I, Claudia

by Marilyn Todd

  ‘I’m an unreasonable person, Orbilio. Get rid of him. Tonight.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Tonight!’

  ‘Claudia, this lad’s got the chance of a decent, healthy life. Schooling, a trade. What am I supposed to do, throw him back to starve in some alleyway? Is that what you want? Have him die of the flux, like half the other guttersnipes in Rome?’

  Claudia ran her finger round the rim of her glass until it produced a high-pitched humming sound. ‘What you do with him, Orbilio, is your concern, not mine. But take my word for it, that boy leaves this house tonight. Either you tell him or I do, it makes no odds to me.’

  ‘For pity’s sake, woman, he’s only seven years old!’

  ‘Try eleven.’ She flashed him a glance. Life on the streets stunts your growth. Believe me.

  He hurled his glass across the garden. ‘You’re a hardhearted bitch.’

  Claudia smiled a brittle smile. ‘I take it, then, that you’ll be telling him yourself?’ She stood up and shook her tunic into its folds. ‘Oh, don’t trouble yourself with the splinters, I’ll send a flunky to clear up.’

  XVI

  Orbilio ran so fast to catch up with her that he skidded, lost his footing and collided with a pillar. Why was it called the funny bone, he wondered, when it hurt like hell? Not that she’d got very far. That poor beanpole of a steward was the one taking the brunt of her anger this time.

  ‘I will not tolerate you hovering in the shadows, Leonides…’

  ‘I need to speak to you—’

  ‘You are not paid to hover. The best thing to be said in your favour is that for most of the time you are blissfully invisible.’

  ‘It’s a matter of some urgency, madam.’

  ‘Unless you wish to seek other employment within the hour I strongly suggest you melt into the background immediately.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Butts are for billy goats, Leonides. Shoo!’

  Standing by the kitchen, rubbing his elbow, Orbilio thought he had never seen her looking so lovely. When she was angry, her eyes flashed like water in the sunshine. She’d stick her chin out, as if to say ‘just you try it’, and curls would tumble loose. Thick, springy curls, with terracotta tints that made a man want to bury his face and hands in them. He couldn’t begin to describe the sensations that consumed him once he discovered Gaius didn’t sleep with his wife. Verres the cook had proved most garrulous when it came to domestic gossip and he was quite adamant on that score. Seferius never touched her, never went into her room. Probably not allowed to, he’d joked, digging Orbilio in the ribs—a gesture he’d never dare make sober—but privately Orbilio disagreed. As strong as Claudia was, in matters of policy Gaius Seferius’s word was law.

  Lying awake at night afterwards, his arms folded behind his head as he stared at the ceiling, Orbilio had gone back over the times he’d seen them together and decided Verres had the situation sussed correctly. There was no visible sexual chemistry between husband and wife, which in itself isn’t unusual, but in Seferius’s case he seemed to treat Claudia more like a daughter than a lover. A blind man could see Gaius was proud of his wife, but it was eating away at Orbilio why this wealthy wine merchant should pick such a magnificent, hot-blooded woman…and not make love to her. It wasn’t natural. Was it size? Orbilio knew of bigger men than Seferius who were at it like rabbits. Children, then? So desperate was the Empire to breed strong, healthy citizens that Augustus was paying families to have babies. But Gaius had fathered four and Claudia was supposed to have had three. (Would you credit it? A figure like that, after three kids!) Perhaps they’d both had enough? Cupid’s darts, there were simpler ways to prevent pregnancies than abstinence! What, then? Impotence?

  As Leonides sloped away, ruefully shaking his head, Orbilio stepped in front of her.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Sorry enough to pack up and leave?’

  He gritted his teeth and pressed on. ‘You’re entitled to have who you like in your house. I had no right to foist Rufus on you.’

  ‘Yet you have no qualms about foisting yourself on me?’

  Chance would be a fine thing. ‘That’s different. That’s business.’

  He’d had to tell Callisunus his reasons for infiltrating the Seferius household as a last-ditch attempt before being taken off the case. Callisunus was becoming increasingly exasperated with Orbilio’s dead-end leads, especially since it was his personal belief the killer was a maniac who selected his victims at random. Confiding his hunch was a risk Orbilio had taken very, very reluctantly, but on the strength of it Callisunus had granted him a week’s extension. Seven days but no more, he said, and Orbilio was no fool. He knew an ultimatum when he heard it.

  ‘Claudia…’ He linked his arm through hers to draw her away from the prying ears of the kitchen. ‘Claudia, I would very much like us to be friends.’

  And more, Claudia. Much, much more. You don’t know how I ache for you, long to hold you in my arms, lay you on my wolfskin cloak and kiss your lips, your hair, your breasts. To make love to you in the lapping waters of the ocean…

  ‘Friends?’ She shook her arm free. ‘As Cleopatra might have said, kiss my asp.’

  ‘I understand why you’re so tetchy about the boy—’

  ‘You know nothing.’

  You think not? ‘Rufus is all right, he’s as streetwise as they come and won’t have let anything slip.’

  Dammit, she wasn’t listening to a word he was saying! That Gaulish boy of hers had come limping into the atrium, and although he hadn’t said a word or moved so much as one splendid muscle, Orbilio sensed communication between them. He felt his stomach churn. Mother of Tarquin, no! Not Claudia and him! Professional eyes swept over the slave. Tall, rugged, strong. Not exactly drop-dead good looks, but for a non-Roman he had That Certain Something, Orbilio conceded, bristling at the way the boy’s eyes smouldered at Claudia. And it would pay you to remember Junius isn’t a boy, Marcus, my lad. He’ll never see twenty again, that was for sure.

  So they wanted to talk, did they?

  Orbilio excused himself and headed up the stairs, whistling under his breath. Claudia, he noticed, drifted nonchalantly towards the peristyle and although Junius turned his back and walked off towards the kitchen, Orbilio wasn’t in the least surprised that a convoluted route just happened to bring the young Gaul into the garden. By this time, however, Orbilio had staged himself behind the household shrine. He mightn’t be able to see, but he could hear.

  ‘How are the ribs now?’

  As her perfume, rich, exotic and spicy, drifted over, Orbilio closed his eyes and inhaled.

  ‘So-so, thank you, but I wanted to warn you. That investigator, the one who pretends he’s your cousin, he’s been questioning the servants.’ Junius lowered his voice. ‘That fat slob Verres has a loose tongue, and some of the women, too. Orbilio’s very generous, though. Gave me a whole denarius.’ The sun was beginning to set, throwing a rich cloak of molten fire over the garden.

  ‘In exchange for what?’

  ‘Nothing. I told him nothing!’

  Orbilio heard the boy spit, then he heard Claudia’s laughter ring out.

  ‘Did you catch that, Cousin Markie?’

  Bugger. Well, there was no point in pretending he’d been pouring a libation at the shrine or tying his laces…

  ‘Most of it,’ he said casually, wondering whether his face was as red as it felt. It was difficult to decide whether he’d been seen, which might have influenced the conversation, or whether it was an out-and-out set-up. He wouldn’t put it past her.

  ‘I heard about your part in the riot,’ he said to Junius. The official version was that he’d stepped in to save her from harm. ‘Very commendable, I must say.’ Rufus’s story, on the other hand, contained a few marked differences.

  Claudia and the Gaul exchanged glances.

  ‘You may go,’ she told him, and Orbilio was surprised at the speed with which the boy took off, limp or no limp.
>
  ‘Shouldn’t you be out catching killers, or don’t you work of an evening?’ She looked Orbilio over long and hard.

  He was tempted to say I am working, but held his tongue.

  ‘I suppose you’re going to tell me you have skivvies running all over this city, lifting up stones and delving into slime, why dirty your own hands?’

  That was true, as well. ‘Can’t a man have a night off occasionally?’

  ‘Supposing… Now what the hell is that?’

  The garden, normally a peaceful refuge, was suddenly invaded by a knot of people pressing forward. Leonides, skipping backwards with his hands outstretched, was telling someone they couldn’t just barge in here like that, whilst at the same time trying to suppress the intrusion by using a guard of male slaves.

  Both Claudia and Orbilio were on their feet in seconds. ‘Claudie! Claudie, it’s me, Ligarius. They wouldn’t let me through the front door, I had to push my way in.’ Despite the slaves’ manful efforts to restrain him, the giant was shaking them off like raindrops. The liquor on his breath would have felled an elephant.

  Leonides cast a pained expression at Claudia. ‘That’s one of the things I was trying to tell you,’ he said in between struggles. ‘This man’s been shouting your name outside the door for three nights running.’

  ‘Claudie, you said we could talk. You promised, Claudie, you—Unk!’

  There was a crash as he fell headlong on to the floor. ‘I hope I didn’t hit him too hard.’ As Orbilio inspected the chair for damage, a leg dropped on to the floor with a clatter.

  She looked as white as his best toga. ‘This lunatic’s been muddling me up with somebody else. Last time my brother-in-law sorted him out.’

  ‘Not well enough, it seems.’

  Orbilio turned to the goggling slaves. ‘Toss him into the street, he can sleep it off outside.’ He brushed his hands together. ‘Not that I’d fancy his headache when he wakes up!’

  They grabbed hold of the bearded giant and staggered off with the lifeless body, cursing and grunting under the weight.

  ‘Thank you.’ He noticed she didn’t actually look him in the eye when she said it.

  ‘All in a day’s work—’

  ‘Ahem!’

  That was Leonides. He seemed to be indicating towards the corner. Orbilio looked round to see a soldier with a rather sheepish expression hovering patiently. He recognized him as Timarchides, also employed by Callisunus.

  ‘You’ve a message for me?’ he asked.

  ‘If you’re Marcus Cornelius Orbilio, then, yes, sir, I have.’

  Neither Claudia nor Leonides made an effort to draw away, and for Orbilio to request privacy in another person’s house was too disrespectful to contemplate. He waited to the point of rudeness before saying, ‘Well, spit it out, man.’

  Affronted, Timarchides stepped stiffly forward and stood to attention, fixing his eye on a point somewhere over Orbilio’s left shoulder.

  ‘That matter of the missing slave, sir. Reporting to say—’

  ‘What missing slave, Timarchides?’

  His mind was still coming to grips with the intrusion of the big, ugly lug he’d just brained with the chair leg, but before the soldier could refresh his memory, Claudia had inserted herself between them.

  ‘This is not a police station, Orbilio, or an army barracks. If you wish to chase runaways, kindly go elsewhere to conduct your enquiries, because I will not tolerate this house being used as a garrison night and day.’

  ‘Oh no, madam. This is part of the murder inquiry.’ The earnest expression on Timarchides’ seasoned features inspired her to raise an encouraging eyebrow.

  ‘The girl was caught red-handed hocking the victim’s property—’

  Orbilio silenced him with a look and the soldier’s complexion darkened. ‘You’ve got her, then?’

  Timarchides made a great show of fluffing up the plume on his helmet. ‘In a manner of speaking,’ he said, his eyes riveted on the bronze cheekpiece. He didn’t much care for the impatient clucking sound in his superior officer’s throat, it made a trickle of sweat run down his nose, nor did he like the way Orbilio snapped, ‘Explain!’ but there was no alternative. He’d have to tell the truth and hope to Hermes the blame wouldn’t land on him.

  ‘I wasn’t there, of course’ (that was clever of you, lad, clear yourself right at the outset), ‘but it seems the silversmith recognized the piece she was trying to sell, sent for the police and in the confusion of the gathering crowd somehow the little bitch gave them the slip.’

  ‘Yes, I know that,’ Orbilio said patiently. ‘What I’m asking you, Timarchides, is this: is she or is she not in custody?’

  The soldier grunted noncommittally. ‘She’s been found…’ He left it trailing.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Near the river. I reckon she’d seen how carefully we’d been searching wagons and carts and decided her only escape route was over the Tiber. Except she wouldn’t have counted on so many soldiers patrolling the bank. So yes, we’ve found her all right. Only trouble is,’ he crossed his fingers behind his back, ‘she’s dead, sir:’

  ‘You’re joking! How?’

  ‘No other way out so she slashed her wrists. Sir.’ Orbilio waved a tired hand. ‘Give the “sirs” a rest, Timarchides, just tell me whether you’ve made a positive identification.’

  It was obvious the soldier wasn’t going to be caught napping a fourth time. First, he didn’t know whether it was his place to step in and help break up that brawl, then he was berated for not delivering his message in public, and finally he was made to shut up when all he was doing was explaining the situation to Mistress Seferius. Not for all the women in the Docklands was he going to cop it again!

  ‘Oh, it’s definitely her, sir. No question. Still wearing the clip.’

  Orbilio’s mouth turned down. ‘And you’re absolutely sure it’s the same girl?’

  ‘The slave catchers found her, sir, and them slave catchers don’t make mistakes.’

  That’s true. They’re mean sons of bitches and no mistake. Orbilio perked up. ‘Right, Timarchides, what’s the address?’

  The soldier’s face puckered and he jerked his head sideways, twitching his nose.

  Orbilio hadn’t time for games. ‘Minerva’s magic, man, it’s a simple enough question.’

  Again the histrionic facial expressions.

  ‘Speak up, for gods’ sakes, I can’t hear you.’

  The legionary cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. ‘I said, she lives here, sir. Goes under the name of Melissa.’

  *

  Claudia was the first to break the silence. Never had she heard so much tosh in her life, she said. Melissa was here…maybe not here at this precise moment, but she was certainly around, wasn’t that correct, Leonides? The steward took one pace forward, held out his hands palms upwards and shrugged. Actually, no, he mumbled, Melissa hadn’t been around for a while, he’d been extremely concerned. It was one of the points he’d been trying to make since madam came home. He did stress it was a matter of urgency, he said, but was withered by a look before he could finish his explanation.

  All this Orbilio absorbed through his pores. Lips were moving, voices were heard, but it was happening as though he was outside looking in, distanced from the whole affair. The sun was sinking fast now, casting long shadows across the peristyle. He could smell fish cooking in the kitchen, felt the first faint chill of the evening, heard the delivery wagons clatter along the street in the distance, yet still he hovered above it, his mind whirling. He heard a man’s laugh—and started when he realized it came from himself. Dismissing Timarchides, he strode off to the slave quarters, aware of Claudia in hot pursuit. She looked pale, he thought. Vulnerable.

  The cubbyhole that was Melissa’s was better than most, he noted absently, undoubtedly reflecting her position in the household, but it was still little more than the size of a packing crate. For furniture, it contained a bed and a table and no more. A small l
ooking-glass sat on the table. An oil lamp in the shape of a ram, which he lit. A pot of cream. Some hideous heathen medallion. A bottle of perfume. Without thinking, he lifted the lid—and his eyebrows arched. It was rich and exotic and spicy.

  ‘What did you expect? That I’d put up with the chit hanging round me all day reeking of cheap scent?’

  The rims of her eyes were red, he noticed. Ebarrassed, he turned his search towards the rest of the room. Clean underclothes. A spare tunic, showing Melissa could turn a neat needle. He knelt down and searched under the bed. One small ivory-handled knife.

  ‘What are you looking for?’

  Orbilio leaned back on his haunches. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said slowly. ‘Something to connect her to the others, I suppose.’

  ‘Like what?’

  He weighed the knife in his hand. It could scarcely have peeled a peach, a flimsy thing like this.

  ‘I don’t know. I really don’t know—Jupiter!’ He’d thrown back the bedcovers automatically. ‘Claudia, take a look at this!’

  Exposed under the mattress was a beautiful cotton tunic, brand new by the looks of it, in the most stunning shade of apple green. He let his breath out in a whistle.

  ‘Well, well, well.’

  He had a feeling it sounded smug, but who cared? Smug was definitely how he felt. Glancing up, he saw the expression on Claudia’s face was one of sheer incredulity.

  ‘She had Crassus’s obsidian brooch, you know.’ Orbilio straightened up, feeling for all the world like a dog with two tails. ‘Had the gall to wear it in the street, brazen as anything.’ He clucked his tongue. ‘Greed’s what tripped her up, she was trying to sell it when the silversmith recognized it and sent for the police. In the confusion she gave them the slip.’

  Once the search was complete, he rolled up the tunic, whistling as he worked. Claudia had gone.

  *

  ‘I thought you’d be here,’ he said gently.

  The house was too brightly lit, she could take refuge in the darkness of the garden. Heady floral scents drifted in the night air, although the sibilant hiss of the fountain failed to drown the sound of her sobs. He eased himself on to the seat beside her, tossing up whether to chance his arm by slipping it round her shoulders on the pretext of offering her comfort. Maybe later…