by Marilyn Todd
She couldn’t speak. For one awful, heart-stopping moment she pictured him propped up against the wall, silently watching her undress, holding his breath while she cracked the whip before witnessing her search for the senator’s money. Hysterical nonsense, of course. She’d been utterly alone and, besides, any witness could only have been the murderer. In which case, she’d be dead. She drew a deep breath and cleared her throat.
‘Don’t tell me—you can only get off by frightening people.’
Orbilio smiled. ‘No, but I’m prepared to make an exception in this case.’
‘You’re just feeling smug because I put one over on you yesterday.’
He flexed his shoulder muscles. ‘Don’t I have every reason? I knew you’d come back. It was only a question of time.’
‘Let’s get one thing straight, Orbilio. I haven’t come back. I’m here solely because my name’s been dragged into this mess and I intend to clear it.’
‘And you couldn’t think of a better way?’
Why he seemed amused was beyond her. ‘Certainly not. Ask any one of those people downstairs, I very much doubt whether a single person is able to lay claim it was me they saw.’
‘You mean “willing”, not “able”. How much did you pay them?’
‘Orbilio, grow up. Hundreds of people live in this slum, do you honestly believe I’ve gone round bribing every single one?’
‘I meant just now. I watched you throw a handful of coins in the air. Don’t tell me that wasn’t to—how shall I put it?—sway their judgement?’
‘Orbilio, I wouldn’t tell you the time. Now get out of my way, you’re blocking the door.’
‘Since you’re so observant, perhaps you can tell me what you saw last time? Apart from the corpse.’
‘There was no last time. Get out of my way or so help me I’ll scream the place down.’
‘Feel free, no one’ll come—assuming they even hear you. That’s the way it is here. What were you doing in this room last Saturday?’
Claudia folded her arms across her body and stood firm, confident that sooner or later her wall of silence would wear him down.
‘Was Crassus your lover?’
No response.
‘I suppose you’d have to meet somewhere out of the way, in case Gaius found out, although personally I’d have chosen a rather more salubrious setting.’ In bright sunshine, with thyme-scented hills as a backdrop.
Claudia pretended to study her nails.
‘It’s against the law, too.’
Silence.
‘Claudia Seferius,’ he said mildly, ‘I’m calling you an adulteress.’
‘Yes, dear, and you’ll soon grow tired of it.’
A smile tweaked at his mouth. ‘Was Crassus protecting your reputation? We all know how strongly the Emperor feels about adultery, especially in view of his own daughter’s behaviour…’
He trailed off. Everyone knew the story about the woman’s voracious sexual appetites and how deeply it embarrassed the Emperor, flying in the face of his own moral preachings. It’s always the same, Claudia thought, one law for one sex, another for the other.
‘Cousin Markie, if husbands paid the same price for their affairs as women pay for theirs, there’d be a damned sight more lonely men about, I can tell you.’
Cousin Markie! It served him right, he supposed, getting saddled with a label like that. He’d thought he was clever. He’d thought he could wheedle his way into the Seferius household. Claudia would rebuff him instantly, but at least it would get him an introduction to social gatherings where he could pursue his enquiries. Instead the tables were turned so completely it had been humiliating. He congratulated himself that he’d managed to even the score by waiting in this sordid room until she arrived. He smiled. He knew she would. She was always going to point her horns and charge straight in to attack. Mother of Tarquin, she was lovely.
Provoking a reaction by suggesting adultery with that bloated old haddock Crassus failed miserably. Not that he gave the idea serious credibility. He’d thrown it in to create ripples, but the water remained calm. Too calm. Why hadn’t she torn his throat out at the mere suggestion? ‘How long had he been dead when you found him?’
Claudia watched the slow progress of a cockroach crawling over the peeling plaster.
‘I have three grounds for placing you at the scene of the crime.’ He had nothing to gain by holding back. ‘One.’ He ticked them off on his fingers. ‘A snip of green cotton.’
‘We’ve been through that.’
Orbilio grinned. ‘So we have. First Gratidius says it was you, then he’s not sure because his assistant suddenly swears it wasn’t. Incidentally, that’s the same assistant who’s just settled a long-standing doctor’s bill. However you missed something.’
It was no good her pretending indifference.
‘You forgot to bribe the porter who delivered it to your house.’ Hooray, that brought a spark of life to her eyes. Even though she covered it quickly. ‘Two. You returned to the scene of the crime. Perhaps not evidence in itself, but highly suggestive and a trait common to most criminals.’
‘Want to arrest me?’
‘And, three, I have a witness. You were seen coming in and going out of this room.’
Orbilio opened the door wide. Frowning, Claudia looked up and down the empty passage.
‘You don’t see him?’
She pulled a face.
‘Rufus!’
A bundle of rags in a doorway formed itself into a small boy.
‘Rufus, do you recognize this lady?’
The urchin shuffled closer. ‘Yep. That’s her.’
‘Nonsense!’ Claudia turned to Orbilio. ‘How much did you bung this little guttersnipe? One ass? Two?’
‘She called me a poxy little oik.’
Her eyes flashing, Claudia looked the boy up and down several times. ‘That’s hardly conclusive. I should imagine everybody calls you a poxy little oik.’
‘And up yours and all, missus!’
Orbilio watched recognition dawn on Claudia’s face, but instead of a feeling of triumph, an iron claw gripped his guts.
‘I remember this horrid little ragbag now. It was in the Forum.’ She turned to Orbilio. ‘He rammed me with a pig’s head. The snout, if I recall correctly, caught me right here.’ She jabbed her navel.
‘You was wearing green.’
‘You was running from the shopkeeper.’
‘You was here.’
‘I was not!’
‘You was. I’d know that swagger any place.’
‘I most certainly do not swagger!’ Claudia spun round to Orbilio, who quickly covered his mouth with his hand. ‘Are you seriously considering the word of this offensive little street arab against mine?’
The investigator scratched the back of his neck. ‘Yes,’ he said at last. ‘I rather think I am.’
Claudia glowered at the boy. ‘Hop it, you. I want to talk.’
Orbilio tossed him a copper and nodded assent. ‘Come back inside, Claudia,’ he said quietly, sweeping his arm round the room. ‘Because I very much want to listen.’
VIII
Under a sky which made promises of rain it had no intention of keeping, Claudia sat in the cool of the peristyle, half-heartedly strumming a lyre. Around her, tiny birds in cages, their plumage brighter than jewels, trilled to drown the melody. By rights I should be enjoying the second day of the games, she thought, weighing strength of elephant against armour of crocodile, or cheering dwarfs as they cartwheeled through the legs of giraffes or cavorted with ostriches. Instead I spend half my morning ploughing through riffraff and dross in some sleazy backstreet slum. Drusilla came running up, tail erect, and began rubbing against Claudia’s shins until, eliciting no response from this tactic, she jumped on to the seat beside her and yowled at the top of her voice.
‘I’m sorry, poppet, I was miles away.’ At the foot of the Quirinal, holding my nose to be precise. Claudia clapped her hands. Why do they build
tenements, with no water and no sanitation, in the bowls of hills where the smell can’t escape? ‘Fetch some chicken, bread and cheese, will you,’ she commanded the slave who answered the call, ‘and root out a sardine or two for Drusilla.’
The girl made no effort to pick up the cat and carry her off to the kitchen. Scars on her wrists had taught her not to tangle with the animal, especially when its mistress was at home. It ate with her, slept with her, followed her around like a shadow. But just you try to stroke it and it would go for you like a wild tiger.
‘Fetch some dates, too,’ Claudia called out. ‘And check whether that idle sod Verres is back yet.’
Bloody cook, never around when you wanted him. Probably come up with some ridiculous excuse that he was out choosing food for tonight’s dinner. Why he didn’t send some of the slaves was beyond her. What on earth was the point of having them, if you did the job yourself?
‘You wanted to see me, madam.’
Bloody cook, always creeping up when you never expected him!
‘Yes, Verres. I wanted to talk to you about the banquet Saturday week.’
‘What banquet?’
‘Come, come, Verres. I told you about it weeks ago. The one on the Ides.’
‘No, you didn’t.’
‘Don’t contradict.’
If he wasn’t such a good cook, imaginative as well as subtle, she’d sack him on the spot. Who did he think he was, anyway, arguing with her like this? Not that it mattered. By the time she’d finished with him she’d have him believing black was white and that she actually had told him about the bloody thing.
‘But I—’
‘Stop wittering, sit down and concentrate. Now, at our last feast you did something rather clever with a pig’s innards, if I recall.’
Verres, as plump as a boiling fowl, beamed with pride.
‘The sow’s womb I stuffed to look like a fish? You want me to do that again?’
‘Great heavens, no!’
Gaius had to believe she’d invested the utmost care and attention in its long-drawn-out planning.
‘This has to be exceptional, Verres. I want their eyes popping out on stalks at this…this magnificent extravaganza, so think carefully.’
‘Ummm. Dormice in honey and sprinkled with poppyseeds?’
‘Yes, yes, by all means. Whatever delicacies you can come up with. But I’m talking about a particularly lavish spectacle. Think, man. What can you produce that’ll be the talk of the Senate for months afterwards?’
For a while it looked as if Verres had lapsed into a coma, but eventually a broad grin split his face. ‘I’ve got it! A wild boar which, when you carve it, lets loose a score of live thrushes which I’ll sew up inside at the last minute!’ You had to hand it to the man, he was a genius. ‘Excellent! Well, you go away and work on that—’
‘We’ll start with oysters and leeks stuffed in a peacock, then move on to tuna disguised—’
‘Wonderful, Verres, absolutely splendid. Now go and plan it alone, there’s a good chap.’
He looked a mite crestfallen as he stood up, but Claudia had no interest in domestic trifles and shooed him away with the back of her hand. Drusilla, meanwhile, having cleared every last scrap of sardine, was helping herself to chicken off Claudia’s plate.
‘Melissa!’
A boar filled with thrushes, eh? Oh yes, that’ll make ’em spill their wine.
‘MELISSA!’
The cat jumped and a lump of chicken fell out of her mouth, which she promptly scooped back up when she realized there was no sign of danger.
‘Oh, there you are. Look, there’s a list in my husband’s room of the people attending the banquet. Don’t look so blank, the feast next Saturday, I told you about it weeks back. Now run off and fetch the list—and bring a jug of wine while you’re about it.’
It’ll be interesting to see who he’s inviting. With any luck, Gaius will have forgotten about adding that boring old fart Balbus to the list—but suppose he’d thought to invite Orbilio? No, no, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t have seen him since yesterday. Which was just as well, really. She didn’t fancy another round with Cousin Markie. She nibbled on a date. Well, not yet, anyway.
‘Here you are, madam. Is there anything else?’ Claudia spat the stone across the courtyard. She was getting better. One of these days she’d hit that sundial. ‘Yes, as a matter of fact there is.’
She picked up the lyre again and began to strum. ‘We need entertainers. Singers, dancers, acrobats, that sort of thing. See to it, will you, Melissa?’
‘Me? But I can’t—’
‘Don’t talk rubbish. Here.’ She unclipped her obsidian brooch. Well, it was Quintus’s really, but…easy come, easy go. ‘This might sugar the pill.’
The girl’s eyes widened. ‘For me?’ She’d been given the odd sweetener from her mistress before, but never anything valuable.
‘One problem, though. It might be short notice for some of them, but do what you can, Melissa, and, failing that, bribe the buggers to say they’d double-booked and it was the other party’s misfortune, not ours.’
Hopefully at least one of them will put a spoke in the wheel of that Marcia trollop. Claudia closed her eyes and offered up a silent prayer to Minerva to be with her rather than with the linen merchant’s widow on this. Anything to outdo her! Twenty-two and inherited a fortune indeed. Well, it’s your own fault, she chided herself. You would pick Gaius. More fool you, because the linen merchant was older and had no living children, whereas Gaius had four waiting to inherit, didn’t he? Furthermore, she’d actually wished that spotty little gold-digger luck with the linen merchant. He was a grumpy old sod and a real tightwad, but now the boot seemed firmly on Marcia’s dainty little foot, the bitch. She sighed. It was too late grumbling. Wheels were in motion, there could be no turning back now.
‘What on earth are you babbling about, girl?’
‘I was asking about tumblers, madam. Do you want—’
‘What I want, Melissa, is for you to go away and organize it without pestering me.’ She jerked her head towards the house. ‘Go on, off you go.’
The girl’s fingers wrapped themselves tight around Quintus’s brooch as she ran off, leaving Claudia to scan the list in peace. When Gaius said his guests were important, he meant instrumental in furthering his business activities rather than any reference to the political hierarchy, though there was a healthy smattering of magistrates, prefects and the like. No less than seven, she noted, were punters. There was a heavy night ahead, then, questioning seven men without letting any of them—or Gaius—suspect a damned thing. Still, it was the sort of challenge she could rise to standing on her head and, if the truth was told, even enjoy. She’d track that maniac to his grave, so help her—though she’d be a lot happier if that damned Orbilio wasn’t so fly.
‘Quick as a coney he was, Drusilla, double-checking with the mercer’s porter about that wretched bale of cotton.’
The cat paused in her washing and cocked her head.
‘I could have kicked myself for that.’ Lack of foresight was not one of Claudia’s faults. ‘Or Junius. He ought to have thought of the porter the numbskull. And as for that little arab Orbilio winkled out—well!’
It was difficult to tell how much that obnoxious little snoop had believed her over in that stinking tenement. On balance, hardly at all, she concluded…but he couldn’t prove a bloody thing.
‘Come inside,’ he’d said smoothly, thinking he was about to crack this tough little nut at last, ‘I very much want to listen.’
Listen to what? Did he honestly expect her to pour out a startling revelation? Oh yes, I was passionately in love with darling old Quintus, but please, please, please don’t let my husband know or he’ll divorce me on the spot? Hardly. Whatever else he might be, Orbilio wasn’t gullible. Maybe he was expecting a different sort of admission? The-swine-was-blackmailing-me type of confession? Well whatever, he was completely hamstrung by the time she’d finished and it served h
im damned well right.
She’d wasted no time. The instant the door closed behind him, she’d spun round, wagging her finger.
‘Listen to me, you filthy little meddler, I’ve had it up to here with you. I do not own, and have never owned, a garment in that vile shade of green, and however much you paid that abject little tramp, it wasn’t enough. A bump in the Forum is not proof.’
‘Proof enough,’ he’d said mildly.
‘You aren’t listening,’ she hissed. ‘If I hear so much as one more syllable drop from your lips on this subject, I’ll personally cut your tongue out, chop it into pieces and feed it straight back to you, do you understand?’
‘Is that a threat?’
‘All I need to do is tell my husband how dear old Cousin Markie laid his filthy paws on me and the rest, as they say, is mystery.’
‘Ah! A bribe as well.’
Damn you, Orbilio.
‘Any foul insinuations you make after that will brand you as a vindictive lecher who was spurned once too often and resents it like hell. You’ll be ridiculed from here to Hesperus and you can kiss all your ambitions goodbye.’
If that hasn’t disposed of the irritating little tick once and for all, I’ll eat my shift for breakfast.
A sparrow landed in the courtyard and Drusilla hunkered down, alert and ready to pounce. Claudia threw the bird a piece of bread, which it snatched up and flew off with. The cat stretched and began washing again, too full, too satisfied to think seriously about hunting. The edge had gone. And suddenly Claudia wondered whether her edge had been blunted, too. Without doubt, the hunt was exciting, but what would happen when it came to the kill? ‘Come, Drusilla, we’ve guests arriving shortly.’
Was she too full, too satisfied, to carry it through when it came to the crunch?
The sparrow landed a second time, twisting its head on one side as it hopped closer for more bread. Cheeky little beggar. She smiled at its comical gait and its beady eye and broke off another crust. Suddenly there was a blur of cream and brown. Feathers fluttered in the air. Drops of red splashed over the tiles. And Claudia Seferius had her answer.
*
