‘If you suffer from insomnia,’ Kamar whispered, chomping on a piece of sacrificial mutton, ‘I can prescribe a poppy draught.’
Claudia looked up at him, his turtle face as lugubrious as ever. Was it her imagination, or was there steel inside that silky offer? Beside him stood a mouse of a woman, his wife, whose badly disfigured face, rumour had it, resulted from falling into the fire as a child. One rather had the impression that the burns had been the first, rather than the last, of this woman’s burdens. ‘Insomnia?’ Claudia asked.
‘Chronic sleeplessness,’ he said. ‘The inability to fall asleep; waking and being unable to get back to sleep.’
I know what it means, you sour-faced oaf.
‘Only one couldn’t help noting you do not siesta and were abroad in the early hours of the morning,’ he explained.
Claudia pictured Kamar again whispering behind the statue with old Stonypuss. ‘Does it bother you I keep late hours? Has—’ she tilted her head towards Pylades, conferring with Mosul and the temple warden ‘—someone complained about my activities?’
‘Of course not,’ Turtleface said quickly. ‘Not at all. Certainly not. My concern is purely for the residents’ welfare.’
‘Then you must have had a busy night,’ she said silkily.
‘Busy?’ he growled. Beside him, the dormouse pulled nervously at the hem of her sleeve.
‘Yes, I—’ Claudia loaded sympathy into her voice ‘—thought I heard screaming.’
The big Etruscan’s mouth pinched even further inwards so that now no lips were showing. ‘It’s the midwife’s job to deliver babies,’ he snarled, ‘not mine. By the time they called me in, it was over bar the shouting, the woman had haemorrhaged too long.’
Claudia felt a punch in the pit of her stomach. Those screams were a young mother
dying
?
Kamar sniffed. ‘I daresay you’ll find she’d not taken sufficient care to preserve the seed during the early stages of gestation. In my professional opinion, haemorrhaging at birth occurs because some women are foolish enough and irresponsible enough to imagine they can live a normal life when they carry a child in their womb.’
Is that a fact? ‘Then how do you account for so many healthy births among women in the fields?’ Or don’t the poor count, in your fine
professional
opinion?
‘What’s that you say?’ Kamar stooped closer to hear. ‘I didn’t catch that.’
You couldn’t catch crabs in your loin cloth, you coldblooded rodent. ‘I was merely enquiring after the health of the infant,’ Claudia replied, accepting a sliver of roast from the sacrificial platter.
‘The child?’ Kamar jumped backwards as though burned. ‘My dear girl, the child was the least of my worries. When I saw the state of the mother, I simply hooked the foetus out and got on with the job I was paid for.’
The mutton in her mouth turned to lard.
He what?
Claudia fought against the rising nausea in her stomach. This callous son-of-a-bitch killed a child at the moment of its birth, simply because he’d been paid to attend the mother, not her baby? For a second, she feared she might throw up all over him, but Claudia was a past master at the concealment of feelings. She merely prayed to Jupiter, god of justice, that Kamar was the one who’d snapped Cal’s neck, she wanted to see this man trampled by elephants, torn apart by wild asses, flayed alive. Preferably all at once.
‘I’m wondering whether that cross-eyed little pedlar didn’t have a point, dear,’ piped up Kamar’s little peahen of a wife. ‘He,’ she gave a wan smile, ‘said he’d rather take his bonework back to Rome and take his chances with the plague. He…well, implied there was a jinx on this place.’
‘I’ve warned you before about mixing with the common rabble,’ Kamar snapped. ‘One day you’ll pick up something more than malicious gossip, which medicines might not be able to cure.’
Was that a threat?
‘Honestly,’ he tutted, rolling his eyes as, with reddened cheeks, his wife mumbled an apology. Then he pulled his lips back into what Claudia supposed was a smile as Pylades strolled up to join the party.
‘Enjoying the festival?’ he beamed, his gaze roaming over the curves of Claudia’s figure, and again it flashed through her mind. Three men. One objective
.
One dead.
‘This year’s Agonalia is the best to date,’ the stocky hillsman was saying, ‘but then the town grows stronger by the month. Down there.’ A richly embroidered sleeve pointed towards a group of merchants milling around their terracotta vats, though his gaze was fixed on the swell of Claudia’s breasts. ‘Down there you can buy olive oil of every quality and colour—local produce, Spanish, African, even,’ he bowed modestly, ‘Greek. Another year and Spesium, I’ll wager, will boast its own oil market like any other fine and prospering town.’
‘A commendable rate of expansion,’ murmured Claudia, her eyes alighting on his loins.
A rumble came from deep within the Greek’s throat and colour suffused his cheeks as he clasped his hands across his body.
‘I notice another hulking great warehouse is nearly complete,’ she continued, because this town, this strange town, had sharpened its interest for her. Look at it! There were few signs that the town was built on anything other than private investment and only the arena, still in its foundation stages, and the half-built theatre smacked of imperial backing.
‘Ah, well—’ Happy to be back on firm ground, Pylades launched into a great discourse on commerce and the value of attracting trade guilds, but it was those tortoise eyes which bothered Claudia. As the founding father of this town pontificated on the merits of private investment, Kamar’s gaze flickered back and forth in the direction of the sacrificial fire at the steps of the temple. Strange. Shifting her position for a better view, Claudia saw his scrutiny was directed at Pul, adopting the usual stance, and idly she wondered
whether he ever peeled that leather vest off, and if not, what he and it must stink like.
‘Now if you’ll excuse me,’ Pylades said, ‘duty calls.’ A smug look descended on his swarthy face. ‘Atlantis, I’m pleased to say, has never been busier.’
‘So the plague isn’t all bad, then?’ Claudia said sweetly. Grunting, he offered a stiff arm to the doormat, who, at a nod from her husband, accepted with yet another watery smile.
Leaving just Kamar and Claudia under the cold, almond eyes of big Pul.
*
‘I thought I caught the smell of hokum in the air.’
Dorcan looked up from placing an Argonaut’s oar on the counter. ‘Bless my chilblains! Marcus Cornelius! My, it’s been a while.’
‘Are you surprised?’ Orbilio asked. ‘After the way you dosed my uncle?’
‘He was constipated, poor sod. I was only trying to help.’
‘Whatever you put in that pessary,’ Orbilio fought to keep his face straight, ‘he missed a vital vote in the Senate.’
‘I never made no promises,’ protested Dorcan, his massive shoulders starting to heave.
‘I know, but when you said he’d be well enough to take his seat, my uncle thought you meant in the Senate House, not a marble one in the latrines. So, what brings you so far north, big fellow?’
Dorcan showed his full set of false teeth. ‘This…’ he said, ‘and that…’
‘With you, Dorcan, it’s usually the other. Who was she this time?’
The giant clenched his fists in excitement. ‘Oh, Marcus, you should’ve seen her, the sweetest little whore that ever plied her trade in Rome.’ He held one flattened hand up to his armpit. ‘Tiny little thing, only come up to here, she did.’ He made a circle with his hands. ‘Waist this thin.’ He spread his fingers and rounded them. ‘Tits—’
‘Thank you, Dorcan, I’ve got the message. What went wrong?’
‘What ever goes wrong with women? As soon as you gets cosy, they wants you to marry them.’
Orbilio examined a desiccated two-headed tortoise. ‘Why didn’t you?’
‘Cos I’ve already got three wives, I can’t keep tally as it is,’ the giant bellowed, and in his mirth Orbilio dropped the dead freak, which promptly shattered into pieces. He kicked the pottery shards under the stall as Dorcan leaned over. ‘Do you good, lad, to get yourself wedded and bedded again. Can’t be much fun since your wife up and left—ran off with a rich merchant, didn’t she? To Alexandria?’
‘Lusitania,’ Orbilio corrected, ‘with an impecunious sea captain.’
The bristly bear dismissed it with a slicing motion of his hand. ‘The point is, son, that bloke she run off with puts a smile on her face every bloody night while you ain’t getting any. A man needs his comforts, Marcus, my lad, take my word for it, and it’s a funny thing, but I have—’
‘No way.’ Orbilio took a step backwards. ‘You’re not palming me off with your pseudo-magic potions. I’ll be impotent for years.’
‘No, no, no,’ Dorcan bellowed. ‘I’m talking about marriage, boy, marriage. That exquisite meeting of two minds that feeds a man’s soul, nourishes his inner core and gives him a chance to get his leg over morning, noon and night. Now it happens, I know just the girl for you, sparky piece of goods—hey, don’t look at me like that. You’d like this one, I swear.’
‘Forget it.’ Marcus laughed. ‘Marriage is like liquor, Dorcan. First you lose your head, then you lose your senses, and finally you lose your fortune, only with women it goes on frocks and fripperies and ghastly figurines. I tell you, big man, I’m done with playing harpy families.’
‘Don’t you mean happy families?’
‘That’s a contradiction in terms.’
The giant scratched his thick, black mop. ‘You’re making a mistake, lad,’ he said sadly. ‘A man needs to settle—
here
!’
His mood changed instantly and his voice became a harsh whisper. ‘You ain’t in Spesium on official business, are you, lad?’
‘Why?’ Professional eyes followed salt sellers, tumbling acrobats and shepherds rounding up lambs.
‘If you is, you’d best tread careful. It’s a funny situation here and no mistake.’
The bleating flock was instantly forgotten. ‘In what way?’ Marcus asked sharply.
‘Well,’ Dorcan tapped the side of his nose, ‘it all depends on whether you’re prepared to pay for information.’
‘Aren’t I always?’
‘Then let’s meet after dark behind Tuder’s tomb. You can’t miss a monument that size and I tell you what. Tomorrow I’ll introduce you to that sprightly filly—and tell me then you don’t fancy bouncing on her swansdown mattress till you’re both too old to romp.’
*
In the necropolis beyond the triple-arch gateway, only a patch of scorched grass lay testimony to Cal’s cremation. Was it really only yesterday? Remus, his ashes wouldn’t be home yet! Settling herself on the step of one of the tombs, Claudia watched soldiers and townsmen guzzling wine which flowed straight from a fountain, clapping their hands to the rhythm of girls dancing to the beat of their own tambourines, and in the short while since Claudia arrived, the men grew drunker and the music grew louder and the girls whirled faster and streamers twirled passed her, until the whole scene became blurred. So much revelry. So early in the day…
Turning away, she realized with a start that this square, capacious tomb faced with fine travertine boasted a frieze depicting a man sitting beside a pair of balances. Tuder! Claudia sprang up and with her finger traced the life of the banker which had been so painstakingly cast in stone, pausing at the section where a tall angular man betrothed himself to a tall angular woman. Further round the frieze, three small sons played with their father under their mother’s watchful eye, but by the time Claudia reached the part which celebrated Tuder’s achievements, the children had gone and only Lais remained at the banker’s side. There was no mention of what might have brought about his death.
Let alone how it might be possible for an ex-slave to become master of Tuder’s island.
Unfortunately, the sight of the banker’s balances had conjured another, this time invisible, scene. Claudia, stuffing coins into her satchel. A key rattling in the lock. The look of utter stupefaction on Tullus’ face. A centurion pacing her garden, casually pointing out that part of the property in the strongroom belonged to a person who was related by marriage to a second cousin of the Emperor’s wife…
Didn’t that pea-brained footslogger also happen to slip in the word ‘treason’ somewhere between the rose bush and the laurel?
Jupiter, Juno and Mars, if the prospect of being thrown penniless into exile wasn’t bad enough, it paled into insignificance compared with her falling for that old friend-of-the-husband trick. Good move, Claudia. Put yourself right in the spotlight of the law. Never mind lying low, you embroil yourself in a murder case while you’re about it, draw even more attention to yourself!
She glanced across at the blackened patch of grass. For the price of a kiss, Cal, I’d let you show me a way out of this mess, that’s for sure!
Yet, as the townspeople roared with manic laughter, a germ of a motive behind his murder began to take hold. By his own mouth, Cal admitted to looking up her registration—in which case, he must have discovered neither she, or the mythical friend of her husband’s, had paid for her stay. Was it also recorded in Pylades’ accounts that Marcus Cornelius Orbilio was attached to the Security Police? Logically, then, it was not beyond the realms of possibility that Cal had rooted out a criminal secret and was threatening to turn that person over to the authorities unless—