Man Eater

XXVI

The goddess Aurora still had one or two snores in hand before duty bade her rise and push away the night skies, and Claudia, flanked by her vigilant bodyguard, was taking the opportunity to walk off the sweetmeats when she noticed so disgusting a spectacle propped against the lion shed that she couldn’t resist the urge to examine it.

‘Good grief, Orbilio, last time I saw something that gruesome, it lay belly up in a drainage ditch.’

A muscle twitched at the side of his mouth. ‘Flattery will get you nowhere.’

She peered closer. ‘Dodgy oyster, was it?’

‘Let’s just say it left a nasty taste. What’s wrong with the party? Not over already?’

No, but the prospect of watching a flabby has-been wrestling an unwashed, hairy Celt, both of them buck naked, was simply too horrible to contemplate and she told him so, nodding her head at the same time to dismiss her bodyguard.

Orbilio waited until the Gaul had disappeared round the monkey shed before prising himself off the wall. ‘Forget what I said earlier,’ he whispered urgently. ‘Pack your things and go.’

Claudia held up her hands in mock horror. ‘Marcus Cornelius! You, of all people, incite an honest citizen to break the law? Shame on you!’

‘Bugger the law, bugger Macer, this place is evil, Claudia. Evil.’

‘Too much milk,’ she said to the moon, ‘makes a man light-headed.’

‘Claudia, I’m serious. Get out of here.’

I see. Or at least, I’m beginning to. ‘I suppose this wouldn’t have any connection with your returning to Rome at the same time, would it?’

That’s torn it! Now he’d know she’d been rifling his papers. When she’d slipped inside his room ten minutes earlier, Claudia’s initial reaction had been shock. Something had clearly taken place here-tables tipped over, chairs upended, it was a right bloody mess-but the signs pointed away from some desperate search. A fight? The mosaic was slippery with oil of bay, as though someone had tried to disguise a rotten smell, so no, not a fight. Also, and even more telling, the inside of Orbilio’s maplewood chest was still in immaculate order. His clothes, his comb, his purse, everything rested neatly in its allotted place. It had not been intentional, her search-at some stage this evening she’d dropped her faience necklace, and rumour said Orbilio had found it-but when faced with a couple of scrolls bearing the seal of the Head of the Security Police, who wouldn’t have been curious? The first informed her that Orbilio had not confined his extra-marital activities to charioteers (apparently an ex-tribune, ex-prefect, ex-consul was also after his valuables), and the second, even by his boss’s silvery-tongued standards, was terse: ‘Get your fat arse back to Rome. Right now.’ Behind the lion shed, Claudia braced herself for the onslaught…which never came.

‘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.