Wolf Whistle

When their footsteps and laughter had faded, Claudia released her pent-up breath and set off at a run. In theory, she supposed, Midden Hunters could be seen as men who were saving the lives of the newborn, but Claudia wouldn’t give you that (mentally she snapped her fingers) for theory. It was not difficult to see why mothers here abandoned their babies. Where food was scarce, money was scarcer, precious few mouths could survive. The Emperor had stamped out the worst of the poverty by issuing males over ten with the dole, but all too often those wooden tablets changed hands on the black market for wine, leaving the men befuddled and the women half-starved. By exposing their infants on the middens to be seen-or rather heard-attention would be drawn to their plight. For all the unwanted children born in this city, there was an equal number of barren women sobbing through long, lonely nights for a babe of their own. When dawn showed the child to be gone, its mother would weep with relief and pray to Cunina, Goddess of the Cradle, to protect it. Claudia wondered how easily these poor women would sleep if they knew the stories about the Midden Hunters were true.

The relief she felt at leaving the slums and its secrets behind her could not be put into words. Why is it, she asked herself, some folk sail through life with not a hint of trouble, whereas it haunts me like a lovesick ghost? No matter, she thought, turning her aching feet towards the Argiletum, apart from the fact that Gaius’ mother and daughter and a squad of his aunts were set to descend for the Festival of Fortune, life was pretty much plain sailing. She knew why the old trouts were coming, of course. Festival be damned. Money is relative, they say, and how true. Indeed, the more the money, the greater the number of relatives.

If these old cats hoped to disinherit Claudia Seferius, they had another thing coming.

Thank heavens, the Argiletum was deserted. During the daytime, this thoroughfare was thronged with merchants, porters and a veritable army of rich, idle wives flanked by their slaves and retainers as they checked out the latest footwear, fingering the leather and admiring the stamping. The air vibrated with hammering from the lasts, but now it was merely heavy with the tang of their hides. Upmarket booksellers also congregated along this street, their wares ranging from rare volumes to Claudia was wrong. The street was not quite deserted. A small boy sat in the gutter, elbows on knees, fists balled into his cheeks. His face was puffy from crying, the tears had left runnels in the grime.

‘Hello, soldier.’

Melancholy eyes rolled up to look at her. Words did not come.

Hmm. That was not a head of hair you could ruffle. Not unless you had a stomach for beetly things. But you couldn’t just pass on. Not while his little lower lip still trembled.

Claudia plumped herself down and mirrored his pose. ‘Want to talk about it?’ she asked softly.

Small shoulders shrugged. Bewildered, dejected, he was determined not to give in.

Claudia studied him as closely as she could by what paltry light was cast from an upstairs window. Maybe five years old, his clothes had been stitched and stitched again, and his bare feet were clearly strangers to leather.

‘Lost, are you?’ Too well she knew what it felt like for a grown-up-the terror and the claustrophobia-what must it be like for a tiddler?

A small chin jutted out defiantly before he nodded. ‘I want me ma.’

Will I never get a hot bath?

‘I asked that lady to take me home, but she wouldn’t help me.’ A grimy finger pointed towards a shuttered bookshop. There was, of course, no one there.

‘No?’ Claudia stood up and shook the folds of her tunic. ‘Well, I’m here now. Come along.’

‘She’s asleep.’

‘Who is? Your ma?’

‘That lady there.’

Poor kid. ‘What’s your name, soldier?’

A half-smile flitted across his tear-stained face. ‘Jovi.’

‘And where do you live, Master Jovi?’ Merciful heavens, please don’t say back where I’ve come from!

‘Dunno.’

Dumbfounded, Claudia leaned down to look him in the eye. ‘Say that again.’

He gripped one thumb in his fist and stared at his little blackened feet. ‘I’ve never bin away before.’

He was making such tremendous efforts not to cry that, in spite of herself, she ruffled his matted hair. ‘You’d better fall in line then, soldier, because tonight you’re on escort duty.’

Jovi stood up and cocked his head on one side. ‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah. You can deputize as my bodyguard and walk me home, and as a reward, you shall receive a hot pie and a bowl of honeyed apricots, and after breakfast I will take you home to your ma. How does that sound?’

‘Promise?’

‘Upon my oath, young man. First thing in the morning, we’ll have you washed and scrubbed so clean your mother will think she’s got two sons called Jovi.’

‘You won’t forget you said apricots, will you?’