Wolf Whistle (20 page)

For Gaius, marriage had merely meant another gaudy trophy, a wife to be wheeled out at social occasions and as such their paths had rarely crossed. With Larentia stuck in Etruria, his daughter fostered on Julia (who in any case had few dealings with her brother), deception had been easy to orchestrate.

Until that desiccated old fossil took it upon herself to test Claudia to the limits.

She inhaled from braziers redolent with the scent of dried herbs—balm and borage, lavender and mint—and thought, you want hospitality? I’ll give you hospitality. So much so, you’ll be gagging on it, begging to go home to the country. And tonight’s off to a good start. I hadn’t envisaged this, you wizened old crow, but we’ve got acrobats and jugglers, fire eaters and dancers, flautists and tumblers. And just to show you how bloody rich I am,
guess whose robe matches the
exact
colours of the banqueting hall? Claudia twirled round in her feast gown. Searching examination would quickly reveal an ancient nightshift coloured with cheap vegetable dyes, but the old bats were short-sighted and a range of glittery accessories, coupled with oodles of perfume and some second-hand flounces would—

What was that?

Claudia laid down her gold torque and listened. There it was again, a soft scuffle from the balcony. Then she saw it. A tongue of metal, so thin it could fit between closed shutters, which could only be the blade of a knife…

Bloody burglars! There’d been a real upsurge of these bastards since Agrippa died, taking advantage of people’s grief and confusion and growing fat on their thieving. She blew out the lantern. I’ll give you bloody burglary, mate.

The blade had found the latch and she could hear the tinny scratch of metal upon metal. Picking up a red upholstered footstool by its leg, she weighted it in her hands. Just the job. The latch was lifting as she skipped to the side of the window. Climb up my balcony, would you, chum? The first leaf of the shutter opened to admit a blast of damp air. Claudia could see an inky outline in the gloom.

Taking a deep breath, she counted out his footsteps in the dark.

One…

Two…

Clonk!

With a thud, the intruder fell flat on the floor, his long thin knife skidding out of his hand and across the polished wooden timbers to land at Claudia’s feet. As the burglar began to groan, she covered the blade with one foot and kicked him in the ribs with the other.

‘How much are you carrying?’

‘Uh?’

‘Money, jewellery, come on. What’s your trawl so far this evening?’

You might not rob me, sunshine, but by the gods, I’ll take every copper quadran you have on you. Trust me. I have no compunction about paying the fowler with your pretty baubles!

‘Aaargh.’

‘Spare us the histrionics, chum. Just hand ’em over.’

XIX

The intruder dragged himself on to all fours and shook his head like a dog. ‘For a foggy night,’ he said miserably, ‘I’m seeing one heck of a lot of bright stars.’

‘
Orbilio?’
Claudia stepped over his back and set light to a couple of wicks. ‘Good grief, man, don’t you know better than to go around breaking other people’s footstools?’ She jabbed the gaping upholstery. ‘The horsehair’s coming out in tufts.’

‘Listen, if anyone’s hair’s falling out it should be mine. From stress.’

‘There’s a leg loose, as well.’

‘Mine, probably.’

Claudia sat down on the battered footstool and studied her burglar at close quarters. ‘I thought you were a thief,’ she explained, resting her chin in her hands. ‘Or I wouldn’t have hit you so hard.’

‘But you’d still have hit me?’ Marcus Cornelius leaned back on his knees. ‘That’s reassuring.’

‘What do you expect, creeping around like a common burglar? Didn’t you think to try the front door?’

‘Would you have let me in?’

‘No.’

‘Well then.’ Gingerly he tested the bump on his head. ‘Anyway, the other way was barred.’ He smoothed his dishevelled mop, then squinted. ‘Is that frock real, or am I hallucinating?’

‘Oh no,’ she said smugly. ‘This is the genuine article, guaranteed to knock the old trouts’ eyeballs right out of their sockets.’

‘Should you find mine while you’re about it, send them home, will you?’ He hauled himself to his feet and massaged the back of his neck.

‘It’s not that bad,’ she chided, shaking out her sleeves. ‘Scarlet, blue, with a spot of green here and there. What do you mean, the other way was barred?’

‘You missed out the yellow, orange, pinks and purples.’

‘I asked you a question.’

‘I’d have knocked at the shutters, only I heard music downstairs and assumed you were there with the others.’

Claudia rose to her feet. ‘That wasn’t the question.’ He was right about the music. The best way to defend is by attack and a robust pace demanded robust entertainment, bring on the horns and the cymbals.

‘Would you prefer me,’ she asked, ‘to scream “thief” at the top of my voice? “Arrested for housebreaking” might add a certain cachet to your CV.’

‘As I recall,
you
tried to rob
me
.’
Orbilio poured himself a glass of wine from the jug on the table. It had not reached his lips before the goblet was snatched from his hand and was flouncing out into the cool night air.

‘All right, all right,’ he called, as her mouth formed a wide O. ‘If you must know,’ he stepped on to the balcony to join her, ‘I spent last night in Gaius’ bed.’

‘You?’

For a moment, he was non-plussed. ‘Mother of Tarquin.’ He ran his hand over his face. ‘You thought it was Magic, didn’t you? That’s why you nailed up the shutters.’

‘There was a draught,’ she said, tilting her chin at where the moon would be, had it not been hidden by so many clouds. ‘So I’ll thank you kindly to keep your size tens out of that room from now on.’

‘You want me to sleep here?’ he asked mildly, swivelling his eyes towards the bed.

‘I’d sooner take my chance with a sex-starved gorilla.’

‘I could wear a fur cloak.’ He grinned. ‘And pretend?’

She wished now she’d brained him harder.

Fog had risen from the Tiber just like last night and the three nights before that. Along the street, only the occasional hazy slab of light from another window brightened up the gloom, and below, in the street, a man with a Phrygian accent appeared to be suffering pangs of regret at not having bought a new pair of boots, these ones had effing holes in. A few blocks away, the snarl of a lion told of its anger at being caged up for three weeks then paraded through the city after dark, and from the smoke-house across the way came the distinctive smell of sausage, hams and cheeses drying over blackened chips of oak.

‘He’s a dangerous man, Claudia.’ Orbilio picked up the glass she’d perched on the balcony rail and threw half the contents down his throat. ‘Unhinged and unpredictable. All joking aside, you cannot afford to take chances.’

‘You think that creep bothers me?’ she countered with a nonchalent toss of her curls, and Cypassis would have been mortified at how many worked loose this time.

‘Then why do you have bodyguards patrolling the streets? Why nail up the shutters? Think that’ll deter him?’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Magic might not be educated, but he’s as cunning as a fox, and until he’s locked in the dungeons, I’m staying put whether you like it or not.’

‘Not.’

Downstairs she could hear applause for the juggler who had taken over from the rumbustious musicians. No doubt the neighbours would be mighty relieved at the change. Two streets away, the lion roared again.

‘Then I give you a choice. He leaned the small of his back against the rim of the balustrade. ‘Me or the military.’

‘Aren’t you supposed to be rounding up conspirators and hunting down killers?’

There was an unseemly twinkle in his eyes as he said, ‘So it’s the army, then?’

Shit.

Traffic was beginning to clog the crossroads, exacerbated by the perpetual mist and resultant bad tempers. The night air mixed animal ordure with the smells of ripe melons, charcoal and fleeces and pitch. Torch bearers touted for pedestrians to guide home, a cat, not Drusilla, yowled from the rooftops and a woman in tears pleaded with her man to come home. For Claudia, it might be happening a million miles away. She felt her senses dissolve as she braced herself to ask the question she’d been wanting to ask all along.

‘Why are you really here, Marcus?’

Time stopped. The rumpus faded into silence, banished by the pounding of her heart. She saw his eyes close, his jaw tense.

‘You know why,’ he said thickly.

‘Tell me.’

‘Because—’ She could hear the rasp of his breath, ragged in his throat. Saw a pulse beat in his neck. ‘Goddammit, because I—’

‘Yes?’ The slightest breeze would have carried such an insubstantial sound away.

She heard him mutter. It sounded like ‘oh, shit’ as he spun away, resting his arms on the balustrade, his head hung heavy. Several seconds and a couple of loaded wagons passed as he fought for words. Claudia held her breath and thought her lungs would burst.

Clearing his throat, Marcus Cornelius straightened up and did not turn to face her. ‘It’s my duty to ensure the safety of every Roman citizen.’ He seemed to be addressing the roof opposite. ‘Therefore, until the threat of your stalker has passed—what was that?’

‘My pot of white narcissus meeting a cartload of crockery.’ Silly cow, what did you expect him to say? ‘Wave to the nice waggoner, Marcus, he’s waving at you.’

‘He’s waving his fist.’

‘Nah, he’s just trying to calm his mules down, the splinters made them skittish.’ Claudia rubbed at her toe. It bloody hurt, kicking that pot, but worth every broken bone in her foot. Stupid bitch.

His gaze still fixed on a gutterspout, Orbilio upended the contents of the glass in one swallow. ‘So until this maniac’s in chains, I shall continue to camp in Gaius’ room, and you can be assured of my absolute discretion.’

‘Discretion?’ She didn’t dare look at him. ‘The entire plumed cavalry corps racing into battle would have been quieter than your clodhopping.’

‘I’ve had a lot to contend with,’ he said stiffly. ‘Pacing helps.’ A long silence followed, and the next time he spoke, his voice carried its normal inflection. ‘When do the aunts leave?’

‘When do barnacles drop off?’

He turned his face to hers. ‘They’re staying? What changed their minds?’

Her mouth soured. ‘Have you ever heard the expression, generosity killed the cat?’

‘You mean curiosity.’

You kill cats your way. I’ll kill them mine. ‘I tell you, Larentia will die at sea to stop me dancing on her grave,’ she said. ‘And in the meantime, I’m suffocating in a nightmare of domestic trivia.’ Turning on her heel, Claudia returned to the gentle warmth of the braziers and slammed the shutters on the acidic night air.

‘That,’ he gasped, diving through the gap, ‘was nearly as athletic as the Bull Dancers.’

Sooner or later, I just
knew
you’d get around to flaunting your conquests. Claudia picked up her handmirror. ‘I’m afraid,’ she said, licking her finger and running it over her finely arched brow, ‘that I was far too entranced by Porsenna to notice.’

‘So
that’s
the dormouse farmer?’

‘I can’t imagine what you find so amusing. He’s handsome, romantic, chivalrous—and waiting for me downstairs,’ she added pointedly. ‘He said my face is pure poetry—’

‘Did he say which lines he liked best? Ouch. That caught me right in the solar plexus.’

‘Pity. I was aiming at your head.’

Marcus picked up the mirror and with a polite bow tossed it back. ‘My head’s in enough trouble,’ he grinned, lifting up the offending footstool and stuffing its horsehair back into the gaping upholstery. ‘Although my backside, I confess, is in worse.’

‘You mean your boss found out you’d diverted troops from protecting the Emperor to question passers-by on the Argiletum?’

‘Exactly.’ He set down the stool and rested one foot on it. ‘And a fat lot of use that turned out to be. It’s hardly the Esquiline where cohorts of slaves take Milady’s lapdogs for walkies last thing at night. Few booksellers want perfumed poodles at their feet.’

‘Cobblers,’ she said prettily. ‘The street’s packed with them, too, don’t forget.’

He shot her a sharp amused glanced. ‘As it happens, shoemakers aren’t much at pet-keeping, either. Two fighting tomcats, a pack of feral dogs, one scavenging fox and a ferret.’ His mouth twisted down at one side. ‘The sum total of a whole night’s work. No witnesses, no whistles—and no gold stars for Marcus. Aren’t you keeping the mouse man waiting?’

‘Patience is but one of Porsenna’s endless virtues.’

‘Is that a fact.’ Orbilio shifted his weight on to the other foot. ‘It’s not that I don’t sympathize with the Emperor’s predicament, it’s just—’ Passion flooded his vocal chords. ‘Claudia, I can’t stand idle while some butcher slices up Ann—’ He broke off suddenly.

‘Ann?’ she probed, perching against the edge of her maplewood clothes chest.

‘Ann-other young slave girl,’ he improvised quickly.

‘I see.’ Down below, a round of applause ended the lyre player’s first session, which meant the acrobats were due on. Claudia wondered why she made no move to join in the fun. ‘So the killing in the Wolf Grotto this afternoon
was
the work of the Market Day Murderer?’