Free The Song of the Gladiator by Paul Doherty Page B

intervened, ticking the points off on his fingers. ‘Somebody loves Murranus, or somebody hates Spicerius.’
    ‘And thirdly?’ Claudia asked.
    ‘Somebody wagered heavily that I would win. It certainly wasn’t me or anyone at this tavern.’
    ‘But you should have died.’ Claudia turned to Spicerius. ‘You weren’t meant to faint. Your secret attacker intended to kill you.’ She glanced at the old physician, who was chomping on his lips, face turned to the sun, though he had been studying her carefully out of the corner of his eye.
    ‘By the cock!’ Valens whispered. ‘You have a sharp one here, Murranus! Keen as a surgeon’s knife. You’re right, Spicerius should have died. Three things saved him. He has the constitution of an ox, he vomited the poison, and I was there to administer treatment. There’s one further . . .’ His voice trailed off.
    ‘Yes?’ Claudia asked. She was aware of how silent the garden had fallen. A butterfly flew between them, fluttering white in the light breeze.
    ‘He should have died,’ Valens murmured, ‘but the assassin made a mistake. He, or she, didn’t give him enough poison. It was sufficient to make him vomit, to cause the pain, but not enough to finish him off.’
    ‘Spicerius!’
    Claudia turned. A young woman, black hair floating around her face like a veil, came tripping across the grass, the folds of her costly gown flapping around her, a shawl protecting her back and shoulders from the sun. Behind her an old slave carried a parasol and two fat cushions. The woman paused and turned on him.
    ‘Can’t you keep up, you old fool!’ she screamed. ‘And this parasol is supposed to shade me from the sun!’
    ‘Agrippina,’ Spicerius murmured.
    The young woman ran up in a gust of perfume and, without being invited, crouched down, flinging her arms around Spicerius’s neck, kissing him hungrily on the side of his mouth and face before shrieking to the old slave to put the cushions down. Then she drew apart, made herself comfortable and gazed around, an impudent smile on her cheeky face.
    As Agrippina blew a kiss at Murranus, Claudia tried to hide her stab of envy. The woman was truly beautiful. She had lovely expressive eyes in her ivory-skinned face, and her jewellery and earrings, all a blood red, glittered every time she moved, in a clatter of bangles and bracelets. She wore a wild flower in her hair and carried a perfumed napkin to cool the sweat on her neck and arms. She waggled her fingers at Valens but dismissed Claudia with a half-smile and a flick of her eyes.
    ‘I’ve been searching for you everywhere,’ she cooed, turning to Spicerius. ‘What on earth are you doing in a place like this?’
    ‘It’s my place,’ Claudia spoke up, ‘and I’m wondering what a person like you is doing here.’
    The smile disappeared from Agrippina’s face. The old slave hastily retreated. Agrippina took a fan from a pocket in her robe, snapped it open, stared hard at Claudia and then burst out laughing. She took a bracelet from her wrist and thrust it into Claudia’s hand.
    ‘I’m such a bitch,’ she confessed, ‘and such a snob! I meant no offence.’
    ‘None taken,’ Claudia answered, slipping the bracelet on to her wrist. ‘Would you like some wine?’
    Agrippina shook her head. ‘I’ve been drinking all morning. What have you been discussing?’
    ‘Who tried to kill Spicerius.’
    ‘Well, it wasn’t me,’ Agrippina retorted. She leaned against her lover. ‘We observed the rules, didn’t we; we neither drank nor ate that morning. What Spicerius does, I always follow.’ Her eyes turned soft. ‘No offence, Murranus, but I truly thought Spicerius would win. My father is furious. I bet a fortune and lost.’
    ‘I thought all money was to be returned?’ Spicerius said.
    Agrippina kissed him on his shoulder. ‘No, that’s what everyone is haggling about now. They will probably agree to hold the money until the next fight. Now listen, Spicerius, you