‘Your trouble, Orbilio, is that you’ve got no one except yourself to enjoy. In fact, I hear they call you Bedspread these days, you’ve been turned down so often.’
He could feel his lips twitch and turned away before they let him down completely and showed teeth. She was angry, he could tell by the flush on her cheeks and the flash in her eyes, but Jupiter be praised, he was confident now of getting her on board that grainship tomorrow. He didn’t mind admitting, either, he was going to get a real kick out of bursting her bubble.
He’d have to tread carefully-not only because she was softer than she made herself out to be, but burst it too quickly and she’d never forgive him, he’d be back where he started. The knack was to make her understand for herself. And if there was someone there, close at hand, a shoulder to cry on, during that long, long voyage back to Rome, was it Orbilio’s fault he just happened to be that person…?
He noticed her finger was trailing the edge of the cupboard beside her.
‘Good quality furniture,’ he said quietly, wondering where to begin his search. The room was packed with shelves and cupboards for all his paraphernalia, the instruments, the apparatus, the drugs, the palettes, the balances.
‘Why not? Physicians are worth their weight in gold pieces.’
Especially Greek ones. They were reputed to be the best in their field, although Orbilio had scant regard for these so-called skills. It was all too easy to bury your mistakes.
‘You obviously think so, to be troubling him this time of night. Couldn’t you sleep?’
He realized his mistake the instant the words slipped out, and unable to help himself his eyes jumped from her tantalizing outfit to the broad couch in the corner. How many times had she been here, he wondered, as red hot irons began to wrench his guts apart. Diomedes, blast his balls, must have set to work straight away and what a smooth operator he turned out to be. She’d been here only a week.
Claudia shot him a brittle smile. ‘I’ve always found that early to bed, early to rise, my dear Orbilio, was the most wonderful piece of advice I was ever given the chance to ignore. Too many good times would have been utterly ruined otherwise.’
He pretended not to hear. Dammit, when he sailed halfway round the Mediterranean, he’d expected her to be in danger. He didn’t expect her to be in some stranger’s bed.
‘What are your greasy little fingers looking for, anyway?’
Orbilio forced his mind back to his search. No doubt there was method in this wild disorder, but for the life of him he didn’t know what, and he had to be careful not to show anything had been disturbed.
‘A scalpel.’ If he didn’t find it tonight, he’d try again in the morning. ‘The scalpel, actually. The one that killed Sabina.’
Her mouth turned down in disgust. ‘How revolting! How do you know it was a scalpel?’
He was back on level ground now. ‘I examined the wound carefully. The blade that made it was sharp, thin, and the cut so precise it verged on the professional.’
She tipped her head on one side. ‘Oh dear, have you been sniffing the hemp seeds again? I mean, you can’t seriously suspect Diomedes?’
He closed one cupboard carefully, opened another. He lifted the lid of a tin and inhaled warily. It reeked of stale animal fats.
‘Who else?’
He tried not to sound too cheerful. Means, motive and opportunity. Find that weapon and he had him bang to rights.
‘Well for a start, he was with me when Sabina was killed. Or do you have me down as an accomplice?’
‘I wouldn’t put anything past you.’ Orbilio shook a copper vessel, heard the liquid inside swish and untied the bung. Vinegar. ‘But not on this occasion. However, by his own admission, Sabina had been dead between two and three hours. Ample time for him to nip into town and establish an alibi. Especially if she’d been dead, say, an hour longer. Just remember who showed you that shortcut in the first place.’
Claudia began to play with some little white pills Diomedes had been rolling and Orbilio realized she was thinking it through. Wonderful! Because when she did speak, it wouldn’t be some trite remark about doctors being supposed to save lives rather than take them, it would be a remark worth waiting for. Several minutes ticked past as he continued rifling. Boxwood containers with papyrus labels. Limewood boxes preserving scented flowers. Bowls, scrolls, scoops and spatulae. Finally Claudia put down the marble palette and he shot her a quizzical look.
She picked up a pair of forceps with long, slender handles, hollowed jaws and interlocking teeth and waved them menacingly in his direction.
‘If you’re so clever,’ she said, ‘answer me this.’
‘Mmm?’
‘What are these for?’
XIV
Old Conky had been right about the weather. All traces of rain had vanished when Claudia opened her shutters on Friday morning, and it was back to bright sunshine and vibrant blue skies. The sea, calm and clear, brushed the sands below, while a gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the pines and the oaks and the spurge bushes. The most perfect of days for the hundreds of water-blessing ceremonies that took place, not only on Sicily but throughout the Empire in veneration of the goddess Flora. The most perfect of days to sneak off to see to that cockroach Aristaeus without anyone the wiser.
This was a day of so many local ceremonies that she could be attending any one of them, watching sacred garlands consigned to the waters or posies laid around the tops of the wells.
The breakfast table looked suitably festive, bedecked with flowers and ribbons and, best of all, Claudia had the dining room to herself. But not for long. Matidia threw herself down, confiding she was in a real froth about what to say, because it was her turn to lead the procession. She wanted to make a speech, a really wonderful speech, better than all the speeches the other wives had given over the years.
‘Flora won’t give a brass fig,’ Claudia said, flicking a grape pip across the room. ‘I think you’re wasting your time.’
Matidia couldn’t have looked more shocked had Claudia announced she’d spent last night humping every slave on the Collatinus estate and was going back for seconds. The atmosphere was broken when Portius swept into the room. There were more ringlets in his hair than tendrils on a vine and he’d rather overdone the antimony round his eyes. He looked like a polecat.
‘Mother, I’ve solved the problem,’ he said eagerly. ‘Listen!
She prayed, and all her sister nymphs,
The three hundred nymphs that guard the groves,
The three hundred nymphs that live within the streams.
Three times she splashed the glowing hearth with wine,
Three times the flame, renewed, shot up to heaven.’
‘Darling, that’s brilliant. Oh, you’re such a clever boy, Portius, what would I have done today without you!’
Claudia nearly choked on her plum. Did he never learn? Another straight quote! Still, he was on to a surefire winner with that little gem, combining the water-blessing with a reference to Sabina in her role as a Vestal, and it was unlikely the good matrons of Sullium knew enough about Virgil to trip him up.
Her ears blocked out the praise being heaped upon Portius’s beautiful curls and she concentrated on what she had to do today. Orbilio said the grainship would drop anchor mid-afternoon, but she’d decided against breaking the news of her departure to the family until the last minute. It was, she felt, none of their damned business. Therefore she’d packed her own boxes, quietly if not particularly efficiently. By now Cypassis was well on the mend (thanks to Diomedes), although she was still weak in the legs. Leaving Cypassis to rest but allowing Pacquia to believe her maid was with her, Claudia had managed rather well on her own, she thought.
As she was draining the last of her breakfast wine, Old Conky came thumping in, his face as black as yesterday’s thunder.