‘Clever fellow, that Orbilio. Sniffed trouble right from the outset.’
‘I know! Amazing, isn’t it, the way he knew the Seferius widow was in danger, and what with that Sabina creature passing herself off as a Vestal Virgin, well!’
‘Saved the poor widow, he did, and when the imposter was murdered, he caught the chap right away. Shrewd fellow all right. Should go far.’
Except that if he wasn’t careful, his boss would have him flushing out drains instead of flushing out criminals.
He played at adjusting the cloak over his arm, lifting and dropping the soft, scarlet wool into folds. Danger! He ought to have known better, imagining Claudia Seferius to be in danger!
Kidnapped and held to ransom for her inheritance, that’s what he’d thought. Ha-bloody-ha. The man who tried that would need his brains examining-it was safer rolling naked in a viper pit. Juno’s skirts, you’re a fool, Marcus. You knew she was in debt, you should have realized she’d be working some sort of scam.
Don’t blame me, a little voice argued back. I’ve been busting my balls all bloody year, first on that murder business, then in Ostia, I was too tired to think it through properly. Tired…and frustrated. He slumped against the wall, letting his head rest against the cool of the stone. Croesus, I need a woman. I can’t go on like this much longer. I’m twenty-four, for gods’ sake, it’s not bloody natural.
Aulus had sent him a slave girl, a pretty little thing, but she was only fourteen and quaking like an aspen, so he politely sent her away again. No, what he wanted was a real woman. One with firm, ripe breasts to tickle and tease him. One with long, dark curls to make a tent round their faces. One who breathed fire and passion. Electricity sparking in the night. Heat. Craving, begging, clawing fury.
And for him, Marcus Cornelius Orbilio, there was only one woman.
‘You’re a damned fool,’ he told his shadow. ‘Why all that shit about clapping her in irons? You know you didn’t mean it. And why say you followed Sabina? Why not tell her the truth?’
He knew why, of course. Not only the way that bastard Diomedes ogled her, blue eyes lingering blatantly (and Orbilio felt a stab in his gut whenever he thought about it), but Orbilio was no fool. He’d seen the looks she gave that bloody quack. He’d watched her whenever Diomedes’s name cropped up. Well, he was damned if he was going to tell her what really brought him to Sicily. A man had his pride, goddammit.
He ran both hands through his hair. He’d make her take that boat tomorrow, if he had to carry her down the gangplank over his shoulder. That slimeball wouldn’t lay one finger on her, not one damned finger.
He passed under the dining room window, empty now, except for tantalizing smells of goose and hare and the inevitable mutton and heard his stomach growl.
In many respects, the timing of his arrival was perfect-the very day Sabina had been killed-allowing him to inspect the body within hours of the murder, though interrogation had been one hell of a task. Collatinus had so many slaves, it was like being back in the army and Orbilio couldn’t be sure they weren’t breeding faster than he could take statements, because for every one on his list, three turned up at interview.
He paused to listen to the chirrup of crickets in the undergrowth and congratulated himself that hard work and diligence paid off. He had worked out who had committed this disgusting crime, but he had to have proof. Conclusive evidence to bring this bastard to justice, because without that, where was he? Grovelling to his boss, that’s where.
The local magistrate would be none too happy when he discovered the Security Police tramping his territory, but he’d have to bloody well lump it. Orbilio was only a few months away from his twenty-fifth birthday, the date he legally became eligible for the Senate. Time was not on his side, there was no room for politics. Not at this level.
Orbilio’s palms began to sweat. He was really beginning to need that drink.
One thing he couldn’t fathom was Claudia’s involvement. Money had to be at the core, but what did she hope to gain from passing an imposter off as Eugenius’s granddaughter? She was clever, he’d give her that. No one in the family suspected a damned thing. But what happened to the real Sabina? Was she dead? And why wasn’t Claudia upset that her partner had been killed? And in such an inhuman way?
Holy shit, the thought of raping a woman who was paralysed made his gorge rise, but to do it while she lay dying was too disgusting to contemplate. What sort of pervert did that?
Orbilio’s hand patted the dagger in his belt. Chances are he wouldn’t need to use it, and even if he did, he’d have no compunction at killing the evil sod, his only regret would come from not taking him back alive.
Squaring his shoulders and straightening his neck, he turned his mind back to the job in hand. With the evidence he had gathered, there was only one man who could have killed Sabina, and to get the proof he needed, a search of the man’s room was required. That was why he’d chosen tonight. Everyone was out of the way.
Fabius was visiting an army pal in Sullium, Linus was drowning whatever sorrows he might have in a wineshop in Fintium, Portius was hobnobbing with his clique of so-called intellectuals, and Aulus was out checking wool stocks with his father, who’d suddenly demanded to go over them. (Why he’d chosen this time of night when he could have chosen any time he liked and when the light would have been better, Jupiter only knew. But that was Eugenius for you. Liked to keep them on their toes.)
Plus it was Senbi’s night off, Diomedes was moonlighting, Dexippus was stuck with totting wool stocks, which left only Antefa, Senbi’s son, who’d been allocated to act as Orbilio’s manservant and Orbilio had sent him off on an errand. Oh, and Piso, who liked to frequent the local brothel on a Thursday evening.
He had the place to himself.
The time for playing games was over. Stepping purposefully out of the shadows, Orbilio threw his cloak over his shoulder with a flourish and strode across the tiles.
The shutters were closed, as would be reasonable on a night like this, and there were no yellow lines round the door to suggest a lamp burning inside. Nevertheless, his dagger was in his hand as he threw wide the door.
Empty.
Closing the door quietly behind him, Orbilio fumbled for a light. The room was bigger and more opulent than he expected, the friezes quite remarkable. He had set down his lamp in preparation for the search when he heard footsteps. Light footsteps, those of a woman. Dancing footsteps, those of…
‘Well, well! If it isn’t our friendly neighbourhood snoop hard at work as usual.’
His heart began to pound, though he couldn’t tell whether it was from pleasure at seeing her or from jealousy at why she was here.
That was not an outfit one wore for darning one’s slippers.
She was wearing a stola of the very finest cotton. Midnight blue with midnight intent. It was girdled below the breasts to fall in delicious folds, clinging to her thighs and draping delicately over her feet. That alone could drive a man wild, never mind that the upper edge of her garment, the bit that fell from neck to elbow, had not been sewn but was pinched together at small, enticing intervals by a series of gold brooches. So many, a man could be sent insane unclipping them slowly, one by one, and kissing the place they’d been keeping. And that would be after he’d removed every bracelet, every anklet, every armlet, every pendant she had deliberately and desirously draped over every inch of bare, soft skin.
When he tried to speak, his voice failed him and he resorted to a sickly smile, only to be skewered by the sort of glance that kills the shine on polished bronze.
‘Enjoying yourself, are you, poking around in other people’s secrets?’
He shrugged. It was his job and she bloody well knew it.