by Marilyn Todd
‘I did not.’
‘You damn well did.’
He watched the rain drip steadily from the roof-spout into the pool. ‘I didn’t follow you. I followed Sabina.’ Claudia suddenly felt like the fish who’d swallowed a fly, only to find it was on the end of a hook, next stop the boiling pan. A lead weight thudded into her stomach, she could hardly breathe. You followed Sabina?
‘Why?’ That thin little voice sounded a million miles away. ‘If you knew she wasn’t a Vestal Virgin?’
He didn’t even have the decency to look her in the eye.
‘I followed her because she wasn’t a Vestal,’ he said, jutting his chin out. ‘It…seemed odd, her pretending to be one when she wasn’t. Especially when the family thought she was. If you see what I mean.’ Claudia did not see. She did not want to see. In fact, the only thing Claudia wanted at that particular moment was to pass right through the wall and into her bedroom. She couldn’t use the door, Orbilio was blocking the way.
Tell a lie, there was one other thing she wanted. A very stiff drink.
Dear Diana, how could she have let herself believe he’d sailed halfway round the world after her? Claudia Seferius, you really are a silly bitch.
‘What do you know about Old Bedroom Eyes?’ he was saying.
Claudia felt her colour rise. ‘Who?’ she asked sharply. By Juno, she’d be in that doctor’s bed tonight, come hell or high water. She’d put that mattress through its paces.
‘Come on! Ever since I got here, it’s been Diomedes this, Diomedes that. Has he cast a spell on the Collatinuses, for gods’ sake?’
‘If he has, it’s a bloody sight better than casting aspersions the way you are.’
‘Claudia, I know for a fact—’
‘That’s another thing, Orbilio. I’m sick up to here with the patter of your tiny feats, get out of my way.’
And that was when she received a second bombshell because he did, goddammit. He bloody stepped aside.
Claudia stared at the rain hammering hard against the window and ran her finger up and down the glass until it squeaked. Well, she thought. That arrogant patrician is nothing to me. What did it matter if he had more sex appeal than you could shake a stick at? There were other men. Better looking. Younger. Blonder, even…
That was another thing about Supersnoop. By rights she ought to take him with her to Aristaeus’s, except he’d only insist on dragging the man off for trial. In fact, with only Hecamede to give evidence against him, Aristaeus could be out in no time, free to ply his evil trade on other little girls. Oh no. Keep Orbilio out of this and let Belladonna do the work.
But Aristaeus was scheduled for tomorrow, Diomedes for tonight—and in the meantime, Claudia was bored.
Bored, bored, bored.
All four kittens lay piled in one contented, snoozing heap on top of their mother, who half-opened one protective eye every so often, but couldn’t be bothered to move on a wet day like this. Claudia gave her a few strokes between her ears, but the purrs were obviously an effort, so to pass time she decided to inspect the redecorated banqueting room.
Eugenius had ordered new friezes, garden scenes of peacocks and finches, waterfalls and nymphs, but the workmen, who had all but finished the job, apparently couldn’t get over in the rain. The room was deserted. Claudia cast her critical eye over the walls. They looked great from a distance but could they stand close scrutiny? To her surprise, the detail was as skilful as the overall picture. Maybe more so, because once you started looking closely, the eye was drawn to finer and finer detail. Some of the plants were quite astonishing and she wondered whether the painter carried the same honesty through to portraits. Not if he wanted further commissions, she thought.
On a table in a corner, fresh fruit stood piled on a silver tray, apples, nectarines, grapes, figs. There was one peach remaining, and she selected it.
‘That’s my peach. Put it down.’
Examining the skin for blemishes, Claudia turned slowly. A small child, no more than eight, stood in the doorway. A pretty child in all probability, with her raven black hair and slender form, but at the moment she was scowling too ferociously to tell.
‘I said, that’s mine. Put it back!’
Small hands became small fists.
Claudia regarded the child carefully, then held the peach to her nose, testing it for ripeness. Small brown eyes blazed with temper.
‘If you eat my peach, I’ll take that pot, I’ll throw it on the floor and then I’ll tell Mama you broke it.’
Her name was Popillia, she was Linus’s and Corinna’s third child and this was her normal disposition.
‘So?’
‘So,’ she said haughtily, ‘it contains Mama’s new perfume, the one she sent for from Syria. She was showing it to Grandmama, only she left it behind by mistake.’
She advanced purposefully across the room and stretched out her hand.
With delicacy, Claudia picked up the ceramic pot, lifted the lid and sniffed appreciatively. ‘Expensive,’ she murmured.
‘Very expensive,’ the child corrected.
Claudia smiled. ‘All right, you win,’ she said, waiting for the light of triumph to fill those little nutbrown eyes before adding, ‘Pity though.’
She opened her fingers. There was a crash and immediately a pungent aroma exploded in the air. The child’s jaw dropped in amazement, her whole body frozen in surprise. Claudia bit deep into the peach, seemingly oblivious to the juice dribbling down her chin.
‘Don’t forget to tell your mama, will you?’ she said, stepping over the broken shards.
In the atrium, as she licked the last vestige of fruit from the stone, she decided that her first encounter with Popillia had not been the most auspicious of starts. Oh well. Claudia let the stone fall noisily on to the mosaic floor then, with a judicious kick, sent it winging into the pool. The resulting plop was more than satisfactory.
*
‘You’ll do as you’re fucking told.’ The voice of Aulus Collatinus was unmistakable. ‘Don’t think you can come back after farting around for twenty—’
‘You call that uprising in Pannonia farting around? I nearly lost an eye, and when—’
‘Don’t change the bloody subject. I’m telling you now, boy, you can forget coming home with big ideas about taking over.’
‘Taking—? I was only checking to see how much wool had been carded up.’
‘Bollocks! You know sod-all about the spinning process, you’re out to undermine my position.’
‘The old man asked me to do it.’
‘Oh! So now you’re sneaking off to him, are you? Trying to worm your way round the old man so you can take over when he pops off? Well, I’ll not have it, d’you hear me?’
Claudia listened at the door for another few moments, but since the exchange was going nowhere, a series of oh-yes-you-are, oh-no-I’m-not’s, she moved on. They were an argumentative bunch at the best of times, this family, but the rain made them ten times worse.
Orbilio came in, tunic and toga soaking wet, hair plastered over his face, his legs streaked with mud.
Claudia said, ‘Still soaking up the atmosphere, I see,’ to which he gave a very-funny-I-don’t-think grin as he squelched across the tiles leaving a long line of drips in his wake. She hoped he got pneumonia and died.
Fabius and his father were still at it hammer and tongs but, two doors along, altercations of a different kind were in progress. Linus, disgust heavy in his voice, was berating Corinna, this time about her hair. Claudia leaned her ear to the door.
‘You’re making a fool of yourself, all those curls piled up. You look like mutton dressed as lamb.’
‘It’s the fashion, Linus. You said I should keep up with it.’
‘Well, you haven’t been, have you, you silly bitch. Remus, can’t you do anything right?’
‘I try, Linus, really—’
‘The hell you do. You’ve only got to look at Claudia to see what a pig’s ear you’ve made of it.’
‘Her maid’s sick, that’s why she’s wearing a bun.’
‘You make me sick, you know that? The old man’s got you tutors for the children, he’s got you nannies and nursemaids coming out your ears—you can’t complain you haven’t got the time.’
‘That’s another thing, Linus, I never get to see my own children.’
‘For gods’ sake, woman, all I ask is you keep yourself smart, be a credit to the Collatinus name, and you can’t even do that right.’
‘I do, Linus. I am. I mean…but the children, I hardly ever—’
‘Then what’s that ridiculous confection stuck on your head? You look like a common tart.’
Claudia shook her head. If there were prizes for being a berk, Linus would win the crown. Given time, he could probably make it an Olympic event.
It was because she was at the far end of the colonnade, listening at Portius’s door, that Claudia failed to catch the rest of what passed between Linus and his wife.
‘You do it on purpose, don’t you, you selfish cow?’
The back of Linus’s hand lashed against Corinna’s cheek, sending her reeling against the table.
‘You embarrass me on bloody purpose.’
Corinna struggled to her feet. ‘Linus, that’s not true—’
‘Shut up, bitch!’
A fist cannoned into her stomach and she fell, doubled up, on to the floor. His foot rammed into her lower back and she screamed out in agony.
‘Do that once more, you worthless cow, and I’ll give you the hiding of your life.’
Linus directed another kick into her ribs, then pulled her to her knees by the hair. He hit her hard in the mouth. Not once, but twice.
‘You show some respect for the family name.’ He jerked her roughly towards him and bent to look at her, a grimace contorting his face. ‘Croesus, you’re ugly.’ He recoiled. ‘Ugly and scrawny and lazy and stupid. No other man would take you if I divorced you—which I could, you know, any day I choose. So what do you say?’
Corinna swallowed the blood in her mouth.
He twisted her hair so hard, a clump came loose in his fingers. ‘I asked you a question.’
‘Th-thank you.’
A balled fist thudded into her breast. ‘Louder, you ungrateful bitch.’
The room swam and went dark, but Corinna forced herself to rally. She daren’t pass out. Not right now.
‘I s-said th-thank you, Linus.’ The words were slurred from the swelling on her lip. ‘I’m g-grateful for everything you’ve done f-for me.’
Linus let go of her hair and straightened up. ‘So you bloody should be.’
Corinna began to sob uncontrollably, her muscles convulsing, as Linus brushed his hands together and finished off the last of his wine.
‘Well, that should teach you a lesson,’ he said conversationally, as he stood over her and began to untie his loin cloth. ‘Now let’s have a bit of fun.’
XIII
The deluge might have stopped, but the clouds were still low and threatening as Marcus Cornelius Orbilio slipped unobtrusively out of the slaves’ entrance. For warmth this evening he’d opted for a long cloak rather than his toga, since freedom of movement was essential for the job in hand, and to that end the bulk was thrown over one arm with the weight at the other shoulder taken by a brooch. He was fully aware he looked less the professional on the job, more a young man on the razzle.
He paused in the shadows to sniff the air in the same way a dog will. All too soon the rich scents of Mother Earth would be overwhelmed by the more customary smells of sheep and their by-products, so he filled his lungs with the cool, fresh air. When bleaching started again, when it was dry enough to stretch the wool in the open, the air would be foul with sulphur and some of the pigments they used in the dyeshed stank abominably. He’d enjoy this while he could!
He winced as a solitary drip from the gutter spout trickled down his neck. Long after he’d wiped it away, Orbilio could still feel its icy track. In the kitchen behind him a pot crashed to the floor and a quarrel broke out, inciting that mangy guard dog Cerberus to damn near bark his head off. Didn’t take long, he thought, for the peace to be shattered in this household.
Keeping to the shadows, he ducked under each window, whether lighted or not, pausing again at the corner. In Rome this routine was second nature, this checking and double-checking, but tonight he was simply honing his skills. It was one way to take his mind off things and, under the circumstances, he couldn’t think of a better.
There was a scuffle to his left and Orbilio spun round to see a black rat disappear into the nettles. Mother of Tarquin, he was twitchier than he thought. He desperately needed a drink, but he’d been a good boy since he got here, hardly touched a drop. He looked up at the heavy bank of clouds. His drinking had got out of hand lately, trying to get that Seferius woman out of his mind, but he wasn’t stupid. He needed a clear head for this job—if only to impress his boss.
The very thought made him break out in a sweat. On the one hand it was a hot sweat, because he was furious with his boss for sending him off to Ostia in order to take the kudos himself for solving those gruesome murders. And on the other hand it was a cold sweat, because in his haste to track down Claudia and find a passage to Sicily, Orbilio had completely forgotten about making his report. In fact he was a full five hours into his voyage before it even entered his head—which meant that he was by then precisely two hours late for the meeting.
Since that left a high-ranking tax inspector hanging unnecessarily under a thundercloud of suspicion, Orbilio’s boss would have his cobblers for kebabs unless he could redeem himself, and the surest way of doing that would be to bring in a murderer red-handed. Red-handed and single-handed. It might not be enough to set his career back on track for the Senate, but it would be a damn good start. Oh yes, he could picture it now.
‘Clever fellow, that Orbilio. Sniffed trouble right from the outset.’
‘I know! Amazing, isn’t it, the way he knew the Seferius widow was in danger, and what with that Sabina creature passing herself off as a Vestal Virgin, well!’
‘Saved the poor widow, he did, and when the imposter was murdered, he caught the chap right away. Shrewd fellow all right. Should go far.’
Except that if he wasn’t careful, his boss would have him flushing out drains instead of flushing out criminals.
He played at adjusting the cloak over his arm, lifting and dropping the soft, scarlet wool into folds. Danger! He ought to have known better, imagining Claudia Seferius to be in danger!
Kidnapped and held to ransom for her inheritance, that’s what he’d thought. Ha-bloody-ha. The man who tried that would need his brains examining—it was safer rolling naked in a viper pit. Juno’s skirts, you’re a fool, Marcus. You knew she was in debt, you should have realized she’d be working some sort of scam.
Don’t blame me, a little voice argued back. I’ve been busting my balls all bloody year, first on that murder business, then in Ostia, I was too tired to think it through properly. Tired…and frustrated. He slumped against the wall, letting his head rest against the cool of the stone. Croesus, I need a woman. I can’t go on like this much longer. I’m twenty-four, for gods’ sake, it’s not bloody natural.
Aulus had sent him a slave girl, a pretty little thing, but she was only fourteen and quaking like an aspen, so he politely sent her away again. No, what he wanted was a real woman. One with firm, ripe breasts to tickle and tease him. One with long, dark curls to make a tent round their faces. One who breathed fire and passion. Electricity sparking in the night. Heat. Craving, begging, clawing fury.
And for him, Marcus Cornelius Orbilio, there was only one woman.
‘You’re a damned fool,’ he told his shadow. ‘Why all that shit about clapping her in irons? You know you didn’t mean it. And why say you followed Sabina? Why not tell her the truth?’
He knew why, of course. Not only the way that bastard Diomedes ogled her, blue eyes lingering blatantly
(and Orbilio felt a stab in his gut whenever he thought about it), but Orbilio was no fool. He’d seen the looks she gave that bloody quack. He’d watched her whenever Diomedes’s name cropped up. Well, he was damned if he was going to tell her what really brought him to Sicily. A man had his pride, goddammit.
He ran both hands through his hair. He’d make her take that boat tomorrow, if he had to carry her down the gangplank over his shoulder. That slimeball wouldn’t lay one finger on her, not one damned finger.
He passed under the dining room window, empty now, except for tantalizing smells of goose and hare and the inevitable mutton and heard his stomach growl.
In many respects, the timing of his arrival was perfect—the very day Sabina had been killed—allowing him to inspect the body within hours of the murder, though interrogation had been one hell of a task. Collatinus had so many slaves, it was like being back in the army and Orbilio couldn’t be sure they weren’t breeding faster than he could take statements, because for every one on his list, three turned up at interview.
He paused to listen to the chirrup of crickets in the undergrowth and congratulated himself that hard work and diligence paid off. He had worked out who had committed this disgusting crime, but he had to have proof. Conclusive evidence to bring this bastard to justice, because without that, where was he? Grovelling to his boss, that’s where.
The local magistrate would be none too happy when he discovered the Security Police tramping his territory, but he’d have to bloody well lump it. Orbilio was only a few months away from his twenty-fifth birthday, the date he legally became eligible for the Senate. Time was not on his side, there was no room for politics. Not at this level.
Orbilio’s palms began to sweat. He was really beginning to need that drink.
One thing he couldn’t fathom was Claudia’s involvement. Money had to be at the core, but what did she hope to gain from passing an imposter off as Eugenius’s granddaughter? She was clever, he’d give her that. No one in the family suspected a damned thing. But what happened to the real Sabina? Was she dead? And why wasn’t Claudia upset that her partner had been killed? And in such an inhuman way?