I, Claudia

by Marilyn Todd

  ‘I understand that, sir. But—’ Should he or shouldn’t he? Hell, at this stage he had nothing to lose. ‘There’s something else.’

  Callisunus chewed his thumbnail. ‘Oh?’

  ‘I believe there’s a series of murders going on in the Seferius household.’

  ‘Don’t fuck with me, Orbilio!’

  Damn! It sounded so utterly inane when you said it like that.

  ‘Please, sir, hear me out. First it was his eldest daughter, then his two sons. Now his new granddaughter is dead.’

  ‘Seferius is full of this shit at the moment, you shouldn’t listen to him, it’s pitiful coming from a man like him.’

  Callisunus swatted away a troublesome wasp.

  ‘The babe was an abomination. They put it out of its misery—’

  ‘Who, sir? Who put it out of its misery?’

  ‘Oh, get real, Orbilio, the child was malformed, they killed it. Happens all the time. Now will you clear the hell out of my face!’

  ‘No, sir!’

  ‘I’m warning you, Orbilio. One more word and I’ll have your balls for subordination.’

  Have them, they’re no bloody good to me.

  ‘If you would listen to the full story, sir—’

  ‘If, if, if! The world’s full of if’s, haven’t you noticed? Well if you have reasonable grounds for opening a case, and by Jupiter I do mean reasonable, then put them in writing, to me, and I will consider them.’

  Callisunus skirted the obelisk and set off towards the gate.

  ‘Does that mean I can work on the case, sir?’

  ‘What case, Orbilio? There isn’t a fucking case, I haven’t had your fucking notes yet. And even if there fucking was, you won’t be fucking working on it. Do I make myself plain?’

  There was a shout from behind, different from the cries of the charioteers and the slaves working in the Circus, which made both men turn. Orbilio recognized the man running towards them as Timarchides.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt, sir but you ought to know. Paternus the lawyer’s been found dead in his home.’

  ‘Shit!’ Callisunus glanced towards the underground shrine. ‘Timarchides, organize a slave gang to dig out the altar. About ten men should do it. Oh, before you do that I want you to brief Metellus about the lawyer.’

  ‘Metellus?’

  Timarchides was looking from Callisunus up to Orbilio and back again.

  ‘Deaf, are you? Yes, Metellus. He’s working this case from now on.’

  Callisunus turned to Orbilio. ‘And you. Get some sleep, get laid, get whatever you want, but get the fuck out of my sight. Tomorrow’s the Consualia and I’ll be holding my idiot brother’s hand, but the very next day I want your views on the Verianus business. Tuesday morning, is that clear? And in writing.’

  He stumped back up the track, muttering to himself. Timarchides twisted his face. ‘Off the job then, sir?’

  ‘Looks like it,’ Orbilio said, narrowing his eyes. ‘Unless I can work two cases at once.’

  Timarchides smiled. He’d worked with this investigating officer for the past four days and his opinion of him had softened considerably since he’d brought the news about the slave girl to the Seferius house. He’d watched the professional at work, seen more dedication from one man in those few days than in as many years from some of the men he’d served.

  ‘I’d give it my best shot, if I were you, sir. Two murders in six days, looks like the killer’s getting daring.’

  A warm glow began to spread through Orbilio’s veins. ‘And daring, Timarchides, means careless.’

  ‘Precisely, sir. And I’ll tell you something I didn’t have a chance to tell the gaffer: Paternus was still alive when his eyes were gouged out. There was blood everywhere, it must have been one hell of a struggle.’

  He saluted and ran back up the track in the direction Callisunus had taken, his figure quickly swallowed by the deepening twilight. Orbilio ran his hand over his chin and headed for the nearest exit. He didn’t need sleep, he was too worked up. He couldn’t get laid, the very thought of touching any other woman was becoming more abhorrent by the minute. But, by Jupiter he could get drunk. Oh yes, mind-bending, brain-numbing, sick-making drunk. He turned out of the Circus and towards the river. There was a good tavern down on the waterfront. The men were rough, the whores were raddled, the food was rubbish. But the wine was strong. Minerva, yes, that wine was strong.

  ‘Marcus!’

  Head down, thinking about the evening ahead, he hadn’t been looking where he was going and of all the people he’d rather not have bumped into, Gaius Seferius headed the list. Dammit, he liked Gaius. He wished he didn’t, but he just couldn’t help it.

  ‘What brings you to the Aventine?’

  ‘I’m going to get pissed,’ he said simply. ‘Rip-roaring pissed.’

  Seferius smiled wanly and clapped him on the back. Even after Callisunus had blabbed that Orbilio wasn’t his wife’s cousin, it didn’t seem to bother him. In his book, a friend was a friend and Orbilio felt disgusted at his own treachery. How would Claudia explain it, he wondered, cursing himself for forcing her into such an invidious position. But then she’d think of something outrageous to pass it off, she always did. It was one of the reasons he loved her.

  ‘You know, Marcus, I think that’s the best suggestion I’ve heard all week. Mind if I join you?’

  He looked at Seferius. Poor sod looked seventy, not fifty, and it was all very well for Callisunus to shrug off his theories, but Orbilio believed it when Gaius said his babies, as he called them, were being picked off, one by one, like ripe fruit from a tree. He didn’t believe in coincidence at the best of times. Certainly not when three of a man’s four children meet untimely deaths and his baby granddaughter—healthy, kicking and thumping to get out by all accounts—is suddenly pronounced malformed and hideous and gets put to the sword. Not when there’s a fortune at stake. Gaius was right, Orbilio was convinced of it. Someone was murdering his family.

  He wished his own father had been more like Gaius. Jovial, loving, dedicated. But more than that, he wished—Juno, how he wished—that he could hate this man who had married a red-blooded vixen with skin like thistledown and eyes the colour of beechnuts. No doubt if he thought the man’s big hands kneaded Claudia’s magnificent breasts on a regular basis it would be a different matter. In fact if Orbilio thought of him between her thighs, grunting and groaning, his huge belly pressed into her soft flesh, quite likely he’d kill him.

  ‘Why not, Gaius?’ he said at last, wrapping his arm round the big man’s shoulder. ‘Why the hell not?’

  XXI

  The familiar sensations returned with a vengeance. Even after an absence of several weeks where, for one reason or another the games and the races had been out of reach, Claudia felt the age-old tingle of excitement, the rush of colour in her cheeks, the rapid heartbeat long before the first blast on the trumpet or the first beat of the drums. With half of Rome scurrying to escape the punishing summer heat, you’d think there’d be more empty seats, but the place was practically full. Something to do with celebrating a good harvest, she supposed. Which was all right if you were into peas and beans and olives and things, and enjoyed watching that half-baked priest make a fool of himself. Idiot! Tripping over his cloak and knocking himself out on the underground altar right under the noses of the Vestal Virgins, too. Claudia would lay money that next year Consus’s festival runs as smooth as a water-clock…without the interference of that bumbling dwarf in the silly hat.

  She watched the nobles take their seats, the best in the Circus to befit their status, her eyes automatically sweeping to see where Orbilio might be sitting. Not that she was interested in this particular patrician personally, but if he was attending these wretched races, it would do no harm to avoid the irritating little tick, would it? A hush settled over the auditorium. Some puffed-up little state official, feeling superior in his purple robe and gilded laurels, thought he could brook convention by making a speech. The
crowd quickly taught him otherwise and, crestfallen, he dropped his white napkin sullenly into the sand, and that was it. Business began in earnest.

  Claudia tapped her foot. The preliminaries were entertaining, she supposed, on a superficial level. If you enjoyed this leaping from horse to horse lark, or riders standing on their heads, fine, it was all very clever, except it lacked the element of chance to which she was addicted. Junius, thank heavens, was stationed in his usual place, though for once she hadn’t given him any money to bet with. She’d regret it, she knew she would, but she simply had to knuckle down and do things by the book for a while. What the hell? It wasn’t as though playing the dutiful wife was a novelty, she’d kept up the pretence for virtually the first year of her marriage, the discipline would do her good.

  So why, then, was her mouth so dry?

  Junius hadn’t turned out to be the problem she anticipated. Suspecting blackmail, she tried wheedling, she tried bullying, but eventually came to the conclusion that she might have done the boy an injustice. Whatever motive kept him under the Seferius roof, it was a mighty powerful one, because the young Gaul was adamant. He did not want his freedom, thank you all the same. It rankled like hell that he’d pocketed a grand merely for the privilege of having his ribs cracked, and had it been left to Claudia she’d have given him his marching orders and no messing. Unfortunately, she did say the boy saved her life, and it only goes to show, doesn’t it? Liars get what they deserve. She glanced across at him, hoping to find his eyes sweeping the seats in search of the lover he’d told her about. But no, his eyes were fixed on his mistress, loyal as ever dammit.

  She drew a deep breath. Most people in this stadium supported a particular faction, be it red, blue, green or white, which often erupted in fights, even riots, as one group of supporters taunted a rival team. For Claudia Seferius, the races represented an altogether different excitement and she knew, she just knew, the big Libyan from the red stable would win the first race hands down. By betting twenty sesterces on Red, she could place her winnings on White in the subsequent race, no one handled a team of four the way that wiry Rhodian did. Then she could…

  ‘Having fun, love?’ Marcellus slid into the seat beside her.

  ‘Not any more.’ Good life in Illyria, if she moved any further to the left, she’d be sitting in her neighbour’s lap.

  ‘My money’s on the Blue, what do you think?’

  Claudia twisted her lip. ‘I’ll wager one hundred sesterces Red wins by—oooh—three lengths. Are you on?’

  Claudia, are you mad?

  Her brother-in-law gave a nervous laugh. ‘Shame about Valeria’s baby,’ he said.

  ‘Heart-rending. A hundred on the big Libyan, what do you say?’

  He fiddled with his toga, avoiding the directness of her stare. ‘Gaius is absolutely devastated, I hear.’

  ‘Gutted. Marcellus, they’re lining up. Are you game or not?’

  He made a vague gesture with his hands and gave a false laugh. ‘I…well, no. Not at the moment. I’ve been a bit strapped lately.’

  ‘Nonsense, you’re loaded. Julia’s always bragging about it. Now watch this Libyan, Marcellus. See the way he stands? Firm as a rock, you won’t catch him overturning on the bends.’

  They were two-horse chariots in the first race, and what magnificent beasts they were. Pearls in their manes, ribbons in their knotted tails, charms and medallions blazing from their breastplates. In terms of splendour, the drivers came a very poor second.

  ‘Julia’s a snob, just like her mother. The fact is, Claudia, I’m stony broke.’

  ‘You’re an architect, for heaven’s sake. Rome’s positively ringing with the sounds of hammers with this massive restoration programme. You can’t possibly be broke.’ The four charioteers had completed the first lap and were manoeuvring on the next turn. It was going to be tight. Claudia could feel her nails biting into the palm of her hand.

  ‘Ah! Well, that’s the rub. I’ve made one or two foolish investments and I was wondering—I don’t suppose you could see your way to loaning me a quadran or two, just to tide me over?’

  A collective gasp went up from the crowd as Green misjudged slightly. The horse on the inside stumbled, the chariot rocked. By the time Green had adjusted his reins and rejoined the race he was at least two lengths behind. A quarter of the crowd began to boo, while the remaining three factions heard rousing cheers to spur them on.

  ‘Categorically not.’ Was he kidding? When she owed Lucan two grand? ‘Have you approached Gaius?’ Gaius, she knew, had been injecting capital into his brother-in-law’s business for some time.

  ‘Ah. Bit tricky, that. You see, since last November I’ve been dipping into Flavia’s allowance, and last night didn’t seem appropriate.’

  On the fourth circuit, Green was still trailing, Blue was encountering difficulty on the bends, so it was neck and neck between White and Red. Claudia’s heart was pounding, it was all she could do not to jump up and cheer the Libyan.

  ‘I mean him rolling home, drunk as a boiled owl. Not like Gaius, is it?’ The pock-marked face leaned closer. ‘Or is it?’ he whispered. ‘Is that why you sleep in separate rooms?’

  ‘Marcellus, if you don’t get your tongue out of my ear this second, you’ll be sleeping in separate rooms—a different part of you in each one. Now move!’

  ‘All right, all right, I’m just trying to be friendly, that’s all. Remus, Claudia, you and I could make a great team—’

  ‘I’m warning you. If that hand goes any further under my stola, you can kiss your nutmegs goodbye right here and now.’

  He was getting progressively worse. Last night he actually tried to kiss her in the garden, and his hand slid over her breast as she passed him in the dining room. Both sent shudders of revulsion through her body every time she thought about them.

  The charioteers were on the final straight now, and this is where the Libyan knew his stuff. With a toss of the head he straightened his knees, cracked his whip with a flourish and his steeds surged forward. By the time they’d passed the finishing marker Red was declared the winner by three and a half lengths. What a bloody waste, she thought. That could have been another hundred for Lucan.

  The thought of that little bloodsucker left a nasty taste in her mouth. Not only had Gaius come home rolling drunk, he’d brought that ferreting investigator back for dinner. It was supposed to be a quiet family affair to discuss the finer points of the wedding and suddenly Gaius, in his cups, starts banging on about extortion and brings up that wretched Otho business.

  ‘I’m determined to get to the root of this, you know.’ He was slurring his words badly. ‘This is the second time in a month someone’s tried to extort money from my wife.’

  Unbelievably Orbilio turns round and says, ‘Oh, I checked Otho’s story out. Pack of lies, old chap. Not one copper quadran owed, according to Lucan.’

  Claudia wondered what she owed the miserable little ferret for covering up. It was patently obvious he’d believed Otho’s story, even at this time, and then he’d let the Thracian escape to what? Spare her blushes? Or maybe spare Gaius, because these two seemed to have grown close of late. Damn you to hell, Marcus Cornelius Orbilio. Now you’re off this case, I hope I never see you again. Do you know that for one minute yesterday you actually struck a chord? There I was at the household shrine and you were betting I’d missed you every single hour you’d been away. Well, I’ll admit that maybe, just for a little while, the house had seemed depressingly quiet, but after your magnificent performance last night I can put my hand on my heart and say the emptiness had nothing to do with you. Nothing whatsoever so you can get that idea out of your arrogant head for a start.

  ‘Funny business last night, wasn’t it?’

  Claudia pretended not to hear—though funny wasn’t the word she’d have chosen.

  ‘About Flavia and your cousin, I mean.’

  Dammit, Marcellus, I know what you mean.

  The second teams came into the ring, t
he Rhodian by far the smallest of the lot. This time there were a dozen chariots in the race, three from each faction, and he almost disappeared under his helmet, his white tunic like a handkerchief compared to the massive tunics worn by the others. Her pulse was racing. No one else would have put money on him, it would have been a walkover! With a yelp, the rope went up and they were off.

  Marcellus leaned across. ‘I suppose it’s because he was drunk.’

  The pair of them were drunk, the very worst kind of drunk, too. They were maudlin.

  By the time the sixth circuit had been completed, the wiry white rider was way out in front and Claudia was gnashing her teeth. When the seventh lap marker signalled the finish, he was streaking home to riotous cheers and whistles and Claudia hated every inch of his little Rhodian body. Mulberrychops finally got the message that she wanted to neither lend him money nor discuss Orbilio and Flavia, because, come the interval, he stood up and excused himself. He had to get back to the house, he said, and by ‘house’, she knew he was referring to her house. Julia and Flavia had got into a terrible argument last night which had boiled over into this morning and now Scaevola was round adding his two asses’ worth. Someone ought to be there to keep the peace, Marcellus was saying, because Gaius certainly wasn’t up to it.

  She refrained from suggesting that if they’d done the decent thing and gone home last night instead of staying over and getting under everybody’s skin, life would have been a whole lot more pleasant for all concerned.

  ‘I mean, have you seen Gaius today? Pissed out of his skull, he is, crying like a baby. It’s pathetic. Well, love,’ he managed to plant a wet kiss on her cheek, his hand skimming the inside of her thigh, ‘I’ll see you later.’

  Wiping her cheek with the back of her hand, Claudia watched him fight his way towards the exit. Obnoxious little toad, she’d get him for that, he could bet his balls she would. She signalled to the young Gaul.

  ‘Go home, Junius. The master’s not well, apparently, and from what I gather of events there, it might well bring on another seizure.’