Orbilio’s head was buzzing. His mind, already a seething cauldron of logic and emotion, torn as it was between concentrating on his case and brooding about Claudia, was suddenly thrown into utter confusion. I haven’t heard right. My boss-and let’s be clear on this, we’re talking about the Head of the Security Police, here-is involving himself with…harvest rituals? Can’t be. No way! I’m cracking up. His mouth was dry, he needed a drink. In fact, he needed several drinks.
‘I will not allow it, Paulus.’
Orbilio turned round. What the…? There were two of them, for gods’ sakes. Two Callisunuses? No, no, pull yourself together, man.
‘I simply cannot permit a bunch of heathen slaves down here when I am trying to prepare my sacrificial rites.’
Holy shit, Callisunus was talking to himself. Or rather, he was talking to the second Callisunus, the one dressed in a thick woollen cloak and wearing a pointed cap on his head.
I am, I’m going mad. Marcus Cornelius Orbilio won’t be remembered as the chap who solved those gruesome murders, he’ll be known as the chap who couldn’t handle the pressure and ended up a headcase. Stark, staring bonkers. Spends all his time locked in his room, poor fellow. Really? Oh yes, tragic case. Had such a bright future at one stage, too. Orbilio pressed the heels of his hands into his eyeballs. Jupiter, unless he pulled himself together, and he meant right now, he could kiss the Senate goodbye, that’s for sure.
Callisunus-the Callisunus he was familiar with, the one drumming his fingers-turned to the other Callisunus, the one who was dripping with sweat and had his hands on his hips.
‘Marius, you arsehole, at the rate you and those other fairies are digging there won’t be a fucking sacrifice.’
‘There is no need to be offensive!’
Orbilio blinked, and blinked again. I’ll be damned, he thought, blowing his nose to cover his laughter. Twins. They’re bloody twins! Keeping his handkerchief over his mouth, he studied Marius, the brother. Same squat build, same piggy eyes and wonky nose, and yet there was an ocean of difference between them now he looked carefully. A sensitivity in the priest’s face which was lacking in the policeman’s, a shrewdness in the policeman’s, which was lacking in the priest’s. And suddenly the comedy opened his eyes to a world he’d not previously entered. The world of illusion. What you see isn’t necessarily what is real, he thought with a start. The dank humidity began to cloy as the most significant piece of his puzzle, leastways as far as he was concerned, slotted into place. His very blood seemed to congeal and he decided the taste in his mouth owed nothing to the acidity of the earthy air around him.
‘You’ve dug yourself into this hole and if I’m to bail you out, you brainless cretin, I’ll be as offensive as I fucking well like.’
The pointy hat drooped slightly to the left. ‘Is it my fault I get the date wrong?’ Marius threw up his hands. ‘I have not been well lately, but do you care? My own brother and he ignores me.’
He turned to Orbilio, who forced himself to follow the conversation as though nothing had turned his world upside down.
‘Do you have brothers?’
He was given no chance to either nod or shake his head.
‘Do yours leave you at death’s door? I should say not. You know, I could have died the other night.’ He lowered his voice and whispered, ‘It was the fish, I swear it-’
Callisunus grabbed his brother by the shoulders and shook him. ‘Marius, you self-absorbed prat, I suggest you take that fish and shove it right up your arse.’ He marched towards the steps to the Circus, jerking his head to indicate Orbilio should follow him. ‘My own brother can you believe it? Jupiter, he really pisses me off at times!’
Callisunus human at last? Could it be? Encouraged by the sudden (not to say unexpected) uplift in his fortunes, Orbilio raced up the steps after him, eager to capitalize on the moment. He was aware of Marius following in his wake. The glare of the late afternoon sun made him squint as a pungent smell of horseflesh slammed into his nostrils. ‘I need another day, sir.’
The Head of the Special Police stopped in mid-stride. ‘Tell me I didn’t hear that.’
‘One more day, that’s all.’
Callisunus barged aside a charioteer. ‘We’ve been through this, Orbilio. Tomorrow you start work on the Verianus fraud case.’
The cracking pace he set down the length of the racetrack presented no obstacle for Orbilio’s long legs. Behind them, however the priest was rapidly losing ground. His thick cloak flapped like heavy flightless wings, his conical hat wobbled precariously. Callisunus glanced round, tutted and stopped short.
‘My brother is a right pain in the arse,’ he said, casting his eyes over the seats banked up the side of the auditorium. ‘But tomorrow a quarter of the city’s going to pack itself into this place, including my good self, so if Consus doesn’t get his honouring of first fruits, it’ll fuck things up good and proper.’
The priest of the festival was wheezing like a pair of bellows and had to support himself on the low wall which divided the track down the centre. When he realized the dark stains he was leaning against were dried blood, he quickly jumped away again.
Orbilio felt his moment melting away. It was now or never. Callisunus would not have the patience to grant his request after another round with his brother.
‘One more day, sir, and I’ll tell you why.’
‘Forgive me, Paulus, it was not my intention to annoy you. The slave gang will be fine, honestly.’
Callisunus looked from one to the other, using the same expression of exasperation for both men. If he chose to hear his brother, Orbilio was sunk, his rosy future little more than mucky brown, and for the first time he began to realize what it must be like for a defeated gladiator to beg the crowd for pardon. For Callisunus to turn to him would be the thumbs-up, while if he turned to the priest…
The Head of the Security Police had no problem deciding which irritant to brush off first. ‘Marius-’
It really was turning into a pig of a day.
‘Marius, where the fucking hell do you think I’m going? I’m on my way to organize your fucking slave gang, so go back and fucking dig, will you? Because if by tomorrow morning every fucking flower and fruit known to man isn’t garlanding your altar, your fucking head will be. Got it?’
The priest smiled ingratiatingly, and as he did so the spiked skull cap plopped into the sand. Swooping down to retrieve it, the bronze buckle holding his cloak fell off, and the moment his fingers closed round the clasp his woollen cloak slid into a pile of steaming horse dung. Callisunus closed his eyes and shuddered.
‘Oh dear, oh dear. I do hope I am not embarrassing you, Paulus.’
Callisunus could take no more. He shook his head and began to march down the track in the direction of the Tiber, the lengthening shadows implying a deceptive coolness in the air. Orbilio kept pace in silence, and when he glanced back he noticed Marius was still encountering difficulty with his priestly garb and wondered how he coped when he had to wear the laurel wreath as well. The god of the harvest store deserved far better he thought. Of course, Marius would only have landed the job because of his brother’s influence, the same as this oily bastard only landed his own job because he’d fawned and flattered every rung of the ladder. For a man of the equestrian order however the position was nevertheless a remarkable achievement-even for a fathead like Callisunus, doggedly maintaining the killings were random in spite of the evidence laid before him. He sighed in the deepening gloom. Not that Callisunus, whose breadth of vision extended little further than the tip of his pug nose, looked upon these conclusions as evidence.
‘Bollocks!’ he’d said, when Orbilio had finished outlining his case. ‘Gossip, hunch and innuendo, the lot of it. You mark my words, this is the work of a maniac, picking his victims at random, and at the end of it you’ll find he’s been hearing voices urging him to do it. Divine retribution or some such shit, see if I’m not right.’