I, Claudia

by Marilyn Todd

  Oh, shit! Paternus and his companion were heading for the steam room! Orbilio ran his hand over his chin. There was no need for him to follow them. The conversation had absolutely no bearing on the case. Gaius was of no interest to him. No interest whatsoever. He’d head for the exercise yards.

  ‘Back already?’ The attendant proffered a small flask of oil. ‘Glutton for punishment, aren’t you, sir?’

  The dense impenetrability of the steam room closed in, making him catch his breath.

  ‘Fancied a bit of extra pampering today.’ Orbilio declined the oil. Another scraping and he’d be down to bare bone! ‘I’m looking for two friends who just came in. One’s small and skinny, the other’s—’

  ‘That way, sir. To your right.’

  Orbilio thanked him and followed the mosaic. He passed two men, groaning and grunting, and prayed they were just reacting to the oppressive air.

  Paternus’s voice sounded ever reedier. ‘…advise you to tread carefully. I have it on good authority—nay, the best—that Seferius has a preference for…’

  Damn! No matter how hard his ears strained, Orbilio couldn’t pick up the whispers.

  ‘Never!’ The lawyer’s companion sounded incredulous. ‘Gaius Seferius! Are you sure?’

  ‘Is the Emperor a Roman? Naturally, you won’t bandy this around, will you?’

  ‘Trust me. One presumes Seferius guards his secret well?’

  Paternus sucked his teeth. ‘In view of Augustus’s, shall we say, sensitivity on the issue, you can bank on it.’ There was a long pause, and Orbilio fought for breath as the steam swirled and eddied.

  ‘To be frank,’ the other man said at length, ‘I also enjoy—how can I put it?—pleasures which one’s wife is not willing to provide.’

  The lawyer let out a weedy laugh. ‘Who doesn’t?’ he said. Orbilio couldn’t see, but he sensed Paternus had edged closer to his companion. ‘My own preference—’ The voice dipped to a hushed tone. After several minutes of intense whispering, at the point when Orbilio was starting to fidget, he heard the lawyer scoff.

  ‘Claudia Seferius? Believe me, she’s not what she seems, either.’

  Orbilio’s head shot up and suddenly he was on the alert. Gossip and filth were second nature to him. He picked up all manner of information to store away in the library of his mind, calling upon it whenever the occasion demanded. It came in useful during his investigations, because faced with another’s knowledge of his own peccadilloes, it was surprising how a man tended to remember events rather more clearly, or how names were dropped with a greater frequency. There was an upside to everything, Orbilio reflected, especially when it allowed him to pocket the money Callisunus allocated for bribes. Thus he’d expected to routinely squirrel away this information about Seferius, but not by any stretch of the imagination had he imagined hearing Claudia’s name brought up. Particularly not in such a derogatory tone.

  ‘Bugger!’ The extrovert general, blundering through the steam room in much the same way he’d charge across a battlefield, tumbled headfirst across Orbilio’s outstretched legs.

  Apologies were exchanged as both parties accepted the blame, but by the time the general had left so, it appeared, had Paternus and his friend.

  Orbilio took another dip in the cold bath to tighten his pores. He admired Seferius, the way he’d clawed his way up, and it must have been a proud day for him when he was finally appointed to the equestrian order. Moreover this promotion for a man whose father had been a humble road-builder and whose great-grandparents weren’t even freeborn. No indeed, it was no mean achievement, amassing the four hundred thousand sesterces necessary before you could even consider admission to the order which in itself was no foregone conclusion. Orbilio would have liked to hear more about Seferius’s improprieties, maybe drop subtle hints to Claudia? As he towelled himself dry, he began to question the ethics of stirring up trouble between husband and wife, but decided he could justify it somehow, if he put his mind to it, because the prospect of Claudia divorcing her husband…

  ‘Enough of this, Marcus Cornelius,’ he muttered aloud. ‘She doesn’t even like you, so you can rein in those thoughts immediately.’

  Many a night he’d plotted how best to win her round. The quickest way, he supposed, was to solve these bloody murders and perhaps, when he stopped treating her like a suspect, she might open up a bit. Trouble was, he thought, she still was in the frame. However hard she tried those strong-arm tactics, Claudia Seferius was indeed very much still in the frame.

  He dressed, drank a goblet of wine topped up with water, treated himself to a couple of pastries, then made a beeline for the exercise yard. A workout with weights ought to sweat out his frustrations.

  ‘Pssst!’

  He stopped instinctively. Occasionally it was an informer, most times it was for someone else, but it always paid to keep your ears open. He pretended to fix the lace on his boot.

  ‘Pssst!’

  He glanced round. There was no one there.

  ‘Over here!’

  A small face peered round the base of a fluted pillar.

  ‘Rufus? Rufus, what are you doing here?’ A grubby finger hooked itself into a gesture of beckoning and Orbilio followed, shaking his head ruefully. ‘What do you want?’

  The ragamuffin settled himself cross-legged behind the column. ‘You know that classy tart you was interested in? Well, she’s been in a right old hoo-ha this morning.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘There was a riot down by the cattle market and she was right in amongst it and no mistake.’

  ‘Sure it was her again?’

  ‘Yep. Can’t miss that orange litter, cor, what a colour! Anyways, she tries to run off, like, and guess what? Some big geezer yanks her into a shop.’

  ‘Rufus, are you telling me she’s been kidnapped?’

  ‘Her? Leave off! Duffed up a bit, that’s all.’

  Orbilio sat down beside the boy. ‘Rufus, I want you to tell me exactly what you saw. Understand? Don’t leave anything out, describe everything as you remember it.’

  His head was buzzing. He should be chasing leads on Crassus. Dammit, he should be chasing leads on all four victims, checking accounts, grudges, lunatics, locksmiths, slaves, family, friends…

  ‘Rufus, what were you doing following her?’

  ‘I wasn’t following her, I was—’

  Thieving. Orbilio covered his ears with his hands. ‘No, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know. How did you know where to find me?’

  The dirty face broke into a knowing grin. Orbilio grinned back, tossed him four quadrans, then, taking pity, tossed him another four. Venus is fickle today, he thought, scratching the back of his head. There but for a handful of street yobs, Claudia Seferius and Marcus Cornelius Orbilio would have met at the baths this morning. It felt as if he’d swallowed one of the lead weights from the exercise yard. He jumped to his feet. No longer did the prospect of a day to himself appeal. The thought of ball games and athletics palled, because suddenly it seemed urgent to nail the bastard who went round chiselling eyes out of their sockets.

  ‘Mister?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Can I come along with you?’

  ‘No, you most certainly cannot.’ He wanted to say it was dirty and dangerous, but he quickly realized that that was probably all this poor kid had ever known. ‘Don’t you have a family?’

  ‘Nope.’

  There were so many like Rufus, he thought sadly. Despicable as the practice was, he could see the case for abandoning unwanted babies up on the midden heaps. At least it would be relatively quick, whereas kids like Rufus—who was what? seven or eight?—were doomed to die in some fetid alley without ever knowing love or warmth or happiness—or even a full belly.

  ‘I think it’s high time you had a bath, my lad,’ he said, lifting Rufus up by the back of his tunic. ‘Come along.’ There was more than a hint of resignation in his voice. ‘Let’s get you fed first.’

  XI

&nbs
p; The journey to the villa was hot and dry and dusty. The wagon’s wheels sought out every bump on the road, the slaves sulked and the driver remained disgustingly cheerful. Drusilla, joggling along in a specially constructed cage, howled incessant protests. Dear Diana, who deserves this, Claudia thought, gouging her initials out of the woodwork with a bone hairpin. It was all right for Gaius, shooting off in his two-wheeled car. He didn’t have to contend with three obstreperous horses being wound up by a skittish fourth possessing a truly evil sense of humour.

  ‘I suppose it’s asking too much of you to get these nags to break into a gallop?’

  Kano, the driver broke off from his whistling. ‘’Fraid so,’ he said happily. ‘’Cos horses is like wives, see? Give ’em free rein and a full belly and they’ll serve you well enough—so long as they sets the pace, anyroad.’

  ‘I’ve never heard such tripe in my life. Now for heaven’s sake use the whip, man, or they’ll die of old age before we reach the next changing station.’

  She rolled her eyes as Kano gave a half-hearted crack of the whip. If anything, the wretched animals slowed down and Claudia vowed to have a word with the wagoner’s wife when she got back to Rome. She glanced at the milestone. Actually it wasn’t bad progress. A quick break for a change of animals and they’d make the tavern with an hour to spare before dusk. The cart tipped to one side as the wheels caught the camber and everyone groaned. It would have been better had Junius and Melissa been with her. They were slaves she felt comfortable with—unlike this miserable rabble. Junius, though, was in no fit state even to get out of bed and the girl Claudia had left behind deliberately, because that poxy banquet still needed to be organized, even if it had been postponed. Besides, who else could she trust to deliver the money to Lucan?

  They passed a cart clanking with pottery and glassware. Claudia’s eyes narrowed. A shipment like that would be worth a small fortune, she calculated, it would only be a matter of finding a buyer… Impossible, Claudia! Out of the question! Never in a month of Bacchanalias could you of all people hijack a load that size. Robbery needs time and skilful planning, not to mention a healthy contingent of willing, strapping men. One could hardly use slaves—what would you say? Hey you, you and you, cover your faces and come with me, we’re going to hold up a wagon? Supposing in the unlikely event they got away with it, the roads were too well patrolled, she’d be lucky to get five miles. But, and this was a very big but, even if she didn’t get caught, how could she offload the stuff?

  Come on, Claudia. There must be smarter ways of raising two or three grand.

  ‘Kano, exactly why are you stopping in this godforsaken place?’

  ‘Goldie’s shoe’s fell off,’ the driver replied. ‘Won’t be a tick.’

  She watched him lumber up the road, collect the horse’s sandal, then tie it back on, taking advantage of the break to fish out a flask of heady Judean perfume. There was, after all, a limit to what a girl could put up with.

  ‘Mmmmmrow!’

  ‘Drusilla, you’ll have to jolly well lump it. Animal smells might be acceptable to you, but I tell you, I’ve had it up to here with the rear end of those bloody nags.’

  ‘Mmmmmrow.’

  ‘Oh, don’t sulk!’ She waggled her finger through the bars to scratch the cat’s ear. ‘Fancy this?’

  Drusilla scowled at the piece of raw meat that plopped on to the floor of her cage and backed away from it, glowering.

  ‘I see.’ Claudia sniffed. ‘Well, I’ve no sympathy for you, we’re all in the same wretched boat.’ It hadn’t occurred to either of them that Drusilla might be left behind in Rome.

  Kano resettled himself and the wagon began to lurch and rattle once more. She was in a tight spot and no mistake. Gaius did his reckonings once a month on the dot and, bereavement or no, he’d not put the job off. He couldn’t fail to notice a shortfall of three hundred sesterces… A heat haze shimmered over the horizon, casting make-believe pools of water on the road. Bugger decorum, she thought, pulling off her stola. She only wore the bloody thing since it was deemed decent and proper to do so. Julia, being childless, hadn’t been conferred one, why should she be the lucky one? You could poach to death in your own sweat in all this clothing. Her heart missed a beat as she remembered yesterday. Was it really only yesterday? Her clothes were wringing with sweat when she got home after that run-in with Otho, and one thing was sure, she’d never wear Minoan blue again. A flurry of lavender linen flew across the wagon.

  And Otho wasn’t the only one she clashed with, either. This is your doing, Minerva, I can smell it! Her toe thudded into the woodwork. That Minerva’s always had it in for me, ever since the day I was born, and I’ll bet she was chuckling her bloomers off yesterday.

  It had been a real pig of a day. First she’d been scared spitless by that Thracian psychopath. (When I’ve paid off Lucan, I’m going to get you for that, you bastard!) Then, having sponged herself down and tidied herself up, Claudia had decided the best way to regain her equilibrium was to lose herself in the street bustle. What better way to unwind than in the cries of the pedlars, the smells of the cookshops, the banter of the street barbers urging young dandies to have their hair curled like Nerva the charioteer or dyed like Totila the gladiator? She paused to watch a cobbler astride his sturdy bench, hammering at his last, as she savoured the rich, acidic smell of the leather when a shadow fell over her.

  ‘Ligarius! Good grief, have you been on the sand with the gladiators?’

  ‘Oh, this.’ A huge hand gingerly explored the cuts and bruises. ‘Fights come with the territory if you keep a tavern.’

  Only the sort you keep.

  ‘Well, I do hope you get better soon. Nice meeting you again, Ligarius, cheerio.’ She gave him a smile and tried to move on.

  ‘This is a quiet place. I thought we could talk.’

  She felt the afternoon temperature plummet. What did he mean, quiet? ‘Ligarius, have you been following me?’

  The big man shrugged. ‘I only want to talk.’

  ‘And I thought I made it plain last Thursday: I don’t.’

  ‘But the old days…’ A hand fell on her arm. ‘We had some good times, Claudie.’

  Any minute now and someone would see them together. She jerked her head and ducked down a sidestreet. Behind them the clanking of the huge grinding stone of the bakery drowned any conversation from would-be eavesdroppers.

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Don’t play games with me, Ligarius.’ This was what he’d been building up to at the games, just before Marcellus interrupted. ‘How many sesterces will it take before you don’t want to talk about the good old days?’

  The smell of freshly baked bread seemed horribly incongruous.

  His bearded face puckered into a frown. ‘Don’t be daft, I’m not trying to blackmail you. This is the first proper chance I’ve had to talk to you face to face.’

  The sound of her breath coming out nearly obliterated the creaking and thumping of the millstone. That was Ligarius all over. All heart and no brains. She wondered what or who Jupiter was thinking of when he dished out Ligarius’s organs, because something had certainly distracted him.

  ‘Hey.’ He nudged her. ‘We had some good times together, you and me.’

  ‘Nonsense. You used to drool over that little scrubber, what was her name?’

  ‘Antonia. I married her when you went away.’

  ‘More fool you. So what’s the problem? Left you, has she?’

  ‘She died.’

  ‘Oh!’ The big ugly lump looked close to tears. ‘Oh, Liggy, I’m sorry! Really I am.’

  Dammit, they were good times. Times when she could laugh, times when she could cry, times when she could feel pain.

  ‘Me too. Mind,’ the sound he let out was half-hiccup, half-laugh, ‘she could be a right shrew when she wanted. Worse than you, sometimes.’

  ‘Watch your mouth, Ligarius. I have a serious reputation to uphold and I can’t afford word gettin
g around I’m second best.’ She stuck out her tongue. ‘Still as sharp as ever, see?’

  ‘Hey, remember that striping you gave Lefty for pinching your bum when it weren’t him at all? Poor sod never drank in my tavern again after that.’

  ‘Talking of which, whatever happened to that old sea captain who used to fancy himself so much? Strutting around like a peacock—totally unaware we’d nicknamed him Bumface, poor bugger.’

  ‘And what about that Sicilian woman, eh? Remember her? Big as a barn door, used to drink the men under the table and fight ’em afterwards. We always called her Brutus!’

  ‘Not in her hearing, we didn’t!’

  ‘Too bleeding right, nobody dared.’

  ‘Except Shorty forgot that night, didn’t he?’ Claudia stepped back and made her legs go bandy and put on a high falsetto. ‘Poor old Shorty, he was walking and talking funny for a week!’

  ‘Aye, right in the nutmegs, she got him. Ooh, makes yer eyes water even after all this time.’

  They were doubled up by the time the baker’s boy emerged from the shop with a tray of steaming loaves. Sobering instantly, Claudia spun round and covered her face with her pulla.

  Damn you, Ligarius. You have no right to remind me of the old times, no right at all! She bit her lip. Those days were long past, she was perfectly content in the sanitized vacuum of her life today. Every day she woke in the morning knowing she could eat and drink till her belly was full, and sleep in a proper bed at night. She had clothes on her back, and damned fine ones at that. She could bathe every day, had slaves at her beck and call, wore jewels till she stooped from the weight if she wanted. And Claudia Seferius was quite prepared to take whatever steps were necessary to protect this precious existence.

  The bearded giant had launched into another trip down Memory Lane, but she refused to listen. ‘Ligarius, you’re the only person in the whole of Rome who knows my past. I’m asking you—no, I’m begging you. Please don’t ruin it for me.’

  His mouth dropped open. ‘I wouldn’t do that, Claudie. Never! Only,’ his mood also changed and a big, fat tear trickled slowly down his cheek, ‘you’re my only friend in the entire city.’