Man Eater

XVI

The last place you’d expect to find an oasis of peace and tranquillity in this madhouse was at its centre, but that’s life for you. One surprise after the other. In consequence, while the Prefect and his entourage jangled off to inspect mutilated corpses and snack-happy crocodiles, and while an army of slaves waged war on cobwebs and dirt with an arsenal of sponges on poles and ostrich-feather dusters, Claudia twiddled the rings on her fingers and examined the marble statuary dotted between the topiaries.

The impending trial aside, to say she was at a crossroads in her life was to elevate understatement to an art form. Augustus’ sweeping reforms were not confined to the army or the land, public buildings or public works, far from it. Since poor health had effectively grounded him twelve years previously, he sought greater and nobler causes to advance, with morals topping his agenda. Other people’s morals, that is. He meant well, she’d give him that. On the whole he was a decent, honest and well-meaning chap whose infidelities were no more than light relief at a time when the weight of the Empire was enormous, and for so elevated a position he lived humbly and he lived frugally, the days when he prostituted himself to a consul for financial advancement or became Julius Caesar’s catamite as the price for adoption almost forgotten.

But only almost. It was his past that shaped her present-that and the fact that the number of actual citizens, as opposed to prisoners-of-war who had become slaves, was dwindling fast. In an effort to stabilize marriage and encourage larger families, Augustus’ moral reforms discouraged birth control, made divorce difficult and adultery a criminal offence (at least as far as women were concerned). More pertinently, widows had two years in which either to mourn or to rejoice before remarriage became mandatory.

Already one-quarter of Claudia’s freedom had slipped past

She paused between the laurels and looked up. Jupiter’s storm clouds were gathering again, there would be another tempest tonight. Beside her, the winged dragon that had carried Medea to Corinth bared its sharp bronze teeth.

When she first heard that her husband had bequeathed her the lot-his house, his vineyards, his investment properties-her immediate thought had been ‘sell them’. All of them. Turn them into cash and be done with. It was why she’d married him, wasn’t it? And let’s face it, Claudia Seferius’ knowledge of wine was strictly limited…to the level of the contents of her glass. Later, though, when a reliable source suggested the business should net ten percent comfortably, it seemed sensible to hang on and live off the earnings.

So what went wrong? And why, after a winter spent poring over accounts that showed profits closer to seven percent and maybe as low as six percent, had she felt a physical revulsion about selling? Quintilian wasn’t the only patronizing son-of-a-bitch to put in an offer, whether for outright purchase or marriage in which, ha-ha, the Widow Seferius came as a bonus on top of their, ha-ha, shrewd investment.

She’d give them ha-bloody-ha.

Fortunately, she was, so far, the only person who knew that sales were…not as good as forecast (that was it, not as good as forecast), but word would get out soon enough. With a shiver, Claudia left the dragon and studied a marble satyr. Clearly drunk, his outstretched goblet begged for a refill. She patted him on his goatish knee. It’s true, isn’t it? All roads lead to wine. One way or another.

In her own case, and with little else to occupy her during the long winter evenings, she had set out to improve her knowledge of commerce. Since, by a strange quirk of fate which had nothing whatsoever to do with her, her gambling debts had spiralled up the wall and over the ceiling, it was a gushing flow of liquid cash she needed, not a few dribbling investments. Strangely enough, the raising of hard crunchy currency had not proved too arduous a task. For a senator, Quintilian showed a distinct lack of munificence in chucking out the poor and installing the educated classes and she had rapped his knuckles for that by retaliating in the Campanian deal, but that was only part of the pleasure.

To his new tenants he leased the apartment block for 20,000 sesterces. Claudia had simply applied for tenancy herself and was now subletting the block for 35,000. (Come on, where did he think she got the money from to buy that land in Campania?)

But that wasn’t the point. The point was, sales were tailing off and this was solely on account of her gender.

She looked up at the reeling satyr. The bias was unlikely to change once word got round that the Seferius’ widow was charged with murder. As it would. In Rome, rumours spread faster than floodwater, no matter how half-baked Macer’s reasoning might be.

Like a carcass being tornapart by jackals, her husband was being laid open to the bone, but, and here is the difference, she thought, the quarry isn’t dead, not by a long chalk. These arrogant merchants might have the smell of blood, but the hunt is a long way from over-and, as every huntsman knows, many a stag outwits the archer.

For, contrary to popular opinion, the archer is not as good as his arrow, he is only ever as good as his aim.

*

It was the sound of snoring, audible above the trumpeting of the elephants and the honking of the seals, that interrupted Claudia’s train of thought. Sprawled on his back on a marble seat beside the fishpond, his mouth wide open, Pallas dreamed of self-shelling lobsters and an eighteenth way to cook sucking-pig. Beneath the bench, a column of ants and a cluster of flies competed for the remnants of his lunch, but the wine seemed to have been spared and it seemed a pity to let it go to waste. She was on to her second glass before the inevitable fit of coughing woke him up.

‘Darling girl, what a pleasant surprise.’ Pallas gulped gratefully at the glass thrust in front of him.

‘Me or the wine?’

‘Both,’ he said chivalrously, heaving himself upright and straightening his tunic. ‘Although I feel slightly disadvantaged, caught in so undignified a posture. Are you recovered from last night’s shenanigans? That looks nasty.’ He pointed to the marks on her throat.

‘I’m still sore,’ she admitted, ‘but the lividity is misleading. Don’t tell Macer, though. I might need to trade on his sympathy.’

‘Now there, oh yes, there’s a man who’s sharper than he looks.’ Pallas shot her a cryptic look.

‘Sharp? If that imbecile has his way, I shall be standing before a judge in six days’ time.’

‘Ah, but have you considered the possibility our Prefect might be using you as bait? That by focusing attention on you, it leaves him free to investigate the real killer?’

Holy shit, no, it had not occurred to her. Well, well, well. But before Claudia could draw breath to follow up, the big man had launched forth again.

‘I’m just pleased our man in the crocodile pond wasn’t another of his long-lost troops. I had visions of a whole host of his ex-employees turning stiff on our doorstep, one after the other.’

‘It’s weird, don’t you think, two dead strangers in three days?’

‘This is Umbria, darling. Anything can happen around here, you only have to look at Timoleon to see that. What the f-?’

The screeching was inhuman, and it came from the far end of the courtyard.

‘Jupiter, Juno and Mars!’ Claudia blinked hard. Hands up to protect himself, feet slipping wildly, Taranis had nowhere to go, his back was already to the house wall and strong as he was, he was no match for the wild creature attacking him.

‘Bastard!’

Tulola was pummelling the Celt’s chest and shoulders with her fists, screaming like a demon, the skin on her face so tight with anger that her exposed teeth looked huge and obscene.

‘Bas-tard!’

Taranis could offer no resistance. He cringed lower and lower under the demented assault, his forearms fending most of the blows.

‘That’ll teach him to try and sneak off,’ Pallas whispered, linking his arm into Claudia’s and leading her back down the path. ‘Although, under the circumstances, one can hardly blame even that pig-ignorant hippopotamus.’

‘It tallies with my theory. Tulola likes not only to control her men, she needs to be seen to be doing it.’

Could you call that ferocious onslaught being in control? It seemed to Claudia that Tulola had fooled herself into believing she could bewitch any man she wanted and keep him in her thrall for as long as she, not he, desired, until occasionally a Taranis appeared to show her the reality. And Tulola, to judge from that little tantrum, was patently allergic to reality.

More painful still must be the realization that when you’re knocking thirty, it’s a very fine cloth that separates the uninhibited dominatrix from a rancid old slag.

‘Her husband was the first to rebel, you know.’

‘Oh?’

Pallas resumed his seat by the fishpond. ‘I’m going back six, maybe seven years, though you need the whole picture to understand. You see, their parents may have fixed the marriage, but for the young couple it was every bit a love match. Puppy love, of course. Tulola was only fourteen, but the stars were in their eyes and that was enough for them.’

He snapped his fingers to catch a slave’s attention. ‘Bring us more wine, will you, my good man? Only make sure it’s Falernian this time, I want none of that Campanian rubbish.’

‘What went wrong?’

‘The concept of young marriage is not without foundation, but as you know, what lies at the core of one’s character at fourteen remains the same at forty. Tulola, naturally, came a virgin to her wedding. Unfortunately, so did the bridegroom.’

‘Ah.’ Claudia poured the wine. ‘Your cousin began to experiment?’

‘Tarsulae was reduced to a small town by then, where gossip became a marketable commodity. It’s good stuff, this Falernian, how does it compare with your Seferius wine? What grape do you use?’

How should I know? ‘What happened when he found out?’

‘Now that, darling girl, is where it gets really interesting. Uh-oh, look who’s coming. Quick! Run!’ Faster than a jackrabbit, Pallas had grabbed the jug and was lumbering back to the house, but Claudia’s arm was caught in a vice.

‘Ah, Mistress Seferius! How enchanting you look in cinnabar.’

Macer, you slimy little salamander, how obnoxious you look in daylight.

He released her arm. ‘May I join you?’

Why don’t you crawl back under your stone and wait for the moon?

‘I am, you see, eager to hear your account of the terrible events of last night.’

Oh, Pallas. How wrong can you be.

With his handkerchief he brushed the marble before allowing his red embroidered tunic to make contact, but, alas, not before Claudia had tipped the remains of Pallas’ lunch on to the seat.

‘In case my story clashes with that of the crocodiles, Prefect?’ She tossed the plate in the shrubbery and flicked an ant from her finger. With any luck, there would be a small army of the little beggars sinking their pincers into his bottom even as she forced herself to smile at him. ‘Or out of concern for my personal safety?’

‘I fear you are making fun of me, Mistress Seferius, but murder is a serious matter.’

‘Especially when one is at the sharp end and the distinction between breathing and investigating the possibilities of an afterlife are beginning to blur.’ She leaned forward so her nose was a mere hand’s span away from his. ‘These bruises are not fake, Prefect. Last night someone tried to kill me.’

His smile was pure reptile. ‘I realize that, my dear Claudia, and one of the things I am trying to establish at the moment, apart from his identity, is a connection linking Fronto with the dead man and, ergo, with yourself.’

‘The eternal triangle, how original. We’ll see your name carved on great monuments yet.’

Actually he was more the sort who’d want a sundial for his memorial to ensure you saw his name whenever you looked.

‘Mock me all you wish, Mistress Seferius, only there is a nasty smell to this place which has less to do with the menagerie than appears on the surface.’

Do smells appear on the surface? Frankly, she was too disinterested in this little maggot to waste breath baiting him, and besides, if there was a ready answer, then he would find it as soon as he stood up. Pallas had had mullet on his plate, as well as mustard and vinegar and soft-boiled eggs.

‘So while my men delve for clues, perhaps you and I could go over a few of the facts that you have already presented to me, since there appear to be one or two anomalies in your statement.’

If you’ve only found a couple, then I’m doing better than I hoped. ‘Such as?’

‘Well, for one thing, you told me you had sent your servants on ahead by ox cart, when in fact you did nothing of the sort.’

‘Macer, you surprise me. You’re the Prefect of a legion covering a very large territory,’ which as we both know boasts a microscopic population, ‘yet you find that an anomaly?’

Puncture his pride and you prick Macer’s innermost soul. ‘I don’t’-the bluster was almost painful-‘quite follow you.’

‘Come, come. Surely you must have realized that in questioning me before fifty, sixty witnesses, I was hardly going to admit, a woman of my social standing, to travelling without servants. What would people think?’

‘You’re saying you lied to retain your self-respect?’

‘Wouldn’t you? The truth, Macer, is that I have been a widow for but a short time.’ She dabbed at the corner of her eye. ‘This opportunity to travel unencumbered, it was like a godsend. I am not’-sniff-‘the type of person who needs a retinue of slaves to flaunt her status and naturally I keep a chest of clothes at my dear husband’s farm.’

He scratched the tip of his thin nose. ‘Let’s recap, shall we?’ Damn. It didn’t work. ‘You received a note from your bailiff urging you to come to Etruria at once?’

‘Correct.’

‘You decided this was a much-needed escape from a crowd of attentive servants and, with the exception of Junius, left them in Rome?’

‘Correct.’

‘You hired a gig from the stand, taking your chances with a new and untried driver?’

‘Correct.’

‘You left the Via Flaminia at Narni in order to take a shortcut through Umbria on the abandoned road and spent the night at Tarsulae simply because that was the only town with a half-decent inn?’

‘Correct.’

‘The following morning you were run off the road by person or persons unknown and stumbled upon the Villa Pictor by chance?’

‘Correct.’

‘You did not recognize Fronto, even though he might (note, I say might) have been the arsonist, you did not argue with him, you did not plunge a kitchen knife into his belly?’

‘Correct.’

‘And last night another man, who has yet to be identified, tried to kill you by throwing you alive and kicking to the crocodiles?’

‘Correct.’

He breathed on one of his gold medallions and polished it with the heel of his hand.

‘Suppose I put it to you, Mistress Seferius, that you are lying through your lovely white teeth? That right from the very beginning you have tried to pull the wool over my eyes?’

‘I don’t think the servant issue constitutes major controversy, Prefect, I’ve explained-’

‘Servants? My dear Claudia, that’s neither here nor there, just another minor incident which shows your contempt for what you undoubtedly think of us yokels. I am referring to a far more contentious matter, the crux of your defence if you prefer.’

‘If I knew what a gog was, Macer, I would undoubtedly turn into one on the spot. Exactly where does the crux of my defence fall down?’

The Prefect stood up and flexed his shoulders. ‘There are several small irregularities, insignificant in themselves, yet lumped together they do cause me considerable grief. For instance, listening to the stories which abound, you’ve been through Hades and back, yet I see no broken limbs, Mistress Seferius. No cracked skull, no concussion.’

‘So if I was dead, you’d believe me?’

Macer’s teeth bared in a smile which didn’t extend to his eyes. ‘Your driver sustained a broken arm and Junius was, most fortuitously, knocked out, whereas you, my dear Claudia, you’ve had three encounters with violence in as many days and mere superficial scratches to show for it.’ He ran his finger under his collar. ‘And then there’s the cat.’

‘Drusilla? What about her?’

‘I have inspected her cage personally.’ He stared up at the darkening sky. ‘There is nothing wrong with that bolt.’

‘I never said there was, I merely said it shot open and she went to ground. If your accusation hinges on my hiding my own cat, I can’t wait to see the jurists’ faces. Is that your case, Macer?’

As he turned, she was eye-level with the splattered remains of Pallas’ lunch.

‘Not quite. There is also the little matter of the note.’ She stared at the stain. If it came out at all, it would need bleaching several times, and that’s a nasty place to have a big white mark, on your bottom.

‘Note?’

A fly settled on the egg yolk and she resisted the urge to swat it.

‘The message from Rollo. You see, my men have been asking questions at your villa and your bailiff seems a decent sort of chap. Honest, up-front. Quite without guile, I should say.’

A chill wind passed across the garden. ‘So would I, that’s why I employ him.’ She hoped this change of temperature was attributable to the impending storm.

‘So when Rollo tells me he didn’t send you a note, I am rather tempted to believe him.’

Claudia watched the Prefect stride up the path, where her attention was no longer held by the splurge on his tunic, but by his parting words. Because for once she agreed with this smarmy, smug weevil. She, too, was inclined to believe her reliable, hard-working bailiff. If he said he sent no summons, he sent no summons.

Which meant Marcus Cleverclogs Orbilio was right.

Someone at the Villa Pictor hated Claudia Seferius enough to want either to frame her for murder, or, when that failed, kill her outright. By definition, last night’s attacker must have been a hired assassin, but would the brains and the money behind it stop there?

The sky turned dark as charcoal, a rumble of thunder bellowed along the Vale of Adonis, then another, then another. But long after the heavens had opened, Claudia remained bolt upright on the smooth white marble bench as though she had been grafted there.

How long before the killer tried again? she wondered.

And what method would they employ next time round?