‘I’m going nowhere,’ he growled, ‘until this case is solved. Go-tonight-and leave me to cover for you.’
‘I don’t need a man to hide behind, thank you.’
‘I’m not suggesting you do.’ He was rivalling the big cat for snarls. ‘This is something I need to sort out myself, that’s all.’
How interesting. The Empire is in crisis, yet here we have a dedicated and professional aristocrat suddenly telling us he’s turning his back on duty and ambition and a shot at the Senate for the sake of… Of what, exactly, Marcus? A widow of lower rank and dubious past? Pleasant scenery? An obligation to see this non-crime through to its non-existent finish? Somewhere along the line, young Master Supersnoop, the arithmetic does not quite satisfy the tallyman.
‘Well, you’re not the only one with unfinished business,’ she said airily. Adding in reply to the half-raised eyebrow, ‘The day will soon dawn when the merest mention of my name will bring Macer out in warts. I want to be here when the bumps rise.’
‘You’ll have a bloody long wait,’ he barked, ‘because whoever’s behind this-’
My, my, we are in a bad mood. ‘There is no deadly deed, Orbilio, trust me on this.’
She might as well have saved her breath.
‘-the Prefect will come out smelling of lavender. His type always do.’
‘Like your boss, you mean?’
‘Even if this turns out to be a conspiracy with Quintilian at its heart, Macer is a supporting pillar of this dwindling community-’
‘Did you say pillar or pillock?’
‘For gods’ sake, can’t you take this seriously?’
‘Take what seriously?’ She pulled her wrap tighter and wasn’t sure it was purely down to the chill, predawn breeze. ‘Two men tried a scam and it failed. Happens twice a day in Rome…that’s what pays your salary.’
‘Aren’t you forgetting the arson attacks?’
Claudia shrugged. ‘There’ll be a hundred Frontos the length and breadth of Umbria. No doubt one’s torching a vineyard even as we speak.’
‘Your estate’s in Etruria.’
‘Don’t split hairs, Orbilio, you’re in no condition for skilled work.’
Suddenly he punched his fist into the timber shed, sending the lion into a paroxysm of roars. ‘The bitch drugged my sherbet.’
‘The what dragged your shirt out?’ Claudia had to shout.
‘Forget it.’ The big cat stopped snarling and Orbilio wiped his face with his hands. They seemed to be shaking.
If that’s what comes of being on the wagon, thought Claudia, I can make an excellent case for staying pickled.
The lion staged another small protest before settling down. Two sheds along, a bear considered growling out in sympathy, then decided against it. It was the fact that it arrived at its decision mid-growl that made Claudia and Orbilio exchange glances.
‘Corbulo?’ she called out. ‘Corbulo, is that you?’
‘Stay behind me,’ Marcus hissed, plucking a brand from its iron bracket. Whispers of wind played with the flames.
‘No fear,’ she whispered back, grabbing another torch. ‘You’re not fit to fight a flummery.’
But that wasn’t strictly true, because a dagger had appeared in his right hand and the grip was steady. Oh, well. Two can play at that game.
‘Where the hell do you keep that?’ he asked in amazement.
‘Safe,’ she replied. Although from time to time it gets a mite uncomfortable.
A dark figure flitted between the elephant shed and the giraffe house and Claudia felt the hairs on her scalp prickle. Corbulo would not behave so furtively. There it was again. Darting. Silent.
‘This way,’ Marcus whispered.
‘No, this way.’
‘Claudia, just for once, do as I say, will you?’
‘Let’s compromise,’ she mouthed, ‘and do it my way. Come on!’ Without giving him a chance to argue, she ran down the path and disappeared behind the camel shed.
Orbilio groaned. Please. Anything but dromedaries. ‘Listen!’ he said, catching her elbow and spinning her round. ‘What’s that?’
The yelp from the area of the seal pool was no animal.
Together they raced in the direction of the cry, lifting their torches high to avoid tripping. The gate was still barred. Sleepy seals honked at the intrusion.
‘Over there!’ he cried. ‘The hay store!’ As they sped across the stone slabs, they could hear gurgling sounds, a frantic tattoo.
‘Remus!’
The sight that greeted her as Orbilio flung open the door would stay with Claudia the rest of her life.
‘Holy shit!’ In one fluid movement, Marcus had bracketed the brand and sheathed his dagger. ‘I’ll take the weight, you cut him down!’
For ten seconds, or ten minutes, or maybe even ten hours, Claudia stood paralysed, hoping-praying-this was a dream and she’d wake any second. Against the wall, its eyes popping, a life-sized model of an Etruscan noble thrashed and jerked and made grotesque rattles from its throat. The frenzied drumming they’d heard was its feet.
But why was the puppet’s facepaint the colour of knapped flint? Why were its lips purple?
‘Claudia, for gods’ sake, I can’t hold him much longer!’
Snapping out of her hideous reverie, she realized Orbilio was supporting Corbulo by the hips and suddenly she was leaping up the bales to saw at the rope. Janus, it was thick! She turned her head away from the black suffusion, her hands too busy with the knife to dwell on the implications. Rasp, rasp, rasp. Below her, Orbilio struggled with the strain of his burden. Rasp, rasp, rasp. In the twisting of the fibres lay the rope’s strength. Come on, you bastard. Then-whoosh! Corbulo and Orbilio collapsed into the straw, the policeman wrenching at the noose to expose its livid legacy as the trainer’s eyeballs rolled upwards.
‘Sweet Jupiter!’ Claudia jumped down. ‘Is he-?’ The dusty shed seemed to have made her mouth dry.
‘He’s only passed out.’ Orbilio shot her a quizzical look. ‘He’ll be fine.’
All around, the signs of a skirmish were obvious, and it was also apparent that this was no chance encounter. Even the most dedicated homicidal maniac refrains from carrying a knotted noose on his person.
The Etruscan spluttered at the water splashed on to his face.
‘Sssh!’ Claudia ordered. ‘Don’t say anything.’
‘Who was it?’ asked Marcus.
‘Lie still,’ she urged. ‘Save your strength.’
‘Corbulo, who did this?’ Orbilio ignored the glower from beneath a tumbling mass of feminine curls.
The trainer gave a faint shake of his looped braids. ‘Dunno.’ The hoarse whisper was barely audible. ‘Left-party.’ Bloodshot eyes flickered at Claudia. ‘Needed-to sober up.’
‘Did you see anyone prowling about?’ Marcus persisted.
Corbulo shook his head. ‘Ambush,’ he croaked. ‘From behind.’
‘Damn!’ Orbilio began to pace the barn, but on the second turn he dropped to his knees. ‘Well, well, well. Recognize this?’ he asked.
In the flat of his hand, a scrap of material the colour of egg yolk trembled in the same pre-dawn breeze that had chilled Claudia earlier. Only now it seemed to blow straight from the Arctic.