Another uplifting point was that although Gaius had invited Orbilio, luckily the odious little ferret had been too bogged down with Caldus’s murder to attend. The immediacy of the banker’s death meant that questions about alibis became a trifle touchy, but she’d handled it rather well, she thought. At least having Orbilio under her roof she’d been able to extract that poor old Publius copped it some time between five and seven, so it was relatively simple to say to her punters, hey, I waved to you in the Forum yesterday, must have been around six o’clock, why didn’t you wave back? With the wine flowing plentifully and everyone having a jolly time, it was instinctive for them to reply, Me? You made a mistake, I was at such-and-such at six, or whatever. Not one of the seven hesitated…which meant the list was narrowing nicely.
Claudia mentally stropped the dagger which would kill the killer.
‘Not that everything ran smoothly.’
‘Prrrrrr.’
‘Guess who found herself lumbered next to Ventidius Balbus all night, but I have to say there was nothing by way of entertainment which might have nudged his memory back to Genoa. I mean, how those elephants dare call themselves dancers, I’ve no idea! And then demand a triple fee for it. Just because you danced non-stop, don’t think you can con me, I told them. It’s quality not quantity that counts in this household.’
‘Mmmrow.’
‘Balbus? Oh, you remember him, poppet. Puny little weed, eyes like boiled gooseberries. Dull as chastity, too. Spent the entire evening banging on about how he’s divorcing his wife, and all I could think was bloody good luck to the little woman.’
Drusilla set one long, elegant back paw to check an itch inside her ear. Claudia was uneasy, she could tell, so she pushed her wedge-shaped face into her friend’s.
‘Now don’t start worrying about me, Drusilla. Oh, I won’t deny it wasn’t harrowing, spending six hours beside the one man in Rome who might yet ruin everything, but I’m sure as eggs is eggs he didn’t make the connection.’ All the same, it does no harm to avoid the boring old sod wherever possible. She drained her glass.
‘But what about Junius, though? Dear Diana, you wouldn’t credit such imbecility, would you?’
It had put Claudia right off her food that evening-and they were in the middle of a particularly succulent duck, too. Gaius announced, very matter of factly if you please, that he’d spoken to Junius and thanked him for saving his wife’s life, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. You’re a free man, he told him, promising to draw up the paperwork, and then asked Claudia to guess what. What? she’d asked, spearing a mushroom. Well, Gaius had said, you could have blown him down with a feather, the boy insisted he didn’t want his freedom. Naturally Claudia hadn’t believed a word of it. Gaius was behaving oddly of late, he was getting very muddled, poor soul. Don’t be absurd, she’d said. Every slave in the Empire wants his freedom! Yes, that was the point, said Gaius. It was rather rum, what? Rum, she’d muttered, was an understatement. Was the boy simple or what? No matter. She carved herself a juicy piece of duck and slipped half to Drusilla. She’d sort out this Gaulish oddity later, there was no point in letting good fowl go to waste.
‘Apparently he’d rather have the money.’
Damn.
‘How much money?’
‘I’ve given him a thousand.’
‘Asses?’
‘Sesterces.’
The duck stuck in her throat, and when her coughing fit eventually subsided, Gaius had actually asked:
‘I think that’s fair don’t you?’
She’d give Junius fair when she got hold of him! A thousand sesterces, indeed! What was wrong with the boy? She’d promised him his freedom, and instead he’s copped enough money to pay off half her debt to Lucan and he’s still hanging round the bloody house. Oh, she’d give him fair all right.
As if I need this hassle, either. Claudia ticked the problems off on her fingers. My husband’s cracking up, babbling away to himself, forgetting to do things like washing or attending his business meetings. My clients are being picked off one by one by a lunatic. I’ve driven my own maid to suicide, and now the whole household’s jittery in case they all get punished for it. My in-laws are giving me hell on all sides, I risk exposure by a bland little civil servant with a propensity for drivel-and now Junius starts playing up. She drained the jug.
‘Oh, poppet, I do feel wretched about Melissa.’
Contrary to what Orbilio had assumed from her tears, she’d neither liked nor disliked the girl, but she had trusted her. More to the point, Melissa had most definitely trusted her mistress, and it was that trust which had killed her. It was a gut-wrenching, stomach-churning sensation, knowing you and you alone bear the responsibility for the death, in some stinking alleyway, of a sixteen-year-old girl who has known nothing but misery. The days were bad enough, but at night the guilt takes on monstrous proportions. It torments you in your dreams, then it prods you awake. As there was no end to it, neither was there an answer. No refuge could be found in tears of self-pity. No amount of recrimination could bring the girl back. This was a burden Claudia would carry for the rest of her life.
‘Not that the silly cow is blameless, you understand. I told her to burn those clothes, but no, she decides to make herself a tunic out of that cotton. It’s her own silly fault.’ The words, she felt, might have carried more conviction had they not been hampered by sobs.
‘Oh, sod the lot of them! Gaius, Balbus, Melissa, Junius, Ligarius-you heard about him, didn’t you? Another one completely round the bend. According to Leonides, he’s still prowling around, except at least the big ugly lump has the sense to keep his mouth shut.’ Refreshed by the tickling, Drusilla sat bolt upright and began to wash her face.
‘Juno, I’ll have his balls, so help me I will, if Liggy makes trouble.’
‘Mmmrow.’
‘Yes, and talking of trouble, that venomous old bitch Larentia isn’t letting up, you know. The latest news from Rollo is that she’s paralysed down her left side, and when she isn’t babbling incoherently she’s shouting how that filthy, gold-digging whore is trying to kill her. I tell you, Drusilla, it’s like walking on splintered glass at the moment. Avoid one obstacle, and you run smack bang into another.’
Clean, invigorated, happy but sensing an end to this session, the cat stretched first the front half of her body, then the back half and leapt noiselessly down on to the rug.
‘That’s it, poppet, you go off and inspect your territory. It’s a beautiful night, warm, the stars are out, there’s a lovely half-moon and just the hint of a breeze.’
Drusilla paused on the windowsill, sniffed the air, then effortlessly launched herself into the void.
Oh, to be a cat, Claudia thought, pulling off her tunic. What a wonderful, wonderful life.
Poor old Publius. Discovered in his stables, Orbilio said, and Claudia found it difficult to keep her face straight. The happy-go-lucky banker would have seen the joke there, because he was, as everyone knew, mad about his horses. Only Claudia, however, was privy to the extent of his obsession. She’d meet him in the stables, where he’d be waiting eagerly with his clothes off (a sight not recommended for the squeamish) and a nosebag over his face. She’d slip a specially crafted bridle over his head (heaven knows what the manufacturer thought when Publius gave him the order), then the banker would go down on his hands and knees for Claudia to put him through his paces like the animal he pretended to be. Once he was well and truly fired up, she would slide a spike round the inside of each ankle, sit astride the banker’s back and spur him on to victory, so to speak.