Man Eater

VIII

One hundred and twenty miles away, with the sun painting the villa walls a deep clover pink and the stench of ordure oppressive in the narrow valley, a young man followed his shadow between the peach trees and the pears towards the seal enclosure. The half-dozen or so show animals whose domain this was had been fed and were settling down for the night, grunting, shuffling, twitching their whiskers and scratching. A late heron flapped silently overhead, and a frog croaked in the reeds. Yet it wasn’t the seals that held Orbilio’s attention, but the back of a young woman resting her elbows on the gate, the sunset turning her hair to molten copper, gold and bronze. Hardly surprising that since her husband had died, proposals of marriage had come flooding in.

The sun had all but disappeared before he stepped forward. ‘I have some good news,’ he said quietly.

Claudia spun round. If that was good news, heaven help doom. ‘You always did excel at creeping.’

‘I’ve perfected the art of silent approach, as well.’ He swept his arm in the direction of the pool. ‘Now, before I come any closer, will you promise not to throw me in?’

I don’t want you any closer, Orbilio. I can smell the wine on your breath, the rosemary on your tunic, sandalwood oil on your skin. I can see your eyes dark with longing and your fists clenched with tension, and there’s a pulse that beats in your neck. Oh, no, Orbilio. I don’t want you to come any closer.

‘Promises are for schoolgirls, but if it sets your mind at rest, I’m saving my strength.’

‘For tomorrow’s trip to the sulphur pools?’

Some hope. ‘I presume you’ve spoken to that imbecile Prefect?’ Distance. That’s what she needed. Distance. ‘Since he appears to have slithered silently back into the hole he crawled out from.’

‘That’s what I came to talk to you about.’

Bingo! If there’s one thing about Supersnoop you can rely on, it’s the fact that, first and foremost, he’s a policeman. Umbria might be out of his jurisdiction, but professional pride would ensure he’d smooth things over with Macer (small wonder the little insect scuttled back to Tarsulae). That same sense of rectitude would also keep him here until Fronto’s killer was unearthed. By which time, she’d be long gone.

‘I take it you kept my bodyguard in Rome?’

As for Rollo-well, I’m sorry to tell you this, old chap, but you can take your urgent summons and stick it in your bathwater. Claudia Seferius is going home. Home, I say! Where I should never have left in the first place.

‘As a matter of fact, I sent him on to your villa.’

Why would you do that, I ask myself? ‘Now that’s a pity, because I’m heading for Rome at first light.’ To find me an advocate I can rely on. And could be I know just the fellow…

‘Yes. Well.’ His face had that haunted look, again.

Either that, or a twinge of indigestion just hit him. ‘What I’m trying to say is-’

I know what you’re trying to say. You rode all this way because you thought I was in trouble and, believe it or not, Marcus Cornelius, I am grateful. No one else could have got me off the hook so quickly. But I know men like you-respectable, respected aristocrats. Now I’m not saying I don’t find you attractive, there is a certain animal magnetism, I grant you, and I realize it’s been a long, long, long, long time since a good-looking man stoked my furnace, but you’re not my type, Orbilio. No way. And besides, Claudia Seferius is her own mistress, not a man’s.

‘You’re staying on.’

‘Yes.’ He sounded surprised. ‘In fact, the messenger taking my explanation to my boss has just left.’ A different expression flitted across his face. ‘I suppose there are worse places to pass time, don’t you think? The scenery’s beautiful-’

What bloody scenery? ‘Unsurpassed.’

Nothing but mountains and woods, and what use are woods, for heaven’s sake? They go green, they go yellow, and then they go twiggy. Fine if you’re a huntsman, but Claudia was no Diana-of-the-Forests, rushing hither and thither with a pack of hounds at her side and a quiver on her back. Claudia belonged to the city. And that, by Jupiter, was where she was heading after breakfast.

He said mildly, ‘So you won’t mind staying on, then?’

With care, she’d be home to catch the final throes of the Festival of Mars, with the Dance of the Salii and processions through the streets. There’d be music in every house, singing in every…

‘What did you say?’

Orbilio was studiously stripping young leaves off a willow. ‘Sergius is a good host, he’ll make us very comfortable.’

‘He can make you as comfortable as he likes. I’m out of here.’

‘We’re only talking about a day or two. Until this thing blows over.’

‘As far as I’m concerned, it’s blown over, and if you think this tacky little ruse is all it takes to separate me from my underwear, think again. And since you asked why I returned your letters, I’ll tell you.’

He looked up sharply. ‘Oh?’

‘You want me in your bed, Orbilio. I know it and you know it. But I have a past, remember? And the thing about men like you is that you never let me forget-Ow!’ His hands had closed round her upper arms and he was shaking her like a woollen doll.

‘Let go of me, you bastard!’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ His face shone white in the darkness. ‘Men like me!’

He released her as roughly as he’d grabbed hold of her.

Claudia rubbed her arms. With luck, there would be horrid purple weals in the morning to gnaw at his conscience.

‘This isn’t about your precious underwear, Claudia, this is about murder. Yes, I had a long talk with the Prefect, and he’s not carting you off to the lock-up-’

‘Bloody right! I’d have his balls in a pie-’

‘For gods’ sake, woman. Haven’t you got it through your thick skull yet? Macer doesn’t believe you, he doesn’t believe me, and if Junius returns, he won’t believe him, either.’ He combed his hands through his hair several times and when he spoke, his voice was level. ‘As far as the law is concerned, you are guilty of coldblooded, premeditated murder for which you were caught in the act.’

‘Oh really? So why aren’t I in chains?’

I might have no jurisdiction out here, Claudia, but I do have influence. High overhead, clouds began to roll in. ‘That’s the good news,’ he said quietly. ‘You’re under house arrest instead.’

*

With the spring equinox almost upon them and thus as many hours of daylight as dark, Marcus Cornelius Orbilio, despite his ride, was far from sleepy…and since Sergius ran his estate along the same lines as any other working farm, what better time to get a feel for the place, now Macer had trooped off to Tarsulae with the corpse? The Prefect had not taken kindly to outside intervention, reminding Orbilio bluntly that his boundaries lay within the walls of Rome and not poring over the remains of the deceased.

‘Unless’, he stressed nastily, ‘I ask for assistance.’

During the long pause that followed, neither man willing to drop his gaze, Orbilio began to sense that Macer was finding his sudden appearance somewhat suspicious, but only when he was forced to confess his was a private investigation, did he begin to grasp the full picture.

As far as the Prefect was concerned, Security Police or not, Marcus Cornelius Orbilio was a suspect. Possibly even an accomplice.

He might not have got far with his examination of Fronto’s corpse, but since Macer daren’t openly accuse him, Orbilio was free to make other investigations. Having already spoken to the Pictors, each the very essence of co-operation, what he wanted now was a good poke around.

The layout was standard-four blocks round a rectangular courtyard with the south wing for guests and the east being the family’s preserve, bedrooms, office, and so on. The west wing had been converted from store rooms into Tulola’s private quarters, with only the kitchens remaining, while terraced barracks walked up the hillside from the north wing to house the displaced servants and stores. Fanning out beyond were the more traditional farm buildings and workshops-all of which would be deserted this time of night. Apart from the security guards, the only person on the loose was young Salvian, and that solely because Macer had taken the rest of his entourage with him to Tarsulae, seconding his nephew to watch the prisoner.

Which was on a par with leaving a newborn infant in charge of a troop of baboons, thought Orbilio. Without even knowing it, she’d given him the slip, heaven help the boy when she put her mind to it.

It was always the same, he reflected cheerfully as he made his way round the crocodile enclosure, a myriad of torches lighting his path. Every encounter with Claudia Seferius spelled trouble with a capital T and sent the blood thundering through his veins like spring torrents. What would life be like without her? His limbs acquired an unaccustomed weightlessness as he pondered whether Vulcan’s own forge could produce as many sparks as that woman!

From the other side of the palisade, a black shape, as long as a man, slid silently into the water.

Orbilio had not expected an effusive wringing of his hand at the announcement of her house arrest, and could thus hardly claim disappointment. Reward came in the tearing of her hair, the release of a thousand trembling curls, and the flashing of her eyes.

There was a second bonus, too. ‘Men like you,’ she had hissed. Initially her words had sent his temper spinning out of control-until a flash of understanding got the better of him.

Spitting, snarling, snapping? This was part and parcel of Claudia’s defence mechanism.

Deep inside she was scared shitless…

To that inner sanctum, unassailable and unapproachable, Marcus Cornelius Orbilio had made a small but significant dent. Winning her trust, however, was going to be a tougher, longer and more complicated business than he reckoned, but I’ll get there, he thought. I’ll get there.

‘Glutton for punishment, aren’t you?’ he said conversationally to the figure coming towards him on the path.

The Etruscan dropped the bale of hay he was carrying and looked up. ‘It’s that time of year,’ he replied, wiping his brow with his sleeve. ‘Another week, maybe two, and a new batch of animals docks from Africa. We need to make room for them.’

For a moment Orbilio forgot the problems that lay ahead with that spitfire Claudia. He had, in the course of his cursory surveillance, seen the wide range of animals in Sergius’ menagerie, had heard about the tricks they could turn. The elephant who stands nonchalantly cross-legged. Seals that balance inflated pigs’ bladders on their noses. Ponies that curtsy. Monkeys strutting round in miniature army uniforms, even with their own monkey standard bearer. What he wouldn’t give to see a show like that! Striped horses, someone said, and leopards that lick hares. Mighty Mars, Pictor was teetering on the brink of a fortune-and so, although you wouldn’t guess from his face, it always looked serious, was the trainer.

‘I thought Sergius was shipping this lot to Rome for the Games?’ he said.

Corbulo grinned ruefully. ‘I don’t know whether he thought leopards would be like horses to train, but the message is starting to filter through.’ He heaved the bundle back on to his shoulder. ‘He’s resigned to missing April, but I’ve told him till I’m simple. You can’t hurry a project like this.’ He set off down the steps whistling under his breath. ‘Nature takes its own course.’

It certainly does around here. Orbilio was skirting the outhouses when strange grunts emanated from the ox stalls and he moved stealthily round to investigate. Was, he wondered, shaking his head in amusement, Tulola double-jointed or did that foot belong to the chap she was with, whose hair looked as though it had been cut with a ploughshare?

As he turned to leave them to it, he thought that in the faint, flickering light of a lantern at the far end of the barn, he detected movement. There it was again. Darting. Furtive. Twice more the shadow quivered and he edged silently round the haybales. He was barely halfway along before loud cries told him Tulola and her lover had climaxed. He heard a shuffle amongst the straw. Picking up the lantern, he raised it slowly. An ass blinked mournfully back.

‘Hey! Who’s down there?’

The Celtish accent was less than welcoming, and Orbilio turned the lamp to his own face. ‘Marcus,’ he shouted back. ‘I thought I heard noises.’

He heard Tulola’s deep chuckle in the darkness and felt, rather than saw, her pick up her tunic and walk naked back to the house.

‘Ach. Is nothing,’ Taranis yelled back, tucking his shirt into his pantaloons. ‘I just checking the stables.’ He slammed the door behind him and Orbilio heard footsteps running to catch up with Tulola.

With the barn to himself, he lifted the bar of the donkey’s stall. Someone had been here-the straw had been trampled where the watcher had waited. Why? Trapped and too embarrassed to excuse themselves? Orbilio crouched to search for clues. Or was there a more sinister purpose? Had the straw been crushed in an effort to crane a head over the barrier?

His mind busy on the peeping Tom, Orbilio stepped back and felt his boot slide on the slippery, shiny straw. Windmilling wildly, one arm knocked the pole as his other cannoned through the stall divider, knocking the lantern from its niche. The dry fodder caught instantly. Scratched and bleeding, Orbilio smothered the flames with his cloak, but it was not fast enough. Eyes rolling, the donkey bucked against the woodwork, terrified by the splintering and the smoke and the blood.

As he lunged to restrain the animal, his foot slipped sideways in something soft and he fell forwards just as the ass bolted out of its stall.

Prostrate on the barn floor, Orbilio stared at its galloping rear end, looked round at the demolition, looked at the sole of his boot and thought, ‘Shit.’