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 Unless what? Claudia slumped back against Tuder’s memorial and watched a family of jackdaws in the triple arch gateway. I need more than a wild supposition to worm my way into the army’s good books. I need something I believe they call proof…
‘Mead,’ a voice bellowed. ‘Nectar of Olympus!’
Well, well, well. We may have an opening…
‘Drink this, sir, for Jupiter’s virility and the stamina of Mars. Madam, after just two glassfuls, you’ll possess the beauty of Venus herself as well as the wisdom of Minerva. Mead! Nectar of the gods! Who’s next?’
‘Dorcan,’ Claudia slipped her arm through the giant’s, ‘I’d like a quiet word with you.’
She felt his muscles stiffen. ‘I meant no harm,’ he protested. ‘The pay was good-’
Talk about a guilty conscience. ‘Actually, I want to ask you about Spesium. There’s something distinctly odd about this town.’
‘Odd?’ he asked, handing out goblets filled not so much with divine liquor as honey mixed with milk and cinnamon.
‘Don’t pretend with me, Dorcan. There’s an almost manic quality about the way they’ve thrown themselves into this festival, and yesterday, market day, there was a dogged, one might say obsessive, air about the way they conducted business, and that is eccentric by any standards.’