Man Eater

‘Oh, you’re the best, sweetie,’ purred Tulola, but the gladiator was back in the arena.

‘Typical sodding Samnite, hiding behind that great shield of his and trying to whack me with just that one arm exposed. Strongarm, geddit? But I’m quick, me. Nips behind-’

Claudia had switched off long ago, intrigued with the harem’s relationship with one another. Talk about claustrophobic. Did they know they were in competition? Was it the competition that kept it hot? Or had, as Tulola’s remark intimated, each one been led to believe he was special?

‘-cuts his leg straps and spears him where he lay. Strongarm, my arse! Tripped by his own leg greaves, silly sod.’

‘Fascinating.’

‘Then there was that time I-’

‘Time?’ Claudia jumped on the word. ‘Glad you reminded me, I’m meeting-’ think, think ‘-Sergius.’

Who? Claudia, can’t you, for once, think before you open your stupid mouth?

‘Lord, yes. I’d forgotten all about the show, as well.’ Show? What show? Tulola had finally detached herself from the gladiator. ‘We’ll lead the way, it’s quite difficult otherwise.’

What is?

‘Huh. You won’t catch Scrap Iron ankle-deep in elk shit.’ Timoleon seemed to think he’d made a joke and bellowed with laughter. ‘But hurry back, we’ve got unfinished business.’ He emphasized his point with a lewd gesture, which somehow managed to encompass Claudia in the motion.

Tulola blew him a kiss. ‘Quite something, isn’t he?’ she said in her low, husky drawl, and Claudia forced herself to be objective about it.

Once, maybe, she acknowledged. By definition, the retarii had to be fast, because theirs was the most dangerous role of all. Bareheaded and armourless, they had only net, trident and dagger to protect themselves, and once they were cornered they stood no chance. Claudia had watched Scrap Iron in action-indeed, had backed him in many a fight. A real daredevil, provoking his lumbering, but superior, opponents by a courageous exhibition of darting and diving, slashing and thrusting until the weight of their armour eventually exhausted them. A true professional, he made it look easy, but Claudia knew Timoleon would have spent hour after agonizing hour practising the moves that had made him famous-and that had also saved his life. She gave a non-committal grunt in reply as they passed from the cool of the atrium into the warmth of the courtyard, as her mind tried to evaluate what type of woman blatantly manipulates several men at a time, pitting one against the other in her sexual politics. Did Tulola, in her arrogance, ever stop to consider the danger?

By the fountain, Taranis sat slumped with an old felt hat shading his head. Tulola nudged him with her foot as they passed. ‘Wake up, my little blue warrior.’ She turned to Claudia. ‘Sometimes, if I ask nicely, he’ll paint himself with woad in bed. Quite a turn on. Hey!’ She raised her voice to the Celt. ‘It’s time for Sergius’ show.’

‘Ach.’ The battered hat shook from side to side. ‘You go. Tell me about it after.’

‘Honestly.’ Tulola linked her arm through her companion’s as she led the way to the orchard. ‘For a man who’s supposed to be supplying bears for next season, you can’t get him near the zoo. Anyway, sweetie, what I wanted to ask you is, how much will you take for your henchman?’

Claudia passed her faltering step as a trip over a paving slab. ‘The driver’s hired help, I’m afraid.’

‘Not that ugly lug, I’m talking about your Gaul.’

I know.

‘Forty gold pieces? He’s very handsome and, ooh, those muscles.’

Bumble-bees searched the last of the pale pink blossoms, and a kitchen slave with a baby on her hip gathered basil and purslane and mint.

‘I’m afraid’, Claudia spoke in a confidential whisper, ‘I can’t sell him.’

‘Aha! The stallion services your own stables.’

‘No, no. I can’t sell him. He’s-how can I put this?’ she glanced up at the unfurling leaves for inspiration ‘-incomplete, poor boy.’

Tulola’s arm recoiled like a striking snake. ‘A eunuch? That’s no bloody use.’

Claudia nodded sympathetically. ‘Tragic, isn’t it?’

As they climbed the steps of the terrace, she calculated that it would cost her two gold pieces to keep his trap shut, possibly three since pride was involved. Men! They get het up over such trifles, don’t they? Not that it was Junius who concerned Claudia at this moment.

‘Earlier, down by the fishpond, your baby sister showed me one of her charming little keepsakes.’

‘I don’t have a sister-oh, do you mean Euphemia?’

‘The sort who causes more ructions than a dozen earthquakes?’

Tulola laughed. ‘That’s her and she belongs to Alis, not me.’

Um. ‘Belongs?’

‘Euphemia’s her sister.’

Good life in Illyria, what a turn-up for the books. Where Alis was pale, Euphemia was dusky. Where Alis was high-breasted, Euphemia was voluptuous, and where Alis was respectability personified, Euphemia had temptress written all over her.