The King's Gambit(16)
“We have, Decius Caecilius.” She continued to smile, provocatively.
I took up the game. “But surely I would remember. You are not the sort of lady I forget easily.”
“And yet I was quite taken with you at the time. It was at the house of your kinsman, Quintus Caecilius Metellus Celer, at the time of my betrothal.”
“Claudia!” I said. “You must forgive me. You were only twelve then, and not half so beautiful as you are now.” I tried to remember what year that had been. She had to be nineteen or twenty by now. There was some speculation within the family as to why the marriage had not yet taken place.
"You haven’t changed. But then, you have. That was before you left for Spain, and you’ve acquired a scar since then. It’s very becoming.”
“There are others,” I told her, “but not so dignified.” I noticed that the serving-girl was studying me coolly, without the downcast-eyed modesty expected of domestic slaves. She was a wiry creature of about sixteen, and I thought she looked more like an acrobat than a lady’s maid.
“You intrigue me,” Claudia said.
“Wonderful. No one has ever called me intriguing before. I assure you, there is nobody I would rather intrigue.” Smitten young men speak like that.
“Yes, it intrigues me that you would rather serve Rome through the plodding routine of office instead of dashing military glory.” I couldn’t tell whether her tone was gently mocking or seriously mocking.
“Plodding but relatively safe. Military shortcuts to power and authority shorten one’s life.”
“But nothing is safe in Rome these days,” she said, quite seriously. “And our illustrious Consul Pompey has done rather well out of his military adventures.”
“Spared himself some of the drudgery of office, at any rate,” I agreed. Early in his precocious career, the boy-wonder general had secured consular command of an army without having served even as a quaestor. He was now Consul at the age of thirty-six. He and his partner, Crassus, had secured election to the Consulate by the simple expedient of encamping their legions within sight of the city walls.
“Well, you may be odd in these times, but I think it’s admirable. I was on my way home from the Capitol when I saw you practicing here. I decided to come over and extend an invitation.”
"An invitation?” I seemed to be attracting a lot of those lately.
“This evening my brother and I host a banquet in honor of a visitor. Will you pay us the honor of attending?”
“I am flattered. Of course I’ll come. Who is the guest?”
“A foreign nobleman, a hospes of my brother’s. I’m not supposed to noise his name about, because he’s supposed to have enemies here in the city. Claudius made me promise not to tell. You’ll meet him tonight.”
“I’ll look forward to meeting this mysterious traveler,” I said, not greatly caring. Foreign potentates were common in Rome, and one more unpronounceable name failed to pique my interest. I would, however, be happy to put up with some boring Egyptian or Numidian in order to see Claudia again.
“This evening, then,” she said, resuming her veil. The slave girl studied me solemnly until her mistress said, “Come, Chrysis.”
I decided that I had time to go to the public baths, then home to change clothes before the banquet, where I would arrive fashionably late.
I went to one of my favorite establishments, a small bathhouse near the Forum that boasted no palaestra or lecture halls and therefore was mercifully free of grunting wrestlers and droning philosophers. It provided towels and oils and its caldarium was a good place to stew in hot water and ponder.
I was still astonished that Claudia had grown into such a beautiful woman. I had heard her spoken of, naturally. She was fast building a reputation as a scandalous young lady, but in those days a woman could be scandalous just by speaking her mind in public. She had done nothing really reprehensible so far.
The Claudians were a strange and difficult family, one of the oldest patrician gens, Sabine in origin but with a strong infusion of Etruscan blood. This Etruscan element was credited for that family’s occasional forays into mysticism and odd religions. The family’s history was sprinkled with famous patriots and notorious traitors. One Claudian had built the fine road to Capua and then named it for himself. Another had drowned the sacred chickens and in consequence lost a sea battle with the Carthaginians. They were fairly typical of the breed. However, at this time I had just one Claudian on my mind.
Bathed, shaved, freshly dressed and perfumed, I presented myself to the janitor at the town house of Publius Claudius Pulcher, a fine structure that had once belonged to a wealthy Senator who had been executed during the Sullan proscriptions. Publius himself greeted me in the peristylium. He was a handsome young man of stocky build and he welcomed me warmly.