by Marilyn Todd
‘Well, chum. Care to tell me who you are and what you’re doing here?’ Orbilio heaved the Thracian to a sitting position by the neck of his tunic. ‘We’ll find out sooner or later, you might as well make it sooner.’
Otho used his shoulder to wipe his mouth. ‘I work for Lucan the moneylender. This bitch owe many thousand sesterces, I come to collect.’
‘Is that true?’
That was Orbilio.
‘Of course it’s not!’
That was Gaius.
‘No one collects debts at three in the morning by forcing themselves on decent, respectable, defenceless matrons.’
Matron? Matron? Still, she could overlook the description, she supposed, seeing as how Gaius was so valiantly sticking up for her.
‘Is true, you ask Master Lucan. He confirm.’
Claudia’s eyes darted from Gaius to Orbilio and back again. Orbilio, she thought, was inclined to believe the thug, circumstances or no circumstances, because hadn’t Rufus blabbed about her and a big Thracian geezer on the day of the riot? Two big Thracians in a girl’s life was stretching coincidence, and she knew damned well how Orbilio felt about coincidences. In Gaius’s life, however Thracians were spread particularly thin on the ground… She flashed her husband a look of utter helplessness and waited.
‘What say we geld the bastard on the spot, Marcus?’ Bless you, Gaius!
Orbilio gave a half-smile. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘This charmer goes for trial.’
‘Why waste public money? Together we could—’
‘No.’
‘That’s not fair he’s—’
‘Gaius, if life was fair we wouldn’t need trials in the first place. This scumbag goes to court and that’s final.’
A public airing? Juno, I need leprosy more than I need that!
‘I’ve got an idea,’ she said. ‘Why don’t we—’
‘My sweet, your cousin’s quite right. Regrettable as it is, I agree we ought to hand him over.’
‘But—’
‘Now don’t distress yourself, Claudia. I give you my word, nothing like this will ever happen again. I’ll mount a permanent guard on the doors…’
He didn’t come in through the door Gaius!
‘…get a dog, even.’
Cover your ears, Drusilla.
‘Oh, Gaius, you’re wonderful. Thank you so much.’ She turned to Orbilio. ‘You, too, Cousin Markie,’ she added through her teeth. Dammit, twice in four days! She really had to break this habit before it went to his head.
Otho was bundled unceremoniously out of the room by the slaves, supervised by Junius, she noticed. Looks like he managed to wangle himself a promotion into the bargain, the sneaky little sod.
‘Leave that,’ she commanded the girl mopping up the blood. ‘We’ll sort it out in the morning, when the light’s better.’
In truth she was feeling too weak and jittery to want a servant hanging around. What she needed was a glass of wine and a good kip.
Orbilio combed his hair with his hands. ‘See you in the morning, then.’
Not if I see you first.
‘Look forward to it, Marcus…’
Oh, shit. ‘Gaius, are you all right?’
His face was contorted with pain, he was clutching his chest.
Claudia was out of bed in an instant, slipping and sliding in Otho’s blood as she ran across the room, but Orbilio had beaten her to it.
‘Sit down,’ he was saying, leading Gaius towards the bed.
Claudia held the lamp nearer his face. Shit. It was grey. Spasms of pain wracked his huge frame.
‘Junius? Oh, there you are. Junius, fetch a doctor, the master’s ill.’
XVIII
For centuries, the Roman people had revered their gods through propitiation, be it the sacrifice of a pregnant sheep, the donation of valuables, a hefty tithe or simply the pouring of a libation to remind the immortals they had not been forgotten. From mighty Jupiter to the humblest guardians of the storecupboard, the underlying factor was fear. And the message? Anger the gods at your peril. So with this so firmly instilled in his fine patrician blood, Orbilio couldn’t fathom why Claudia’s performance at the household shrine didn’t so much as break his stride.
‘You miserable sons of bitches,’ she was saying. ‘Every single day for the past four and a half years you’ve had more bloody attention than a bride on her wedding night. You’ve seen this shrine doubled in size, rebuilt in the finest Carrara marble money—and try telling me you’ve seen carvings to match and I’ll call you liars to your faces.’ She made a great show of pouring the libation.
‘Saw that, did you? Right. This is your final warning! I’ve done my bit, it’s about bloody time you started doing yours, do you hear me?’
Orbilio reckoned every deity in existence probably heard her—and was undoubtedly quaking in their celestial shoes with it. ‘Have you considered the possibility they’ve already fled in terror?’ he asked mildly.
‘Better still! If Gaius’s ancestors were half as bad as the present lot, good riddance.’
‘Not ideal, then?’
She snorted. ‘His mother’s a viper in human form, his sister’s got feathers for brains and his daughter would try the patience of Poseidon.’
‘I hear she’s marrying Scaevola next month.’
‘Damn right.’ She sounded relieved.
‘Is he the one with the weak chin and gappy teeth?’
‘No, that’s Marcellus, the one whose hands cover more ground than a legion on the march.’
‘At least that’s a problem I don’t have to contend with,’ he replied. ‘In-laws, I mean, not your brother-in-law’s wandering hands.’
In many ways, he rather wished he did have an inlaw problem, because once the notion of remarrying had entered his head there seemed little he could do to dislodge it. Petronella had come round eventually, as he knew she would, but it wasn’t what you’d call a satisfactory encounter. Physically, maybe (although even then he felt it was a question of going through the motions), but spiritually these casual encounters were turning more and more into emotional suicide since Claudia Seferius had crashed into his life. Like it or not, she was part of him now. Day and night she walked beside him, he saw her face in every mental picture, heard her voice in every conversation. His stomach lurched at the memory of her the other night, hair tumbling over her breasts, the moonlight on her face. In a pretence of questioning the Thracian, he’d bent over her bed to drink in the smell of her. The crumpled pillows, the spicy perfume, the brush of fine linen against his hand…those memories would take a long, long time to fade. Assuming he ever allowed them to.
‘You’d been married, though?’
His pulse quickened. So she’d been interested enough to find out about him?
‘Long ago, yes. She ran off with a sea captain and the last I heard they were holed up in Lusitania with three plug-ugly kids and a herd of goats. Or maybe it was the other way around?’
Mother of Tarquin, he loved it when she smiled. Her eyes were the colour of beechnuts, her cheeks as soft as sealskin. Orbilio folded his arms across his chest to stop himself reaching out.
‘Hardly a love match, then?’
‘She was a flighty piece to start with, despite her patrician blood. Frankly, I was glad to see the back of her.’ He wondered why he was telling her this. More to the point, he wondered why she was listening. ‘But it was the old, old story. Her father, my father, a good marriage contract. Of course, it all blew up in their faces when she ran off.’
Everyone knew Roman law and the role of the father in the family, but suddenly it was important to tell her that his own father no longer had a say in what Orbilio did.
‘Her father demanded the dowry back, my father refused and so it went on. The case went to court, but unfortunately the strain was too much for the old man. He collapsed and died.’
Could he make it any plainer without shouting it out? My father’s death releases me from the burden of arranged
marriages, Claudia. Do you hear what I’m saying?
‘Don’t let Flavia hear that story, it might give the little madam ideas. Her opinion of Gaius is extremely low at the moment.’
He paused. ‘And you?’
‘Scaevola is an excellent choice,’ she replied emphatically, leaving him with the feeling she’d deliberately misinterpreted him. ‘However’—there was a flash of emotion in her eyes that he couldn’t define—‘never let it be said I tried to influence the child in the matter of her marriage.’
The atmosphere had changed. A second ago it had been joky and relaxed, suddenly it was taut. He had the impression she was telling him something. Something important. But for the life of him he didn’t know what. Orbilio the star-crossed lover vanished, Orbilio the investigator was pricking his ears, alive to the slightest nuance. She was polishing a spot on the marble with the hem of her tunic.
‘How’s Gaius?’ he asked, forcing his eyes not to stare at her bare leg.
If she was surprised by the question she didn’t show it. Orbilio had not only helped to carry Seferius across to his own room, he’d sat up while the doctor made his examination.
‘Oh, you know my husband. The quack told him to take it easy, but Gaius went off anyway, swearing he wouldn’t miss the Wine Festival yesterday, not for all the mud on the Nile. Orbilio, my patience with you is running out. Could you please explain what you’re doing in my house?’
This second change in tempo threw him completely. He should have known, he thought, she was always doing this. Yet every time he found himself caught on the wrong damned foot.
‘I’m still your guest, remember?’
‘Uh-uh. You moved out.’
‘I what?’ He looked round wildly. ‘Claudia, you haven’t thrown my stuff into the street? Please tell me you haven’t thrown my stuff into the street!’
Four days had passed since Rufus had brought the news about Caldus, four days and nights in which Orbilio had been chasing his tail following every single lead. He’d eaten when he’d remembered, slept where he dropped, practically. His eyes were gritty, his limbs where leaden, in fact he was almost dead on his feet, but, by Jupiter, he was this close to solving this bloody murder! The last thing he wanted to hear, when it boiled down to it, was that his clean clothes had been trampled by oxen then stolen by beggars.
‘What did you expect? We’d heard neither hide nor hair of you for a week. This isn’t a common tavern, you know.’
‘It’s been two days, don’t exaggerate. And you missed me every single hour of them, admit it.’
He wanted to scoop her in his arms here and now. Whirl her round and round until they were dizzy. He wanted to pull the pins from her hair in that little pool of morning sunshine over there. Then he’d slide her rose pink tunic down—over her shoulders, her breasts, her hips. To a backdrop of splashing fountains he’d ease off her breast band, untie the tiny thong that hid her delicious feminine secrets and together they would dance under the open sky, laugh as they kissed, cry as they loved…
‘Don’t be absurd! I’ve got better things to do than moon after some little upstart masquerading as a relative.’
Dammit, Claudia, you don’t have to be so bloody brutal!
‘Oh, stop sulking, Orbilio! I haven’t thrown all your stuff out, just the oik. Seeing as you weren’t here to do it.’
Rufus? Oh shit, he knew there was something he’d forgotten! Even as he was dashing out on Tuesday night, he had a feeling there was something he’d forgotten to do. Well, he was buggered if he was going to apologize. She was being totally irrational about the kid, anyway. Irrational and unreasonable!
‘How did he take the eviction?’ Funnily enough, he’d grown used to the lad’s chirpy banter and his wily ways. He didn’t like to think of Rufus fending for himself again.
‘I believe he muttered something about it being my gaff, I could do what I liked in it and sodded off without another word. You could do worse than learn from him, Orbilio.’
He didn’t know quite which way to take that and decided the best course was to stay silent. Watching her yawn and stretch, thrusting out those splendid breasts, he found his mouth had gone dry. Absently he sipped the wine Claudia had poured for her husband’s ancestors.
‘By the way, the Thracian escaped,’ he said nonchalantly.
She flashed him a look. ‘Why?’
Mother of Tarquin, Claudia, you’re wonderful, you really are! Is it surprising no other woman matches up to you? I tell you Otho’s escaped, yet you don’t ask how. You don’t gasp or clap your hand over your mouth in horror. You don’t scream and say we must post a guard in case he comes back. You don’t panic and cry What shall I do? What shall I do? You ask why.
One delectable eyebrow rose slightly. ‘Orbilio, we are talking about the same gorilla who broke into my room the night before last? The one you half-strangled? The one who was reeling from that punch in the mouth? In fact, the one you personally trussed tighter than a boiling fowl?’ Orbilio spread his hands and shrugged. ‘So I need more practice tying knots.’
‘Well, you needn’t have bothered on my account, the oaf was lying through his teeth.’
‘Skip it, Claudia, you don’t need to pretend with me. Whatever he was up to when I burst in, his original purpose was to deliver another warning. Am I right?’
‘Tripe!’
‘Notice I say another warning. I know all about the riot, Claudia. In fact,’ he added quietly, ‘I know just about everything.’
Melissa had been whoring, he knew that now, hence his thorough search of her room. She’d have her money stashed somewhere, that was certain, and the chances are it would be under this roof. But she’d need a pimp. Who would steer her towards these high-ranking officials? There could be only one answer, it was just a question of proving it. There were a couple of points that bothered him, such as why, for instance, did nobody see the killer? How could he slip in and out without attracting attention? Also, a man covered with blood would not be difficult to miss—unless his toga covered the stains. But these were minor quibbles, his curiosity would be satisfied at the confession stage. And, by Jupiter, he had no worries about extracting one. Not with the case he’d so painstakingly built up! His hardest task had been unearthing a motive. Without it, of course, he had no killer but once he’d found the motive, Minerva’s magic, it had been plain sailing all the way. One more interrogation was all he needed to clinch it.
She stared at him long and hard for at least a minute. There was a twinkle in his eye, he couldn’t help it, because he knew, he just knew, she was dying to ask. She wouldn’t be able to resist. Who? she’d say, and that’s when Orbilio would come into his own. He’d been preparing for this moment. Nothing could throw him, not at this stage, he was ready for anything. Or was he? As an impish smile spread over her face, he had an uneasy feeling in his gut.
‘You will let me know,’ she said sweetly, ‘when you’ve quite finished drinking that sacred libation to our household gods?’
*
Without a breath of wind in the air it was simply too hot to sit in the garden, and her bedroom was stuffy. Unfortunately, to tackle the task she had in mind privacy was crucial.
‘Hey, you!’
A snap of the fingers brought a small slave boy running. Born to one of the kitchen women, Claudia had never thought to enquire who the father might be. Quite often, she thought, it was best not to know these things.
‘Send Cypassis to me at once. Tell her to pack a picnic, some raisins, a dish of almonds and a bowl of plums. Oh, a flagon of wine and a glass. Hurry, now.’
The little lad beetled off, his pudgy legs stumping this way and that as he ran. Claudia’s nose wrinkled. Surely the father couldn’t be anyone in this house! She resolved to give the men a closer inspection in future, because if they were going to breed, for heaven’s sake, they really oughtn’t be allowed to spawn such ugly sprogs. She’d have to have a word with Gaius, really she would. She tucked a roll of parchment int
o the folds of her stola. It was high time, she decided, to make a written list of her clients because, thanks to the deluge of other problems, her mental resources had become decidedly stretched of late and it was a simple enough task on the face of it. Who’s dead, who’s in the clear…and who’s still in the frame?
Her litter, its distinctive orange canopy attracting curious glances wherever it went, set her down in one of the public gardens in the Field of Mars. Once a swamp more or less encircled by a great loop of the Tiber, it had been transformed over the last ten to fifteen years into one of the most beautiful spots in the whole of Rome. Adorned by temples and baths and flanked by hills that ran down to the water’s edge, the Field was all things to all men. A peaceful haven to read or gossip. A place to work out, with ball games and gymnastics. Space for chariot practice, military exercises, horse races and all manner of outdoor athletics that could be grouped under the general heading of Showing Off. Claudia settled herself on the steps of the small but elaborate temple to Anna and chewed the end of her reed pen.
The first list was simple enough. There was Tigellinus, in charge of Juturna’s sacred pool. Horatius, the aedile responsible for the Megalesian Games. Fabianus, the jurist. Crassus the retired senator. And now Publius Caldus the banker. Five men who had met with an undeserved and grisly end, steps urgently needed to be taken to ensure the tally stayed at five. Not out of sentiment, particularly, but before Gaius discovered the link. Amiable as he might appear on the surface, rumour spread like a forest fire in this city and it would need but one small whiff of misdemeanour and Claudia would be out. O-U-T, out. She bit an almond in half and flicked the rest into a clump of pinks. A person had to watch their step with Gaius Seferius. Yes, indeed they did.
Glancing up, she was met by the comical sight of Cypassis staggering under the weight of a silver tray piled high with fruit and wine, a monstrous fan of ostrich plumes trailing across the grass behind her.
‘You don’t have to bring everything at once,’ she said.
Cypassis smiled. ‘Saves a second trip.’
