‘That’s all we bloody need, half the workforce out.’
Matidia didn’t even glance up from her speech. ‘Hmm?’
‘Some local kid’s wandered off and our slaves have taken it upon themselves to search the ravines and gullies roundabouts.’
Claudia narrowed her eyes. ‘Whose child was it?’
Aulus tutted. ‘Who cares? What I want to know is, how am I supposed to meet production targets when half the bloody workforce has done a bloody bunk? Where’s Linus?’
‘What does the old man say?’ asked Portius. ‘About the search?’
Aulus tapped his temple. ‘Going senile,’ he replied. ‘Said let them get on with it. Can you believe that? Look, where’s Linus? I need him in the yard.’
In the privacy of her bedroom, Claudia slipped the belladonna in to the folds of her tunic, sending up a silent prayer to Jupiter, Bringer of Justice, that there was sufficient of the drug in her phial to lay that son-of-a-bitch Aristaeus flat in his grave. If she hurried, she might, just might, be in time to save the life of another little girl.
With her room at the front of the house, it was impossible to miss that familiar ring of laughter as Orbilio exchanged pleasantries with Fabius. More boys’ own army jokes, no doubt, but she waited until it fell silent before slipping away.
It had come as a complete shock last night, seeing Supersnoop standing where she expected to find Diomedes, and it rankled that merely looking at him brought on a strange tingle which left the Greek a very limp second. The tendril of a blue vetch entangled itself in Claudia’s shoe and she paused to free it. Lust, my girl. Decent, honest lust. Accept it for what it is, then the quicker you’ll find someone else to lust after. Because it didn’t matter to Claudia that Orbilio wasn’t interested in her. Why should it? If he had other fish to fry, what did she care? Dressed to the nines and absent from dinner last night, there was only one conclusion to draw. He’d been in some harlot’s bed before snooping round Diomedes’s room. So what? A small smile lifted one side of her mouth. So she hoped the bitch had crabs, that’s what!
Nevertheless, seeing him there had taken her breath away. But it was only for a moment and perfectly understandable, amid that gruesome array of saws, chisels, clamps and catheters casting eerie, flickering shadows in the lamplight. Not to mention that half-size statue in the middle of the bloody room! So you see, it had nothing to do with Orbilio, it would have been the same no matter who.
Our master sleuth did not, of course, unearth the Secret Scalpel duly encrusted with dried blood from its hidey-hole. Honestly, it beggared belief that anyone would be stupid enough to set aside a special scalpel purely for butchering women, and after a while he looked where Claudia would have looked in the first place. Amongst the other scalpels. Which was as unproductive as she expected it to be, too. Diomedes kept one full set in a special hinged box, but a whole host of back-ups and spares in the corner. Really! What did Orbilio expect? A knife with the word ‘me’ written in dried blood?
By coincidence, they’d bumped into Diomedes in the hall shortly afterwards and he’d given them both such an odd sideways look that, had Claudia been in possession of such a trivial thing as a conscience, it might have made her feel guilty about going through his papers while Orbilio searched for mythical clues.
Much of yesterday’s rain had drained away, but here and there-on blades of grass, in flower cups or in spider’s webs-small drops clung on obstinately, twinkling in the sunshine like precious jewels of red and white and gold. Despite the lateness of the season, with the dust washed off the leaves, the vegetation, high as it was, still contrived to look fresh and vibrant. Even the parched grass looked more like a miniature cornfield at harvest time.
For obvious reasons, Claudia made her climb alone. It was the only way to tackle Aristaeus, and she’d left so many contradictory instructions that it was impossible for anyone to know exactly where she had gone or with whom. She scanned the horizon. Not that the trireme would come early, but the gesture brought Rome that little bit closer. Great! There were so many things to do there. A girl could get away from people she wanted to get away from (people like debt collectors and oily investigators), she could enjoy the Senate debates, the odd funeral oration (hypocrisy is a marvellous thing), the games and the races. Claudia totted it up on her fingers. A speedy passage home would deliver her right at the start of the Victory Games. I ask you. Could life be sweeter?
The terrain up here was rugged, open and windswept, scrub and rock. Limestone, someone said. As if she cared what bloody rock it was! Her lungs were wheezing like a pair of faulty bellows as she stopped to examine the track. In theory the path she’d been following should have led her straight to Aristaeus. So why, suddenly, was there a choice?
She glanced back. The villa, Fintium, even Sullium-they were all out of sight now. Talk about remote. She looked again at the fork in the path. Both tracks led over peaks, and you could see woods on the other side. These southern slopes, of course, had been stripped of trees to make Sextus’s warships during his seven-year battle for independence and the land had never recovered. It was stony and arid and sheep was the best you could do up here. But over the rise waited a different, cooler world where umbrellas of oak and beech and birch shaded and refreshed you with their dazzling display of autumn colours. Sweet chestnut trees scattered their shiny bounty across the forest floor, mushrooms and fungi adorned branches and boles. The red breast of a robin flashed across the path, the harsh churr of a jay rang out from the canopy.
Claudia chose the right-hand fork for no other reason than a green spotted lizard lay sunning itself on a stone and up here any company was better than no company. But it didn’t take long to realize it was the wrong path-she was heading too far east. Damn! There wasn’t much time to play with, either. Juno, suppose Aristaeus wasn’t there? Suppose he was out, pretending to hunt for the missing child? She’d just have to lace his wine and pray no one else swallowed the wretched stuff. Hell, he was a recluse, wasn’t he? Who else would there be to drink it?
‘Lost, are you?’
Claudia nearly fainted with shock. She hadn’t heard him approach, and with the crackle of twigs underfoot, still bone dry despite yesterday’s downpour, that was quite some feat.
‘Do you take me for a fool? Of course I’m not!’
She had to lift her head to see him clearly. Bearded, dark-haired, going grey at the temples, he wore the leather leggings of the huntsman. To prove the point, he carried a small, sinew-backed bow in one hand and a brace of coneys in the other.
‘I was looking for a man called Aristaeus.’
‘Then you be looking in the wrong place.’
His Sicilian brogue was as broad as they came. The huntsman stepped past her and set off along the track at a cracking pace, a quiver of arrows joggling on his back.
‘At least have the decency to tell me where I should be looking!’
‘I thought you said you wasn’t lost.’ He neither slowed down nor bothered to look over his shoulder.
‘Disorientated. Look, can you help me?’
His sole response was a casual ‘Nope.’
Claudia slapped her forehead with the heel of her hand. Men! She called after him. ‘You know that girl who went missing in Sullium-’
‘Nope.’
She was having to shout now. ‘Aristaeus was the last person seen talking to her,’ she lied. ‘Do you know where I can find him?’
The last word she heard as he rounded the bend was another infuriating ‘Nope.’
Claudia was out of breath by the time she caught up with him. He was in a small clump of pines, heading towards a clearing. Two shaggy dogs ambled up out of nowhere, their tails wagging as they stuffed their wet noses into his hand. Only then did she notice the square hut built into the hillside on the far side of the clearing. She fell back against the red, fissured bark of a pine.