Virgin Territory by Marilyn Todd Read Free Book Online Page A

loveliest views she had ever seen. To her left, Pharos Point stretched out to sea, crowned by the stubby lighthouse from which it took its name. On the far side of the headland, where the terrain changed dramatically to dry scrub and sparse vegetation, lay the shacks and shanties that comprised the poor and insignificant fishing village of Fintium where she’d landed, demonstrating clearly how the island’s geography contributed to its fluctuating fortunes.
    Now when was it she’d put ashore? So much travel, so much change of scenery, it was confusing. She totted it up on her fingers. Today is Monday, which makes it, let me see, the ninth day of October. That’s right, because we arrived in Syracuse last Monday, which was the second, had that run-in down by the docks, sailed on Tuesday and put ashore in shabby Fintium three days ago, on Friday.
    Had nothing gone according to plan on this trip? Claudia gazed at the tableau laid out in front of her.
    The tightly packed pines below, into which the blue flash of a jay disappeared.
    The sweep of white sand, deserted as always, which would take every bit of an hour to cover, headland to headland, on foot.
    The flat white rock a half-mile westwards upon which Eugenius Collatinus had chosen to site his villa.
    Further on, where the outcrop dropped away and therefore out of sight, ran the river from which, at exorbitant cost, Eugenius had his water pumped up.
    Behind her, barren hills rose almost vertical except for a plateau to the west. A mile north the grey, hilltop town of Sullium nestled between two peaks.
    Claudia let her eyes rest on the gentle bob of the African Sea.
    In Rome, travellers talked of how you could see the very walls of Carthage from here. The product of a nimble memory, of course, but to a certain extent that could be forgiven and Claudia had a feeling her own recollections might follow the same route themselves. Africa might not actually be visible, but it was not so very far across these sparkling waters and much of this island’s produce—the wine and the olives—ended up in Carthaginian stomachs now that the wars were forgotten. At least until next time.
    Thanks to an offshore breeze, the heat of the afternoon sun was much mitigated. High in the sky a buzzard mewed and a yellowbird butterfly set a fluttering course for Tunis. Such beauty, she thought. Such tranquillity. Such cleanliness.
    So much, it’s positively unwholesome!
    Where’s the graffiti you see at home? She didn’t know, until she saw it painted on the wall outside the caulker’s, that that stuck-up senator, Longimus, was a bigamist.
    And who’d have guessed Vindex the mule doctor was a eunuch?
    The hurly-burly of Rome came flooding back, its streets thronging day and night and with entertainment on practically every corner. After just two weeks, Claudia was pining for the gruff shouts of the wagon drivers, the shrill laughs of the whores, the squabbling of the lawyers. It was decidedly odd, not being on guard against a poke in the eye from a porter’s pole, not coughing from the dust of the stonemasons’ mallets, not sidestepping a sudden swish of dirty water down the gutters. All this scenery—good life in Illyria, she exclaimed to herself, it just wasn’t natural.
    But what was natural around here? Not the Collatinuses, that was for sure. Barking mad, the lot of them. In fact, the only one who wasn’t barking was Cerberus, their soppy, sloppy guard dog, and even Claudia, who knew precious little about canine behaviour, could have told Fabius that a kick in the ribs wasn’t the answer.
    Nor was theirs a high-spirited madness—good heavens, if only! They were simply unpleasant. There was no other word for it.
    Claudia had long forgiven Sabina for her part (or, rather, lack of) in that dockside fiasco last Monday. It was not, she supposed, Sabina’s fault she had a cog missing—but her mother… Holy Mars, Matidia was enough to make a physician break his seal of secrecy! If