Man Eater

I see. Or at least, I’m beginning to. ‘I suppose this wouldn’t have any connection with your returning to Rome at the same time, would it?’

That’s torn it! Now he’d know she’d been rifling his papers. When she’d slipped inside his room ten minutes earlier, Claudia’s initial reaction had been shock. Something had clearly taken place here-tables tipped over, chairs upended, it was a right bloody mess-but the signs pointed away from some desperate search. A fight? The mosaic was slippery with oil of bay, as though someone had tried to disguise a rotten smell, so no, not a fight. Also, and even more telling, the inside of Orbilio’s maplewood chest was still in immaculate order. His clothes, his comb, his purse, everything rested neatly in its allotted place. It had not been intentional, her search-at some stage this evening she’d dropped her faience necklace, and rumour said Orbilio had found it-but when faced with a couple of scrolls bearing the seal of the Head of the Security Police, who wouldn’t have been curious? The first informed her that Orbilio had not confined his extra-marital activities to charioteers (apparently an ex-tribune, ex-prefect, ex-consul was also after his valuables), and the second, even by his boss’s silvery-tongued standards, was terse: ‘Get your fat arse back to Rome. Right now.’ Behind the lion shed, Claudia braced herself for the onslaught…which never came.

‘I’m going nowhere,’ he growled, ‘until this case is solved. Go-tonight-and leave me to cover for you.’

‘I don’t need a man to hide behind, thank you.’

‘I’m not suggesting you do.’ He was rivalling the big cat for snarls. ‘This is something I need to sort out myself, that’s all.’

How interesting. The Empire is in crisis, yet here we have a dedicated and professional aristocrat suddenly telling us he’s turning his back on duty and ambition and a shot at the Senate for the sake of… Of what, exactly, Marcus? A widow of lower rank and dubious past? Pleasant scenery? An obligation to see this non-crime through to its non-existent finish? Somewhere along the line, young Master Supersnoop, the arithmetic does not quite satisfy the tallyman.

‘Well, you’re not the only one with unfinished business,’ she said airily. Adding in reply to the half-raised eyebrow, ‘The day will soon dawn when the merest mention of my name will bring Macer out in warts. I want to be here when the bumps rise.’

‘You’ll have a bloody long wait,’ he barked, ‘because whoever’s behind this-’

My, my, we are in a bad mood. ‘There is no deadly deed, Orbilio, trust me on this.’

She might as well have saved her breath.

‘-the Prefect will come out smelling of lavender. His type always do.’

‘Like your boss, you mean?’

‘Even if this turns out to be a conspiracy with Quintilian at its heart, Macer is a supporting pillar of this dwindling community-’

‘Did you say pillar or pillock?’

‘For gods’ sake, can’t you take this seriously?’

‘Take what seriously?’ She pulled her wrap tighter and wasn’t sure it was purely down to the chill, predawn breeze. ‘Two men tried a scam and it failed. Happens twice a day in Rome…that’s what pays your salary.’

‘Aren’t you forgetting the arson attacks?’

Claudia shrugged. ‘There’ll be a hundred Frontos the length and breadth of Umbria. No doubt one’s torching a vineyard even as we speak.’

‘Your estate’s in Etruria.’

‘Don’t split hairs, Orbilio, you’re in no condition for skilled work.’

Suddenly he punched his fist into the timber shed, sending the lion into a paroxysm of roars. ‘The bitch drugged my sherbet.’

‘The what dragged your shirt out?’ Claudia had to shout.

‘Forget it.’ The big cat stopped snarling and Orbilio wiped his face with his hands. They seemed to be shaking.

If that’s what comes of being on the wagon, thought Claudia, I can make an excellent case for staying pickled.

The lion staged another small protest before settling down. Two sheds along, a bear considered growling out in sympathy, then decided against it. It was the fact that it arrived at its decision mid-growl that made Claudia and Orbilio exchange glances.

‘Corbulo?’ she called out. ‘Corbulo, is that you?’

‘Stay behind me,’ Marcus hissed, plucking a brand from its iron bracket. Whispers of wind played with the flames.

‘No fear,’ she whispered back, grabbing another torch. ‘You’re not fit to fight a flummery.’

But that wasn’t strictly true, because a dagger had appeared in his right hand and the grip was steady. Oh, well. Two can play at that game.

‘Where the hell do you keep that?’ he asked in amazement.

‘Safe,’ she replied. Although from time to time it gets a mite uncomfortable.

A dark figure flitted between the elephant shed and the giraffe house and Claudia felt the hairs on her scalp prickle. Corbulo would not behave so furtively. There it was again. Darting. Silent.

‘This way,’ Marcus whispered.

‘No, this way.’

‘Claudia, just for once, do as I say, will you?’