I, Claudia (18 page)

‘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 looking-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…

‘I didn’t realize it would upset you so much, this Melissa business, but look on the bright side—’

‘A sixteen-year-old girl slashes her wrists and you think there’s a bright side?’

Yes, Claudia, yes I do. Orbilio could barely contain his joy. It means you are in the clear. Completely and utterly exonerated! He wanted to sing to the heavens, dance till he dropped.

‘You can see what happened, can’t you? Oh, I’m not suggesting she deliberately set out to impersonate you, I’m sure she saw you as a role model.’

‘Orbilio, you don’t seriously expect me to believe Melissa murdered four high-ranking officials?’

In the dark he reached out, snapped off a spring of lavender and ran it through his fingers. ‘No.’ It was a grudging admission, but it was the truth.

‘Huh! After seven months I’d have thought you’d be delighted to have your scapegoat.’

‘My interest lies in the guilty, not the innocent. And no, it wasn’t Melissa.’

Orbilio began stripping the lavender of its florets, one by one.

‘For a start, this is a man’s crime. A woman
might
be capable of driving a blade into a bloke’s heart with that degree of force and accuracy, but…’

Together they watched the tiny blue specks blow away into the night.

‘But what?’

‘In my opinion, precious few women are equal to gouging out the eyes of their victims while they’re still warm. There’s an awful lot of blood and stringy bits and…’ The denuded stalk dropped to the ground. ‘Precious few men, come to that.’

‘So where does Melissa fit in?’

Orbilio chewed his lip. He couldn’t confide in her, it wouldn’t be fair. ‘I’ll tell you that,’ he replied, ‘when I find where she’s hidden the money.’

‘What money?’

He leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘Claudia, there’s something I need to—’

He was interrupted by a small head which poked itself round the pillar behind him.

‘Wotcha! Heard about Publius?’

‘Rufus, this isn’t the time. Publius who?’

‘Publius Caldus the banker. Dead as a herring, he is.’ The boy made a gleeful gagging sound in his throat. ‘Dagger through the heart and his eyes dug out, same as the rest of ’em.’

XVII

‘Were someone to ask me to write it down, I honestly wouldn’t know where to start,’ Claudia told Drusilla.

She’d barricaded herself in her room, it was the only sure way to get peace and quiet these days.

‘The House of Seferius has turned into Pandora’s Box and had the very gates of hell been thrown wide, I swear Jupiter wouldn’t have more turmoil to contend with than I have.’

‘Ffffrow.’

‘Yes! As for you, you little hussy!’ Claudia’s fingernails raked up and down the cat’s backbone. ‘Don’t think I’m fooled by this extra podge.’ She gave Drusilla’s tummy a gentle prod. ‘I know you’re carrying kittens in there.’

Not one to miss an opportunity, the cat flopped over, squirming from side to side as Claudia’s fingertips tickled her soft cream underbelly. Her front claws began kneading the air. This was the time of day she liked best, when she’d had her supper and the light was failing. Moths would come out, and although she was particularly partial to moths nothing could beat cuddles with Claudia, because once she, Claudia and a jug of wine got together Drusilla knew she was in for a session and a half. Her blue squinty eyes closed in excruciating ecstasy.

‘Broop.’

‘The trouble is, poppet, everything’s spiralling out of hand. The minute I think I’ve got one aspect licked, another horror pops up. Look at this.’ Claudia’s hand reached out for the letter on the table. ‘From Lucan, waiting for me when I got home. Very polite, he is. Requests five hundred sesterces before Wednesday. What am I supposed to do, eh?’

She crumpled the parchment into a ball and lobbed it neatly out of the window.

‘I fobbed him off, of course. Sent him an equally polite letter back, enclosing fifty with the possibility of another fifty next week. I mean, you can’t say fairer than that, can you?’

Sneaking fifty out of the banqueting fund was a doddle.

‘I had such grand plans for raising the whole wretched sum, until Gaius scuppered it.’ Claudia changed hands, her fingers were aching. Drusilla continued to knead bread in the air. ‘It was that line I fed him about the galley captain which inspired me. I thought, why not put the trick into practice? Heaven knows, there are enough gullible bods in this city, I felt sure we could milk a handful without pushing our luck. And what did Gaius do?’

‘Brrrr.’

‘Gaius, the man who plays everything so close to his chest it gives him blisters? He blabs to the entire contingent at that bloody banquet last night how he, Gaius Seferius, wine merchant of repute, had been conned out of three hundred sesterces!’

‘Brup, brup.’

Bloody banquet. A veritable farce if ever there was one. Claudia’s eyes rolled at the memory. Melissa’s suicide left all manner of nightmares in its wake, not least the fact that she’d left no notes of the arrangements she had made. Or, to be more precise, the lack of! Consequently, of the dancers only six Syrian girls bothered to turn up, forcing Claudia to put them through their paces so many times their ankles buckled under the strain. The tumblers didn’t arrive until midnight, the fire eater didn’t arrive at all, nor did the poet or the comedian or the snake charmer. The acrobats were atrocious, and Claudia had had no qualms in docking their money and putting it towards paying off Lucan, but the musicians, to give them credit, excelled themselves. It was just a pity no singers turned up to accompany them.