by Marilyn Todd
He shook the doll. ‘I’ll teach you.’ His voice rose. ‘This is Magic you’re dealing with. Magic, you hear?’
Lighting the wick of another stinking tallow, he picked up his reed, sharpened the point and dipped it in ink.
‘don’t think you can deceive me you bitch’, Magic paused and looked up at the welter of copies round his bedroom walls, ‘your mine understand you are mine and the next time we meet it shall be for eternity’.
XXI
The sun was heartily sick of captivity. For a week he’d been bullied by a gang of grey clouds, but now, on the first day of the Megalesian Games, it was time to fight back. What he didn’t know, however, because he was behind with the news, was that the bald aedile responsible for organizing the Games had succumbed to the same fever which had laid low his five charioteers, so the sun’s first sight of Rome was hardly encouraging. Without expert guidance, the inaugural procession was late setting off, the lictors and statue-bearers hoping to catch up as they quick-marched double-time past the crowds lining the slopes of the Capitol without so much as a thought to the poor aedile wallowing in sweat and delirium. Less would they care about Severina, curled into a ball and howling like an animal for the girl whose throat had been cut in the Wolf Cave…
Instead the sun’s second punch found a weakness in the cloud cover over what, at first glance, appeared to be nothing more interesting than the office of a moneyed merchant. The window faced on to the peristyle, and so it was across the fountains and the birdbaths, the fan-trained peaches and the herbaries that his rays picked out a desk encrusted with ivory behind a high-backed chair complete with padded armrests and cushions. There were seats for two visitors, upholstered in azure-blue wool, plus chests of satinwood and maple and other grained woods. Fragrant elecampane burned in wall braziers, there were frescoes of flowers, ripe fruits and another of a leopard tamed and entranced by Orpheus’ lyre.
All this, of course, our flaming voyeur could find in any rich man’s office anywhere across the Empire.
What he wouldn’t expect to see, however, were great seas of ink spilling over tessellated peacocks or a flying scatter of scrolls as a blue-eyed, cross-eyed cat twisted from chest to upholstery to fine, damasked drapes in a desperate bid to catch the small creature with a black face and long tail which stubbornly remained one pace ahead, while at the same time a young woman made concerted but unfortunately ineffective snatches in the air, resulting in pens, tablets and styluses rolling under furniture and rugs.
Resting his elbows on the cloudbank, the sun ticked off the laps as monkey, cat and Claudia darted round the room, giving marks out of ten for their balletic leaps and plunges. Then the monkey opened up the game by shinning out the window. Drusilla followed hot on its heels, but Claudia could not. She merely leaned forward, hands on her knees, and prayed her lungs had not sustained permanent damage. In fact, she was still gasping when Marcus Cornelius breezed in.
‘The end of another party?’ he asked cheerfully, examining the slashes in the damask and claw marks gouged deep in the finely grained woodwork. ‘No, I see it’s still in full swing.’ He stepped over a huge puddle of ink to watch a garden being systematically laid to waste.
‘Did it not occur to you,’ Claudia wheezed, ‘to buy the boy a spinning top?’
Orbilio returned a marble bust to its podium and straightened the two overturned chairs. ‘Drusilla was putting on weight and needed the exercise, so say thank you.’
‘Bog off.’
‘That’s gratitude. I entertain your foundling, streamline your cat, redecorate your office and all you can say is bog off. Did you know you have ink spots on your hem?’ The look she gave him sent the sun scuttling back behind the cloudbank, but the investigator was made of sterner stuff. ‘Guess what day it is today.’
‘The day you walk out of my life?’
‘Sorry, it’s my lucky day, not yours—you see, this morning I thwarted the Market Day Murderer.’
Claudia straightened up. ‘You have?’ In spite of herself, she was impressed. ‘You’ve actually caught him?’ Orbilio picked up some scrolls and laid them on the table beside a bronze stylus jar. ‘Thwarted,’ he corrected. ‘Not caughted. There’s a difference. Let me start at the beginning. You remember Zygia, the girl who was killed in the Lupercal? She had a lover, Severina, who told me Zygia knew who the Market Day Murderer was, only she wouldn’t tell Severina in case it endangered her life. Are you with me so far?’
‘Marcus, you have my undivided apathy.’
‘Anyway, Zygia was on her way to warn—what?’ Frowning, he looked at the large cedarwood chest whose lid Claudia was now holding open with one hand, while her other seemed to be gesticulating at its contents.
‘It’s empty,’ he said, craning his neck.
‘Not for long, Hotshot.’
He glanced towards the garden, to where Larentia and her daughter were bearing down. ‘Claudia, you’re not serious…?’
She gave him a smile as innocent as a freshly laid egg. Then pushed him hard in the stomach.
‘Mmmmf!’
‘Quiet,’ she hissed. ‘Ah, Larentia. Julia. The others said to tell you they couldn’t wait until you got back from shopping, they’ve gone on ahead to the Circus.’
Larentia’s wrinkles puckered deeper. ‘I thought I saw someone in here,’ she snapped. ‘A man.’
Claudia plumped herself down on the chest. ‘Trick of the light,’ she replied, indicating the sun’s efforts to break through the clouds.
The old woman sniffed suspiciously. ‘What the devil happened here?’
‘The monkey,’ Claudia replied, and indeed no more was needed on the subject, since it had been the bane of everybody’s life since it got loose last night. All attempts to catch it had ended in disaster—Leonides sustained an ankle injury, two others knocked themselves out colliding heads and the net used to snare it was shredded from the inside within seconds. Better by far to turn Drusilla on it and trust she gives it a heart attack.
‘Fortunata took to her bed,’ put in Julia. ‘Herky was so affected by the horrid beast, he won’t come out of the cellar and she’s sure he’s having a nervous breakdown in there.’
‘Mmmmf!’
‘What’s that?’ asked Larentia.
‘What’s what?’
‘That knocking sound.’
Claudia rested her weight even more firmly on the lid. ‘Problems with the underfloor heating,’ she said. ‘There’s a blockage in the hypocaust, that’ll be the man inspecting it. Aren’t you leaving it late for the parade? I hear they’ve got elephants, camels, not to mention a lion that jumps through hoops.’ Her voice ended on a tantalizing note, and the two women swallowed the bait.
‘Are you sure you can’t come?’ asked Julia, helping her mother on with her wrap.
‘If only,’ Claudia sighed, kicking the chest in rhythm with the knocks. ‘But Gaius’ closest friend—you remember Statius? No? Well, he’s dying, poor fellow, and I could never—’ sniff ‘—forgive myself for not calling on him before he—’ sniff ‘—passes over.’
‘Quite, quite.’ They shuffled to the door and she waved them off the premises.
Back in the office, Marcus Cornelius was leaning over the chest, red-faced and gasping for air. ‘I thought at one point you were trying to suffocate me,’ he said.
‘At one point,’ she replied prettily, ‘you were right.’
‘Statius?’ he grinned.
‘P. Leno Statius. It’s the name of the oculist down on the corner, the first name that entered my head.’
‘I wonder what the P stands for.’
‘Is it pertinent?’ she asked.
‘More likely Paulus, but that’s beside the point. You lied to me, Claudia Seferius. You’re not drowning in domestic trivia, you’re in your element.’
‘Suffocating, Marcus. I said I was suffocating. As a policeman, you should pay more attention to the cause of my imminent demise.’
‘Imminent demise my foot.’
He laughed. ‘Young lady, you positively thrive on danger—hang on! What did you say?’ He slammed one fist into the palm of his other hand. ‘Of course!’ In three quick strides he was across the debris, hooking one leg over the windowsill. ‘Claudia, you’re a genius.’
‘I know,’ she yelled. ‘But what about the mess in my office. Didn’t your mother teach you to tidy your toys?’
‘Later,’ he promised, racing down a path strewn with leaves and blossoms, and vaulting over the statuary toppled by Drusilla and the monkey. Cause of death. Pay more attention to the cause of my death, she’d said. ‘I need to see Zygia’s body before they cremate it.’ At the gate, he paused. ‘Do give me the name of your gardener.’
He grinned, and deftly ducked the inkwell which came whizzing past his ear.
*
Claudia surveyed the war zone that had once been an office, then aimed a kick at the trunk which she’d used to hide Supersnoop. Cedarwood, and therefore expensive, it normally took pride of place in the dining room, but something had to make way for that lifesize bronze Venus and where better than here to house the stack of silver plate she’d hired from the banker? Unfortunately the wretched banker turned up at the front door, not the back, where there was no Cypassis to mention the dreaded typhus. As a result, the chest now lay empty. Claudia slammed the lid open against the wall. Painfully empty, in fact, and the big question was: how to stop Larentia finding out? Once the old cat got wind of one borrowed hoard, she’d be off on the scent like a truffle hound. Claudia was still slumped over the trunk when Leonides hobbled in, his left foot resembling a swaddled infant, and said, ‘There’s a young lady in the atrium, asking for he coughed gently ‘—Marcus.’
‘What?’ Claudia jerked up so hard, she bumped her head on the lid of the chest. ‘I don’t suppose she happens to be rather well turned out?’
Leonides’ stick tapped a tattoo as he advanced across the ink-stained peacocks. ‘Indeed she is, madam, and jolly attractive with it, if I might say so.’
‘You might not.’ Claudia rubbed at the lump which was forming. ‘Just show Miss Fancypants Camilla off the premises—better still, I’ll do it myself.’ And should I leave a footprint on her pretty little bustle, so much the better. She swept past the debris, then paused. ‘What’s the matter with you?’
‘Eh? Oh, nothing, madam. Nothing at all.’
Claudia peered up at her lanky steward. ‘You have two choices, Leonides. Either I take this paper knife and cut off your earlobe, or you come clean.’
He smiled thinly. ‘My ankle’s troubling me, that’s all.’ Claudia picked up the knife. ‘Another earlobe for my collection, then.’
He gulped, but persisted with the ankle story. Perhaps it’s personal, she thought. None of her business. Then she saw the parchment protruding from a fold in his tunic. ‘Madam, no—’
‘Too late.’
The scroll was wrapped round a ball of stranded wool. Strange. Why should this make him…? Not a ball. It had shape. A head, and arms and legs. Claudia felt her skin crimple. Once upon a time, this had been a little girl’s dolly, knitted perhaps by her mother, with eyes and nose and a mouth sewn on. It would have had a tunic and some ribbons in its dark woollen hair. She would have taken it to bed with her, kissed it goodnight, it would have been the first thing the child saw in the morning. She would have talked to the dolly, whispered her secrets, fed it from toy cups and plates. Then someone had taken the dolly. Hacked at it with a knife, shredding the body and stabbing the face until only a vague shape remained.
The parchment crackled between Claudia’s trembling fingers. ‘your mine understand you are mine’. She looked into Leonides’ tortured eyes, ‘the next time we meet it shall be for eternity’.
As though both were contaminated, she dropped the doll and letter. ‘Can you, um—’ She waved an unsteady hand around the room. ‘Can you see to the mess, Leonides? I—I’ll sort our visitor out.’
‘Madam, I’m so sorry! You weren’t supposed to—’
Claudia forced her mouth to turn up at the corners. ‘Don’t be silly, they’re merely the ramblings of a madman. We shouldn’t take him seriously. Just…’ Her voice lost its power. ‘Just see to this. Please?’
How she wasn’t sick, she’d never know. But it took several minutes before the nausea passed, and by the time her fear had translated into anger, she was in just the mood for sorting out Miss Sweet Syrian Linens. In the hall, however, Claudia stopped short. Straight-backed as the visitor stood, this wasn’t Camilla. Not unless she’d shrunk overnight, dyed her hair blonde and tied it back with a neat cerise ribbon. More significantly, where Camilla wore jewellery, this girl wore none. Indeed, the pleats of her snow-white robe had no embellishment other than a girdle of the same hue as her hairband.
Perhaps catching a reflection, the girl spun round. She had a bright, shiny face and wide eyes. They were blue. Brilliant blue. And the hair was the colour of wheat in the sunshine, her waist slender, her smile all-encompassing. Claudia’s dislike intensified by the second.
‘Oh,’ the girl piped. ‘I thought you were Marcus.’
‘He tends to be taller and shaves rather more often. What do you want?’
The blonde creature patted one of the columns supporting the upper storey. ‘These are good marbles,’ she remarked. ‘Very good. But personally I feel he should replace them with Parian. It’s the finest marble money can buy, and he ought to have the best, don’t you think? I’m Annia, by the way, and I’ll be moving in.’ She glanced from one gallery to the other. ‘I wonder which of those is my room?’
Claudia thought of the parade which would be underway in the Circus Maximus, of the rope dancers and jousters and bears. ‘None of them,’ she smiled, throwing her wrap round her shoulders. ‘You see, this is my house and I say who moves in and who doesn’t. You doesn’t.’
‘But Marcus? I followed him here.’
Claudia made the most of the ensuing silence by adding to it, using the time to evaluate the girl. Neat nails. Clean, shining hair. Not a snag or a smirch on her tunic. On balance, Claudia thought she preferred his dallying with Camilla, and idly wondered how many women he kept in his harem.
‘Perhaps I should explain,’ Annia said, hopping after Claudia as she set off down the hill.
‘No need, I’ll give you his address, you can catch up with him there.’
‘Marcus doesn’t live there? But he let himself in with a key…?’
Outside the potter’s, Claudia spun round and Annia almost cannoned into her. Behind them hummed the rhythmic spin of the wheel, and the acid-sweet smell of the clay filled their nostrils. Three men in short workmen’s tunics decorated the bowls with paints of orange, blue and green and an apprentice loaded the kiln. Claudia felt its heat on her back.
‘For your information, Marcus Cornelius Orbilio is using my address for his undercover work—’
‘Then you must let me stay with you.’
‘Must?’ This little madam was getting on her nerves.
‘Please, Claudia.’ The scrubbed face crumpled. ‘Please don’t let the Market Day Murderer get me. I’m so scared, really I am.’
Claudia set a brisk pace down the Caelian. Cheap little con-artist! ‘Whatever your hard luck story, Annia, the answer is no.’
At the foot of the hill, she turned sharp left towards the Circus Maximus. Damn. The sun’s come out again, I knew I should have left my wrap at home. She swerved round a donkey which had a black and white goat riding in its pannier.
‘Marcus will protect me,’ Annia said with no small degree of petulance. ‘Even if you won’t. And it won’t matter whose roof he’s under, he’ll take care of me, because we’re cousins.’
‘Are you really.’ Claudia resisted the impulse to push her into the fountain they were passing.
‘His great-aunt Daphne is my grandmother, that’s Daphne Lovernius, you know, she’s very well connected. Of course, all we Orbilios are superbly connected, we have a history going back to—oops! Ne
arly lost you.’
Claudia heard teeth gnashing together. Clearly that loop round the block didn’t work, because Annia was still wittering.
‘…Marcus was following a lead about the girl they found up there.’ She pointed up the escarpment of the Palatine whose contours they were following. ‘Her name was Zygia, you know. She was killed on her way to warn me, and that’s how Marcus found me after all these years, and it gets even more exciting, because he thinks I might hold a clue to the killer’s identity, so we’re going to work together and—’
‘Forgive my interrupting, Annia.’ Claudia stared up at the statue of the Divine Julius standing atop the tower by the Circus he’d re-built and wondered what he’d make of his city thirty years on. ‘But you see, I possess an entrance ticket and you, I regret, do not. Cheerio, it’s been so nice knowing you.’
Amazement washed over Annia’s features. ‘You don’t believe me.’
‘Not a word,’ Claudia admitted, picking up a honeyed pastry from a street vendor. Cinnamon, almonds and warm, plump raisins danced upon her taste buds when she bit into it. The rumour was true, then? There were elephants in the parade, she could hear them trumpeting.
‘I’m next on the hit list, you know.’
Oh lord. In her fantasy world, not only has this creature convinced herself Orbilio’s her cousin and she can play a key role in solving the murders, she believes she’s the murderer’s next victim. How sad. Not unlike Magic in a way. Except at least Annia’s delusions hadn’t made her a sick and dangerous lunatic…
Claudia wiped her sticky hands and fished out two copper quadrans for the snake dancer who was entertaining a crowd with two fat reptiles draped around her shoulders. An old man played the pan pipes as serpents and dancer writhed in sensuous unity, the snakes’ red tongues flicking in and out to smell the crowd. When Claudia turned round, she expected Annia to be gone. Instead, what she saw, she couldn’t quite believe.
