anyway.’
Claudia glanced at the preparations being made for the sacrifice. No knives laid out, no incense burning, the fire barely lit. Excellent. Another half an hour to the start, unless she missed her guess. Just right. By the time that poor ram was led up to the altar, no one except the priest would be interested in its fate. Even Janus would have both his faces trained upon the show.
There had been a bit of a problem at the beginning. Since it was sacrilege for women to attend a sacrifice without their heads veiled, how was Claudia to make the volumptuous beauties stand out from the crowd? The men were easy. Unlike the big theatres, strolling male actors relied on the age-old technique of gurning to bring about laughs, and Claudia was convinced that Doris and Skyles would have the crowd regretting they’d not practised their pelvic-floor exercises more meticulously. But that didn’t solve the problem of the plumptious beauties, when women were only allowed on stage providing their heads were covered. (Exactly. Even though convention encouraged them to end up wearing nothing else, they still had to wear a veil!) Today, the solution was simple. Keep the girls veiled, but have the boys wear proper theatrical masks, then no one could have any doubt about what the group could be. Or who was sponsoring them!
‘… this is but a detail,’ Doris was saying, supposedly reading from a script on the portico of the basilica adjacent to the temple. ‘We must address the fundamental issue here—’
At which point, Jemima bent down and touched her toes. The veil, naturally, slipped off.
‘Some fundament there !’ Ion shouted from the steps.
‘I wouldn’t mind getting to the bottom of it, that’s for sure,’ Skyles jeered from the other side of the group.
The crowd shuffled closer. Jemima promptly lifted her hem and peered at them through her chunky ankles.
‘What are you lot laughing at?’ She straightened up and looked from left to right, adopting a puzzled air. ‘No, come on. What ?’
Skyles and Ion both held up innocent hands. Doris pretended to get cross that rehearsals weren’t going according to plan. The crowd began tossing coppers.
‘O Janus,’ the priest intoned solemnly, ‘god of beginnings, porter of heaven, guardian of the gates, may your powers be great from this offering.’
No one heard him. No one heard the poor ram bleat as it tugged on its lead. No one noticed that the temple doors, kept permanently shut during peacetime, had been opened by a pair of sombre, white-robed acolytes so that Janus might watch the sacrifice in his honour.
‘Don’t you accuse me of buggering up rehearsals,’ Jemima told Doris, hands planted on her ample hips. ‘It’s them two fat ugly cows.’ She jerked her head at Adah and Erinna. ‘Distracting people from the ceremony, you want to keep ’em indoors, out the way.’
‘ Me fat?’ Erinna shrieked. ‘You’re the one whose favourite food is seconds!’
‘At least I haven’t reached the point where food’s a substitute for sex,’ Adah sneered.
‘No?’ Jemima shot back. ‘Then why’s there a mirror above yer bleeding dinner table?’
Copper coins became bronze.
The priest raised his voice. He had long ago given up any hope of silence during the sacrifice, his best hope now lay in incense. Choking grey clouds tried to draw the attention of the masses, but fat remained triumphant. Only a pious young widow and a rotund individual dressed like a kingfisher strained to listen to the prayers as the young ram was purified with holy water. Adah lunged at Jemima, Erinna tried to pull Jemima off, handsome Ion leapt off the steps to rush to Erinna’s aid and whoops! Erinna’s tunic came off in his hands.
Uproarious cheers.
Silver showers.
The ram went to its doom unmourned.
‘You dirty devil,’ Erinna gasped, torn between slapping Ion round the ear and covering her embarrassment. ‘You know damn well I don’t wear underclothes!’
Ion, in
Claudia glanced at the preparations being made for the sacrifice. No knives laid out, no incense burning, the fire barely lit. Excellent. Another half an hour to the start, unless she missed her guess. Just right. By the time that poor ram was led up to the altar, no one except the priest would be interested in its fate. Even Janus would have both his faces trained upon the show.
There had been a bit of a problem at the beginning. Since it was sacrilege for women to attend a sacrifice without their heads veiled, how was Claudia to make the volumptuous beauties stand out from the crowd? The men were easy. Unlike the big theatres, strolling male actors relied on the age-old technique of gurning to bring about laughs, and Claudia was convinced that Doris and Skyles would have the crowd regretting they’d not practised their pelvic-floor exercises more meticulously. But that didn’t solve the problem of the plumptious beauties, when women were only allowed on stage providing their heads were covered. (Exactly. Even though convention encouraged them to end up wearing nothing else, they still had to wear a veil!) Today, the solution was simple. Keep the girls veiled, but have the boys wear proper theatrical masks, then no one could have any doubt about what the group could be. Or who was sponsoring them!
‘… this is but a detail,’ Doris was saying, supposedly reading from a script on the portico of the basilica adjacent to the temple. ‘We must address the fundamental issue here—’
At which point, Jemima bent down and touched her toes. The veil, naturally, slipped off.
‘Some fundament there !’ Ion shouted from the steps.
‘I wouldn’t mind getting to the bottom of it, that’s for sure,’ Skyles jeered from the other side of the group.
The crowd shuffled closer. Jemima promptly lifted her hem and peered at them through her chunky ankles.
‘What are you lot laughing at?’ She straightened up and looked from left to right, adopting a puzzled air. ‘No, come on. What ?’
Skyles and Ion both held up innocent hands. Doris pretended to get cross that rehearsals weren’t going according to plan. The crowd began tossing coppers.
‘O Janus,’ the priest intoned solemnly, ‘god of beginnings, porter of heaven, guardian of the gates, may your powers be great from this offering.’
No one heard him. No one heard the poor ram bleat as it tugged on its lead. No one noticed that the temple doors, kept permanently shut during peacetime, had been opened by a pair of sombre, white-robed acolytes so that Janus might watch the sacrifice in his honour.
‘Don’t you accuse me of buggering up rehearsals,’ Jemima told Doris, hands planted on her ample hips. ‘It’s them two fat ugly cows.’ She jerked her head at Adah and Erinna. ‘Distracting people from the ceremony, you want to keep ’em indoors, out the way.’
‘ Me fat?’ Erinna shrieked. ‘You’re the one whose favourite food is seconds!’
‘At least I haven’t reached the point where food’s a substitute for sex,’ Adah sneered.
‘No?’ Jemima shot back. ‘Then why’s there a mirror above yer bleeding dinner table?’
Copper coins became bronze.
The priest raised his voice. He had long ago given up any hope of silence during the sacrifice, his best hope now lay in incense. Choking grey clouds tried to draw the attention of the masses, but fat remained triumphant. Only a pious young widow and a rotund individual dressed like a kingfisher strained to listen to the prayers as the young ram was purified with holy water. Adah lunged at Jemima, Erinna tried to pull Jemima off, handsome Ion leapt off the steps to rush to Erinna’s aid and whoops! Erinna’s tunic came off in his hands.
Uproarious cheers.
Silver showers.
The ram went to its doom unmourned.
‘You dirty devil,’ Erinna gasped, torn between slapping Ion round the ear and covering her embarrassment. ‘You know damn well I don’t wear underclothes!’
Ion, in
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