’t have potty Sabina to contend with, because Tanaquil seemed to have stepped in and taken the heat off Claudia. You’d have thought that, once reunited with her family, some vestige of the old relationship might have surfaced, wouldn’t you? Not necessarily between her and the younger boys, who wouldn’t have known her, but what about her mother or Old Beaky or the old man? Instead, they skirted each other like wary jackals…which mightn’t be altogether surprising should it transpire Sabina wasn’t related after all.
What, though, could be her motive as an imposter?
Peering round the street corner and observing a trough, Claudia perched herself on the edge and dabbled her fingers in the water.
She looked neither like nor unlike the family, in so far as she was tall and slim, but then any self-respecting charlatan would be sure to possess such characteristics to stand any chance of succeeding. Succeeding at what, though? And who was behind this charade?
Certainly Sabina had learned her lines well and found no trouble in convincing the family she’d spent thirty years in celibate service. Why should they doubt her?
When Claudia tried to trip her up by inviting her to tell a few amusing anecdotes, she merely smiled her sad, vacant smile and reminded her she was sworn to holy secrecy. The only thing she could say was that it took ten years to learn the rituals, ten to practise and ten to teach.
Which she obviously wouldn’t have said had she known it was an old joke among atheists in Rome.
A yellow dog with one raggy ear wandered up to the trough where Claudia was sitting, sniffed all four corners carefully then leaned in and began to lap.
One thing: Tanaquil was spot on about marriage and Sabina was, with great ceremony (by Collatinus standards!), introduced to her prospective husband on Sunday, just two days after her arrival. Gavius Labienus was a respectable, wealthy, widowed oil merchant from Agrigentum, so was that it? Nothing more complicated than a step up the social ladder? The answer was quick in its coming.
‘He has violated me,’ that grey monotone announced to the startled assembly.
The bridegroom’s jowls flapped in denial, but Sabina pressed on.
‘Do not doubt my word. I turned myself into a stag, but he turned into a wolf to devour me. I dived into the sea and became a fish, but he followed in the form of a seal to gobble me up.’ She began to stroke her little blue flagon. ‘Finally I turned into air and became invisible.’
The silence was prolonged—it was difficult to recall exactly how it was broken. Labienus, poor sod, had been shocked to his core at the prospect of being palmed off with a lunatic, Vestal Virgin or no, and even the old man was rendered speechless. The yellow dog scratched at its good ear with a back paw and chased a flea or two before trotting off to investigate a fishhead in the gutter.
Now there was a wily old cove.
Claudia could not actually recall her husband mentioning Eugenius (which wasn’t to say he hadn’t done so, since she’d rarely listened to Gaius unless his words happened to impinge on her own activities).
Having seen the animated Acte, more companion than nurse to the old man and with more taste in her big toe than the rest of the family put together, Claudia could imagine it.
Matidia turned to the mercer. ‘Talk me through these cushions again.’
Overhead, a middle-aged matron began shaking a blanket from her balcony and Claudia moved away to dodge the dust and find a place to take the weight off her feet. Not that there was much choice in this town. Talk about small. She began to pace the pavement like a caged leopard. Juno be praised, at least she didn’t have potty Sabina to contend with, because Tanaquil seemed to have stepped in and taken the heat off Claudia. You’d have thought that, once reunited with her family, some vestige of the old relationship might have surfaced, wouldn’t you? Not necessarily between her and the younger boys, who wouldn’t have known her, but what about her mother or Old Beaky or the old man? Instead, they skirted each other like wary jackals…which mightn’t be altogether surprising should it transpire Sabina wasn’t related after all.
What, though, could be her motive as an imposter?
Peering round the street corner and observing a trough, Claudia perched herself on the edge and dabbled her fingers in the water.
She looked neither like nor unlike the family, in so far as she was tall and slim, but then any self-respecting charlatan would be sure to possess such characteristics to stand any chance of succeeding. Succeeding at what, though? And who was behind this charade?
Certainly Sabina had learned her lines well and found no trouble in convincing the family she’d spent thirty years in celibate service. Why should they doubt her?
When Claudia tried to trip her up by inviting her to tell a few amusing anecdotes, she merely smiled her sad, vacant smile and reminded her she was sworn to holy secrecy. The only thing she could say was that it took ten years to learn the rituals, ten to practise and ten to teach.
Which she obviously wouldn’t have said had she known it was an old joke among atheists in Rome.
A yellow dog with one raggy ear wandered up to the trough where Claudia was sitting, sniffed all four corners carefully then leaned in and began to lap.
One thing: Tanaquil was spot on about marriage and Sabina was, with great ceremony (by Collatinus standards!), introduced to her prospective husband on Sunday, just two days after her arrival. Gavius Labienus was a respectable, wealthy, widowed oil merchant from Agrigentum, so was that it? Nothing more complicated than a step up the social ladder? The answer was quick in its coming.
‘He has violated me,’ that grey monotone announced to the startled assembly.
The bridegroom’s jowls flapped in denial, but Sabina pressed on.
‘Do not doubt my word. I turned myself into a stag, but he turned into a wolf to devour me. I dived into the sea and became a fish, but he followed in the form of a seal to gobble me up.’ She began to stroke her little blue flagon. ‘Finally I turned into air and became invisible.’
The silence was prolonged—it was difficult to recall exactly how it was broken. Labienus, poor sod, had been shocked to his core at the prospect of being palmed off with a lunatic, Vestal Virgin or no, and even the old man was rendered speechless. The yellow dog scratched at its good ear with a back paw and chased a flea or two before trotting off to investigate a fishhead in the gutter.
Now there was a wily old cove.
Claudia could not actually recall her husband mentioning Eugenius (which wasn’t to say he hadn’t done so, since she’d rarely listened to Gaius unless his words happened to impinge on her own activities).
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