Virgin Territory

by Marilyn Todd

  Holy shit, the thought of raping a woman who was paralysed made his gorge rise, but to do it while she lay dying was too disgusting to contemplate. What sort of pervert did that?

  Orbilio’s hand patted the dagger in his belt. Chances are he wouldn’t need to use it, and even if he did, he’d have no compunction at killing the evil sod, his only regret would come from not taking him back alive.

  Squaring his shoulders and straightening his neck, he turned his mind back to the job in hand. With the evidence he had gathered, there was only one man who could have killed Sabina, and to get the proof he needed, a search of the man’s room was required. That was why he’d chosen tonight. Everyone was out of the way.

  Fabius was visiting an army pal in Sullium, Linus was drowning whatever sorrows he might have in a wineshop in Fintium, Portius was hobnobbing with his clique of so-called intellectuals, and Aulus was out checking wool stocks with his father, who’d suddenly demanded to go over them. (Why he’d chosen this time of night when he could have chosen any time he liked and when the light would have been better, Jupiter only knew. But that was Eugenius for you. Liked to keep them on their toes.)

  Plus it was Senbi’s night off, Diomedes was moonlighting, Dexippus was stuck with totting wool stocks, which left only Antefa, Senbi’s son, who’d been allocated to act as Orbilio’s manservant and Orbilio had sent him off on an errand. Oh, and Piso, who liked to frequent the local brothel on a Thursday evening.

  He had the place to himself.

  The time for playing games was over. Stepping purposefully out of the shadows, Orbilio threw his cloak over his shoulder with a flourish and strode across the tiles.

  The shutters were closed, as would be reasonable on a night like this, and there were no yellow lines round the door to suggest a lamp burning inside. Nevertheless, his dagger was in his hand as he threw wide the door.

  Empty.

  Closing the door quietly behind him, Orbilio fumbled for a light. The room was bigger and more opulent than he expected, the friezes quite remarkable. He had set down his lamp in preparation for the search when he heard footsteps. Light footsteps, those of a woman. Dancing footsteps, those of…

  ‘Well, well! If it isn’t our friendly neighbourhood snoop hard at work as usual.’

  His heart began to pound, though he couldn’t tell whether it was from pleasure at seeing her or from jealousy at why she was here.

  That was not an outfit one wore for darning one’s slippers.

  She was wearing a stola of the very finest cotton. Midnight blue with midnight intent. It was girdled below the breasts to fall in delicious folds, clinging to her thighs and draping delicately over her feet. That alone could drive a man wild, never mind that the upper edge of her garment, the bit that fell from neck to elbow, had not been sewn but was pinched together at small, enticing intervals by a series of gold brooches. So many, a man could be sent insane unclipping them slowly, one by one, and kissing the place they’d been keeping. And that would be after he’d removed every bracelet, every anklet, every armlet, every pendant she had deliberately and desirously draped over every inch of bare, soft skin.

  When he tried to speak, his voice failed him and he resorted to a sickly smile, only to be skewered by the sort of glance that kills the shine on polished bronze.

  ‘Enjoying yourself, are you, poking around in other people’s secrets?’

  He shrugged. It was his job and she bloody well knew it.

  ‘Your trouble, Orbilio, is that you’ve got no one except yourself to enjoy. In fact, I hear they call you Bedspread these days, you’ve been turned down so often.’

  He could feel his lips twitch and turned away before they let him down completely and showed teeth. She was angry, he could tell by the flush on her cheeks and the flash in her eyes, but Jupiter be praised, he was confident now of getting her on board that grainship tomorrow. He didn’t mind admitting, either, he was going to get a real kick out of bursting her bubble.

  He’d have to tread carefully—not only because she was softer than she made herself out to be, but burst it too quickly and she’d never forgive him, he’d be back where he started. The knack was to make her understand for herself. And if there was someone there, close at hand, a shoulder to cry on, during that long, long voyage back to Rome, was it Orbilio’s fault he just happened to be that person…?

  He noticed her finger was trailing the edge of the cupboard beside her.

  ‘Good quality furniture,’ he said quietly, wondering where to begin his search. The room was packed with shelves and cupboards for all his paraphernalia, the instruments, the apparatus, the drugs, the palettes, the balances.

  ‘Why not? Physicians are worth their weight in gold pieces.’

  Especially Greek ones. They were reputed to be the best in their field, although Orbilio had scant regard for these so-called skills. It was all too easy to bury your mistakes.

  ‘You obviously think so, to be troubling him this time of night. Couldn’t you sleep?’

  He realized his mistake the instant the words slipped out, and unable to help himself his eyes jumped from her tantalizing outfit to the broad couch in the corner. How many times had she been here, he wondered, as red hot irons began to wrench his guts apart. Diomedes, blast his balls, must have set to work straight away and what a smooth operator he turned out to be. She’d been here only a week.

  Claudia shot him a brittle smile. ‘I’ve always found that early to bed, early to rise, my dear Orbilio, was the most wonderful piece of advice I was ever given the chance to ignore. Too many good times would have been utterly ruined otherwise.’

  He pretended not to hear. Dammit, when he sailed halfway round the Mediterranean, he’d expected her to be in danger. He didn’t expect her to be in some stranger’s bed.

  ‘What are your greasy little fingers looking for, anyway?’

  Orbilio forced his mind back to his search. No doubt there was method in this wild disorder, but for the life of him he didn’t know what, and he had to be careful not to show anything had been disturbed.

  ‘A scalpel.’ If he didn’t find it tonight, he’d try again in the morning. ‘The scalpel, actually. The one that killed Sabina.’

  Her mouth turned down in disgust. ‘How revolting! How do you know it was a scalpel?’

  He was back on level ground now. ‘I examined the wound carefully. The blade that made it was sharp, thin, and the cut so precise it verged on the professional.’

  She tipped her head on one side. ‘Oh dear, have you been sniffing the hemp seeds again? I mean, you can’t seriously suspect Diomedes?’

  He closed one cupboard carefully, opened another. He lifted the lid of a tin and inhaled warily. It reeked of stale animal fats.

  ‘Who else?’

  He tried not to sound too cheerful. Means, motive and opportunity. Find that weapon and he had him bang to rights.

  ‘Well for a start, he was with me when Sabina was killed. Or do you have me down as an accomplice?’

  ‘I wouldn’t put anything past you.’ Orbilio shook a copper vessel, heard the liquid inside swish and untied the bung. Vinegar. ‘But not on this occasion. However, by his own admission, Sabina had been dead between two and three hours. Ample time for him to nip into town and establish an alibi. Especially if she’d been dead, say, an hour longer. Just remember who showed you that shortcut in the first place.’

  Claudia began to play with some little white pills Diomedes had been rolling and Orbilio realized she was thinking it through. Wonderful! Because when she did speak, it wouldn’t be some trite remark about doctors being supposed to save lives rather than take them, it would be a remark worth waiting for. Several minutes ticked past as he continued rifling. Boxwood containers with papyrus labels. Limewood boxes preserving scented flowers. Bowls, scrolls, scoops and spatulae. Finally Claudia put down the marble palette and he shot her a quizzical look.

  She picked up a pair of forceps with long, slender handles, hollowed jaws and interlocking
teeth and waved them menacingly in his direction.

  ‘If you’re so clever,’ she said, ‘answer me this.’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘What are these for?’

  XIV

  Old Conky had been right about the weather. All traces of rain had vanished when Claudia opened her shutters on Friday morning, and it was back to bright sunshine and vibrant blue skies. The sea, calm and clear, brushed the sands below, while a gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the pines and the oaks and the spurge bushes. The most perfect of days for the hundreds of water-blessing ceremonies that took place, not only on Sicily but throughout the Empire in veneration of the goddess Flora. The most perfect of days to sneak off to see to that cockroach Aristaeus without anyone the wiser.

  This was a day of so many local ceremonies that she could be attending any one of them, watching sacred garlands consigned to the waters or posies laid around the tops of the wells.

  The breakfast table looked suitably festive, bedecked with flowers and ribbons and, best of all, Claudia had the dining room to herself. But not for long. Matidia threw herself down, confiding she was in a real froth about what to say, because it was her turn to lead the procession. She wanted to make a speech, a really wonderful speech, better than all the speeches the other wives had given over the years.

  ‘Flora won’t give a brass fig,’ Claudia said, flicking a grape pip across the room. ‘I think you’re wasting your time.’

  Matidia couldn’t have looked more shocked had Claudia announced she’d spent last night humping every slave on the Collatinus estate and was going back for seconds. The atmosphere was broken when Portius swept into the room. There were more ringlets in his hair than tendrils on a vine and he’d rather overdone the antimony round his eyes. He looked like a polecat.

  ‘Mother, I’ve solved the problem,’ he said eagerly. ‘Listen!

  She prayed, and all her sister nymphs,

  The three hundred nymphs that guard the groves,

  The three hundred nymphs that live within the streams.

  Three times she splashed the glowing hearth with wine,

  Three times the flame, renewed, shot up to heaven.’

  ‘Darling, that’s brilliant. Oh, you’re such a clever boy, Portius, what would I have done today without you!’

  Claudia nearly choked on her plum. Did he never learn? Another straight quote! Still, he was on to a surefire winner with that little gem, combining the water-blessing with a reference to Sabina in her role as a Vestal, and it was unlikely the good matrons of Sullium knew enough about Virgil to trip him up.

  Her ears blocked out the praise being heaped upon Portius’s beautiful curls and she concentrated on what she had to do today. Orbilio said the grainship would drop anchor mid-afternoon, but she’d decided against breaking the news of her departure to the family until the last minute. It was, she felt, none of their damned business. Therefore she’d packed her own boxes, quietly if not particularly efficiently. By now Cypassis was well on the mend (thanks to Diomedes), although she was still weak in the legs. Leaving Cypassis to rest but allowing Pacquia to believe her maid was with her, Claudia had managed rather well on her own, she thought.

  As she was draining the last of her breakfast wine, Old Conky came thumping in, his face as black as yesterday’s thunder.

  ‘That’s all we bloody need, half the workforce out.’

  Matidia didn’t even glance up from her speech. ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Some local kid’s wandered off and our slaves have taken it upon themselves to search the ravines and gullies roundabouts.’

  Claudia narrowed her eyes. ‘Whose child was it?’

  Aulus tutted. ‘Who cares? What I want to know is, how am I supposed to meet production targets when half the bloody workforce has done a bloody bunk? Where’s Linus?’

  ‘What does the old man say?’ asked Portius. ‘About the search?’

  Aulus tapped his temple. ‘Going senile,’ he replied. ‘Said let them get on with it. Can you believe that? Look, where’s Linus? I need him in the yard.’

  In the privacy of her bedroom, Claudia slipped the belladonna in to the folds of her tunic, sending up a silent prayer to Jupiter, Bringer of Justice, that there was sufficient of the drug in her phial to lay that son-of-a-bitch Aristaeus flat in his grave. If she hurried, she might, just might, be in time to save the life of another little girl.

  With her room at the front of the house, it was impossible to miss that familiar ring of laughter as Orbilio exchanged pleasantries with Fabius. More boys’ own army jokes, no doubt, but she waited until it fell silent before slipping away.

  It had come as a complete shock last night, seeing Supersnoop standing where she expected to find Diomedes, and it rankled that merely looking at him brought on a strange tingle which left the Greek a very limp second. The tendril of a blue vetch entangled itself in Claudia’s shoe and she paused to free it. Lust, my girl. Decent, honest lust. Accept it for what it is, then the quicker you’ll find someone else to lust after. Because it didn’t matter to Claudia that Orbilio wasn’t interested in her. Why should it? If he had other fish to fry, what did she care? Dressed to the nines and absent from dinner last night, there was only one conclusion to draw. He’d been in some harlot’s bed before snooping round Diomedes’s room. So what? A small smile lifted one side of her mouth. So she hoped the bitch had crabs, that’s what!

  Nevertheless, seeing him there had taken her breath away. But it was only for a moment and perfectly understandable, amid that gruesome array of saws, chisels, clamps and catheters casting eerie, flickering shadows in the lamplight. Not to mention that half-size statue in the middle of the bloody room! So you see, it had nothing to do with Orbilio, it would have been the same no matter who.

  Our master sleuth did not, of course, unearth the Secret Scalpel duly encrusted with dried blood from its hidey-hole. Honestly, it beggared belief that anyone would be stupid enough to set aside a special scalpel purely for butchering women, and after a while he looked where Claudia would have looked in the first place. Amongst the other scalpels. Which was as unproductive as she expected it to be, too. Diomedes kept one full set in a special hinged box, but a whole host of back-ups and spares in the corner. Really! What did Orbilio expect? A knife with the word ‘me’ written in dried blood?

  By coincidence, they’d bumped into Diomedes in the hall shortly afterwards and he’d given them both such an odd sideways look that, had Claudia been in possession of such a trivial thing as a conscience, it might have made her feel guilty about going through his papers while Orbilio searched for mythical clues.

  Much of yesterday’s rain had drained away, but here and there—on blades of grass, in flower cups or in spider’s webs—small drops clung on obstinately, twinkling in the sunshine like precious jewels of red and white and gold. Despite the lateness of the season, with the dust washed off the leaves, the vegetation, high as it was, still contrived to look fresh and vibrant. Even the parched grass looked more like a miniature cornfield at harvest time.

  For obvious reasons, Claudia made her climb alone. It was the only way to tackle Aristaeus, and she’d left so many contradictory instructions that it was impossible for anyone to know exactly where she had gone or with whom. She scanned the horizon. Not that the trireme would come early, but the gesture brought Rome that little bit closer. Great! There were so many things to do there. A girl could get away from people she wanted to get away from (people like debt collectors and oily investigators), she could enjoy the Senate debates, the odd funeral oration (hypocrisy is a marvellous thing), the games and the races. Claudia totted it up on her fingers. A speedy passage home would deliver her right at the start of the Victory Games. I ask you. Could life be sweeter?

  The terrain up here was rugged, open and windswept, scrub and rock. Limestone, someone said. As if she cared what bloody rock it was! Her lungs were wheezing like a pair of faulty bellows as she stopped to examine the track. In theory the path she’d been following sh
ould have led her straight to Aristaeus. So why, suddenly, was there a choice?

  She glanced back. The villa, Fintium, even Sullium—they were all out of sight now. Talk about remote. She looked again at the fork in the path. Both tracks led over peaks, and you could see woods on the other side. These southern slopes, of course, had been stripped of trees to make Sextus’s warships during his seven-year battle for independence and the land had never recovered. It was stony and arid and sheep was the best you could do up here. But over the rise waited a different, cooler world where umbrellas of oak and beech and birch shaded and refreshed you with their dazzling display of autumn colours. Sweet chestnut trees scattered their shiny bounty across the forest floor, mushrooms and fungi adorned branches and boles. The red breast of a robin flashed across the path, the harsh churr of a jay rang out from the canopy.

  Claudia chose the right-hand fork for no other reason than a green spotted lizard lay sunning itself on a stone and up here any company was better than no company. But it didn’t take long to realize it was the wrong path—she was heading too far east. Damn! There wasn’t much time to play with, either. Juno, suppose Aristaeus wasn’t there? Suppose he was out, pretending to hunt for the missing child? She’d just have to lace his wine and pray no one else swallowed the wretched stuff. Hell, he was a recluse, wasn’t he? Who else would there be to drink it?

  ‘Lost, are you?’

  Claudia nearly fainted with shock. She hadn’t heard him approach, and with the crackle of twigs underfoot, still bone dry despite yesterday’s downpour, that was quite some feat.

  ‘Do you take me for a fool? Of course I’m not!’

  She had to lift her head to see him clearly. Bearded, dark-haired, going grey at the temples, he wore the leather leggings of the huntsman. To prove the point, he carried a small, sinew-backed bow in one hand and a brace of coneys in the other.