I, Claudia

by Marilyn Todd

  ‘So what is it?’ he asked, reaching for the yellow glass flagon. ‘Fraud? Theft? Adultery?’

  Oh yes, adultery! Julia, the Emperor’s daughter, had been making such a spectacle of herself lately. That would be it. He’d be looking for someone with a low profile but a good track record to handle the case.

  ‘In a manner of speaking, yes.’ His illustrious visitor divested himself of his toga.

  ‘Julia’s?’

  The man smiled. ‘No,’ he said, rolling an apple in the palm of his hand. ‘Yours, actually.’

  Paternus had been too busy pouring wine to notice the flash of blade. He felt what seemed like a punch to his chest, felt his heels lift clean off the floor with the jolt. His mouth dropped open and only when he looked down did he see the handle of a dagger protruding from his breast. Stunned and helpless, he pitched forward on to his knees. Somewhere in the back of his mind it registered that the envoy had now divested himself of his tunic and was standing stark naked in front of him. Then the pain hit him, surging through his body like white lightning. Relentless, remorseless.

  ‘Not my eyes,’ he gasped. ‘Please, not my eyes.’

  ‘Fraid so, old chap,’ his murderer said pleasantly, smiling down at him. ‘You’ve seen her, you see. Can’t have that, can we?’

  Paternus could feel the room spinning. Ineffectively he clawed at the dagger, felt a strange gurgling sensation in his throat, a ringing in his ears. The wine he’d been pouring had spilled over the mosaic, dribbling among the ridges of the tesselae. Soon, he realized, his blood would be mingling with it. How could he, Paternus, the lawyer of all people, have let himself be duped so easily?

  ‘Pity. Have pity!’

  The room was growing dark. He could barely distinguish between the lion on the mosaic and the wine spill. Mighty Mars, take this life of mine as sacrifice and strike the bastard dead on the spot! Don’t let him take my eyes. Mars the Avenger, I implore you now. Take vengeance for me!

  ‘She’s only a wh-wh-whore.’

  The envoy had to lean forward to catch the words. ‘Claudia Seferius? Oh, Paternus, that was a very foolish thing to say. You can hear me, can’t you?’

  Paternus nodded. His sight might be failing, his strength almost gone, but his hearing was intact, and the pain no less excruciating.

  ‘Take…the…dagger…out.’ It was his only hope now. Hasten his death, put an end to this agony. ‘P-please.’ Never before had he put so much of himself into one small word. The man would be inhuman to sit and watch him die like this! Paternus knew about the other murders. A quick thrust to the heart. Instant death. And if it wasn’t immediate—well, the moment the blade came out, it was all over and done with.

  He heard the man suck his breath through his teeth. ‘Can’t do that, Paternus. Not when you’ve called the woman I love a whore.’

  ‘S-sorry. I’m s-sor-ry. D-didn’t m-mean it.’

  The searing pain in his chest had spread to his head. ‘T-take the b-blade out. P-please!’

  He could feel tears burning a path down his cheek. Surely no man, even this lunatic, could feel anything but pity now? A man crying and begging for his life? He realized he would never see his boys again. They’d grow to manhood and he wouldn’t be able to steer them through the pitfalls of adolescence, he wouldn’t be able to arrange decent marriages for them, he’d never know what it was like to play with his grandchildren.

  ‘See this, Paternus?’

  In his closed dark world of pain, he managed to make out the glint of a blade. Mercy! He’d been released from his torture. Then his breath caught in his throat. This was a different, smaller blade. Used for cutting fruit.

  ‘Your heart’s in a different place from the others,’ the voice went on, calmly and pleasantly. ‘Divine intervention, don’t you see? You called her a whore, Paternus, and for that you must pay. Yes, indeed. You do know how, don’t you?’

  Numbly the lawyer shook his head.

  ‘No? Come, come, think, man!’

  But Paternus couldn’t think. Pain was searing every muscle, every sinew, every blood vessel. He squeezed his eyes tight with every agonizing wave—and then it dawned on him what this maniac meant to do.

  ‘No! For gods’ sakes, man, no!’

  He didn’t think he had the strength left to scream. In fact, he didn’t realize he had strength left at all until he felt the ice-cold metal brush against his cheek and the sound of inhuman laughter echo in his ears.

  XX

  Callisunus was waiting for him in the underground temple of Consus, his florid cheeks redder than usual, the fury on his face etched deeper from the flickering torchlight. Orbilio wasn’t late for the appointment, far from it, yet he had a feeling that whatever was bothering Callisunus would be dumped upon his own shoulders as sure as the cock would crow in the morning and dogs would bark in the night. It was turning into that sort of a day.

  His footsteps echoed in the dank, hollow chamber as the sacred attendants paused to scrutinize the intruder, resentment bouncing off them in waves. Who could blame them, he thought. Overhead a small army battled to prepare the Circus Maximus for the chariot races tomorrow, while below they were still eons away from digging out the altar. He wanted to shout at them, tell them to put their backs into the job, because they were shovelling soil as though they were a bunch of lovesick maidens mucking out pigshit, but he couldn’t, of course. Not in front of Callisunus. And especially not today. With a muted sigh Orbilio saw the little man was drumming his fingers against his thigh—always a bad sign—and wished the omens were more favourable for the extension of time he needed to ask for.

  It seemed an odd choice for a meeting, underground, during the annual excavation of the altar before its ritual reburial. Furthermore, Callisunus had no connection regarding tomorrow’s festival, so why pick this place? Privacy couldn’t be a factor. A portent of new communication lines reflecting Rome’s increasing addiction to intrigue? Orbilio ran one hand through his hair. He thought not. In fact, so strongly did this smack of celestial involvement, he could almost hear the conversation. There was Jupiter, picking ambrosia out of his teeth.

  ‘Terrific wheeze, having that Orbilio chappie brought to book at two shrines in one day, don’t you think, Juno?’

  ‘Not half, darling, and if you hang on just a minute I’ll see if I can’t round up Apollo, he enjoys these gags.’

  Come to think of it, Orbilio decided he wouldn’t be surprised if Venus, Diana and Neptune didn’t tag along as well. They could make a whole bloody picnic of it.

  ‘Made the arrest?’

  Beads of sweat broke out on Orbilio’s forehead. The ignominy of drinking the Seferius libation was shame enough, but did she really have to laugh quite so enthusiastically? Mother of Tarquin, the more he squirmed the more it amused her, until in the end tears were streaming down her face. Marcus, you can be such a bloody fool at times, how can you ever hope to—

  ‘Pay attention, man! I’m asking you whether you’ve got a confession yet.’

  ‘What? Oh, sorry, sir, I was, er—I was just wondering whether they need help digging out the altar?’

  Say no! Please say no! If you say yes I won’t have time to wind up the case, and you’ll never give me another day’s grace, I know it.

  The little man’s manner seemed to take a swift upturn.

  ‘You know, Orbilio, that’s an extremely generous offer.’

  Bugger.

  Callisunus tapped the side of his mouth with his finger. ‘Though I think, on balance, it won’t be enough. I’ll need to bring a slave gang in.’

  Orbilio’s head was buzzing. His mind, already a seething cauldron of logic and emotion, torn as it was between concentrating on his case and brooding about Claudia, was suddenly thrown into utter confusion. I haven’t heard right. My boss—and let’s be clear on this, we’re talking about the Head of the Security Police, here—is involving himself with…harvest rituals? Can’t be. No way! I’m cracking up. His mouth was dry, he needed a dri
nk. In fact, he needed several drinks.

  ‘I will not allow it, Paulus.’

  Orbilio turned round. What the…? There were two of them, for gods’ sakes. Two Callisunuses? No, no, pull yourself together, man.

  ‘I simply cannot permit a bunch of heathen slaves down here when I am trying to prepare my sacrificial rites.’

  Holy shit, Callisunus was talking to himself. Or rather, he was talking to the second Callisunus, the one dressed in a thick woollen cloak and wearing a pointed cap on his head.

  I am, I’m going mad. Marcus Cornelius Orbilio won’t be remembered as the chap who solved those gruesome murders, he’ll be known as the chap who couldn’t handle the pressure and ended up a headcase. Stark, staring bonkers. Spends all his time locked in his room, poor fellow. Really? Oh yes, tragic case. Had such a bright future at one stage, too. Orbilio pressed the heels of his hands into his eyeballs. Jupiter, unless he pulled himself together, and he meant right now, he could kiss the Senate goodbye, that’s for sure.

  Callisunus—the Callisunus he was familiar with, the one drumming his fingers—turned to the other Callisunus, the one who was dripping with sweat and had his hands on his hips.

  ‘Marius, you arsehole, at the rate you and those other fairies are digging there won’t be a fucking sacrifice.’

  ‘There is no need to be offensive!’

  Orbilio blinked, and blinked again. I’ll be damned, he thought, blowing his nose to cover his laughter. Twins. They’re bloody twins! Keeping his handkerchief over his mouth, he studied Marius, the brother. Same squat build, same piggy eyes and wonky nose, and yet there was an ocean of difference between them now he looked carefully. A sensitivity in the priest’s face which was lacking in the policeman’s, a shrewdness in the policeman’s, which was lacking in the priest’s. And suddenly the comedy opened his eyes to a world he’d not previously entered. The world of illusion. What you see isn’t necessarily what is real, he thought with a start. The dank humidity began to cloy as the most significant piece of his puzzle, leastways as far as he was concerned, slotted into place. His very blood seemed to congeal and he decided the taste in his mouth owed nothing to the acidity of the earthy air around him.

  ‘You’ve dug yourself into this hole and if I’m to bail you out, you brainless cretin, I’ll be as offensive as I fucking well like.’

  The pointy hat drooped slightly to the left. ‘Is it my fault I get the date wrong?’ Marius threw up his hands. ‘I have not been well lately, but do you care? My own brother and he ignores me.’

  He turned to Orbilio, who forced himself to follow the conversation as though nothing had turned his world upside down.

  ‘Do you have brothers?’

  He was given no chance to either nod or shake his head.

  ‘Do yours leave you at death’s door? I should say not. You know, I could have died the other night.’ He lowered his voice and whispered, ‘It was the fish, I swear it—’

  Callisunus grabbed his brother by the shoulders and shook him. ‘Marius, you self-absorbed prat, I suggest you take that fish and shove it right up your arse.’ He marched towards the steps to the Circus, jerking his head to indicate Orbilio should follow him. ‘My own brother can you believe it? Jupiter, he really pisses me off at times!’

  Callisunus human at last? Could it be? Encouraged by the sudden (not to say unexpected) uplift in his fortunes, Orbilio raced up the steps after him, eager to capitalize on the moment. He was aware of Marius following in his wake. The glare of the late afternoon sun made him squint as a pungent smell of horseflesh slammed into his nostrils. ‘I need another day, sir.’

  The Head of the Special Police stopped in mid-stride. ‘Tell me I didn’t hear that.’

  ‘One more day, that’s all.’

  Callisunus barged aside a charioteer. ‘We’ve been through this, Orbilio. Tomorrow you start work on the Verianus fraud case.’

  The cracking pace he set down the length of the racetrack presented no obstacle for Orbilio’s long legs. Behind them, however the priest was rapidly losing ground. His thick cloak flapped like heavy flightless wings, his conical hat wobbled precariously. Callisunus glanced round, tutted and stopped short.

  ‘My brother is a right pain in the arse,’ he said, casting his eyes over the seats banked up the side of the auditorium. ‘But tomorrow a quarter of the city’s going to pack itself into this place, including my good self, so if Consus doesn’t get his honouring of first fruits, it’ll fuck things up good and proper.’

  The priest of the festival was wheezing like a pair of bellows and had to support himself on the low wall which divided the track down the centre. When he realized the dark stains he was leaning against were dried blood, he quickly jumped away again.

  Orbilio felt his moment melting away. It was now or never. Callisunus would not have the patience to grant his request after another round with his brother.

  ‘One more day, sir, and I’ll tell you why.’

  ‘Forgive me, Paulus, it was not my intention to annoy you. The slave gang will be fine, honestly.’

  Callisunus looked from one to the other, using the same expression of exasperation for both men. If he chose to hear his brother, Orbilio was sunk, his rosy future little more than mucky brown, and for the first time he began to realize what it must be like for a defeated gladiator to beg the crowd for pardon. For Callisunus to turn to him would be the thumbs-up, while if he turned to the priest…

  The Head of the Security Police had no problem deciding which irritant to brush off first. ‘Marius—’

  It really was turning into a pig of a day.

  ‘Marius, where the fucking hell do you think I’m going? I’m on my way to organize your fucking slave gang, so go back and fucking dig, will you? Because if by tomorrow morning every fucking flower and fruit known to man isn’t garlanding your altar, your fucking head will be. Got it?’

  The priest smiled ingratiatingly, and as he did so the spiked skull cap plopped into the sand. Swooping down to retrieve it, the bronze buckle holding his cloak fell off, and the moment his fingers closed round the clasp his woollen cloak slid into a pile of steaming horse dung. Callisunus closed his eyes and shuddered.

  ‘Oh dear, oh dear. I do hope I am not embarrassing you, Paulus.’

  Callisunus could take no more. He shook his head and began to march down the track in the direction of the Tiber, the lengthening shadows implying a deceptive coolness in the air. Orbilio kept pace in silence, and when he glanced back he noticed Marius was still encountering difficulty with his priestly garb and wondered how he coped when he had to wear the laurel wreath as well. The god of the harvest store deserved far better he thought. Of course, Marius would only have landed the job because of his brother’s influence, the same as this oily bastard only landed his own job because he’d fawned and flattered every rung of the ladder. For a man of the equestrian order however the position was nevertheless a remarkable achievement—even for a fathead like Callisunus, doggedly maintaining the killings were random in spite of the evidence laid before him. He sighed in the deepening gloom. Not that Callisunus, whose breadth of vision extended little further than the tip of his pug nose, looked upon these conclusions as evidence.

  ‘Bollocks!’ he’d said, when Orbilio had finished outlining his case. ‘Gossip, hunch and innuendo, the lot of it. You mark my words, this is the work of a maniac, picking his victims at random, and at the end of it you’ll find he’s been hearing voices urging him to do it. Divine retribution or some such shit, see if I’m not right.’

  Orbilio supposed that having expressed this opinion so often and so vehemently to the Emperor when he made his weekly report, Callisunus was hardly likely to retract without cast-iron proof. Which could only come in the form of a confession. Well, he was buggered if he was going to be sidelined on to some damned fraud case for the sake of one lousy interview, and if this quick-tempered, foul-mouthed, narrow-minded weasel thought he could brush Marcus Cornelius Orbilio aside just like that he
had another think coming. The Senate beckoned…and competition was stiff. Unless he solved this bloody case, he might as well forget it.

  At the obelisk at the end of the track, Callisunus stopped abruptly. ‘I don’t need a bodyguard, Orbilio. Even this lunatic wouldn’t pick on the Head of the Security Police.’

  ‘He’s not a lunatic, sir. Leastways, not in the sense you mean. Another day and—’

  ‘Orbilio, watch my lips. You are off the case. Finished. End of story. You’ve even put in your report.’

  ‘Only verbally.’

  ‘Yes, and I warned you about that, too. I don’t want to see these scurrilous lies on paper do you understand? For your sake, as much as mine. I told Seferius what you said—’

  ‘You what?’

  Anger boiled through Orbilio in a way he’d never imagined possible. The bloody imbecile! ‘This was supposed to be a covert operation, sir.’ How many more had he blabbed to, for heaven’s sake?

  ‘Oh, come on, man, what did you expect? You’ve been masquerading as his wife’s cousin, how much longer do you think before he found out? What is it with you and her, anyway? Got your leg over?’

  Orbilio’s fist thudded into the palm of his hand. ‘No, sir,’ he said quietly, ‘I have not. I told you before, I had a hunch about the house and forgive me for saying so, but that hunch proved correct.’

  The sun was sinking fast now.

  ‘The little slut Melissa, you mean?’ Callisunus gave a snort of derision. ‘So she’d been giving Crassus a bit of hanky-spanky, nothing wrong with that. Partial to a spot of it myself sometimes. You just remember, Orbilio, her involvement was only discovered because the greedy bitch tried to sell that poor bugger’s clip, not through any cleverness on your part.’