Man Eater

IX

Sulphur pools. The very thought conjures up visions of burning yellow treacle and the smell of eggs that have not fared well in the sunshine, of vulnerable invalids being purged by rich and zealous doctors. From parasites to paralysis, dropsy to dysentery, sufferers have been led like white bulls to the sacrificial altar to stew in the sweat baths and guzzle down jug after jug of crystalline emulsion, coming away relieved not of their symptoms but of several sesterces, but swearing until copper quadrans covered their eyes that they’d never felt fitter in their lives.

Claudia couldn’t wait.

Today, being a public holiday, humankind of every shape and variety had been drawn to this phenomenon of nature, whinging, laughing, splashing, grousing, and every damned one of them putting his heart and soul into it. You could almost sniff the roistering from the top of the hill, and it was as close to heaven as you could get away from Rome. Far from noxious, the air smelled fresh, like the sea, and even the rushing waters were blue, except where they swirled in the channels and over the rocks and thrashed white like the waves in the ocean.

An ox cart had set off at first light taking the women, the food and the servants while the men, apart from Pallas, enjoyed a hearty breakfast of pancakes before saddling up and racing each other like schoolboys. Claudia, who believed the only thing you should put on a horse was a bet, also declined Tulola’s offer to accompany her in her chariot, and opted for a good couple of hours’ gossip with Pallas and his considerable picnic breakfast in a fast, two-wheeled car.

‘Did you hear that Timoleon?’ He fanned away the dust kicked up by the hoofs. ‘“We Corinthians are born riders”? Croesus, that man must have a brass neck as well as brass balls.’

‘Oh?’

‘Well, look at him! He’s no more Greek than the Emperor.’ Pallas peered at his reflection in a silver serving dish propped against the buckboard.

‘You don’t like him, do you?’

‘Darling girl, I don’t like any of them,’ he replied cheerfully, smoothing his eyebrows into shape.

‘Excellent.’ Claudia snuggled up beside him. ‘Because if you can’t find a good word to say about these people, you’d better pass me a honeycake and tell me all about it.’

As a result, the journey whizzed along. Timoleon, he hold her, was a local boy, born near Tarsulae to farming stock. When the Emperor had diverted the road, his family had merely broadened their horizons and taken up banditry. It was only due to his age that the youngest brigand escaped execution and served five years in gladiator school instead, where he obviously worked hard to suppress his Umbrian accent and where he adopted the name Timoleon. After his sentence was up, he opted for a further three years in which he earned himself the name Scrap Iron as well as the immeasurable riches that went with the crowns.

Interesting, she thought, because not all his opponents would have been skilled fighters. The vast majority were common criminals sentenced to die in the arena. Like his own family, for instance.

Salvian, fearing conspiracy among the giggles, rode his horse closer to the car, the tuneless clanking of his ill-fitting armour drowning the boundary calls of the flycatchers, the courting coos of the turtle doves.

‘You never fancied joining up, then?’ He couldn’t always have been fat, and in his youth Pallas would have stood head and shoulders above the average legionary.

‘Me?’ He took a bite of black pudding and patted his ample girth. ‘You’ll not catch me with steel in my belly, better the surfeit than the sword.’

She thought long and hard about the next question. ‘And you never married?’

‘Oh, I married, I married. In fact, come to think of it,’ he grimaced theatrically, ‘I’m still married.’

Claudia’s affection for the fat man was growing stronger by the minute. ‘What went wrong?’

Pallas laughed, his chins shaking, and he wagged his pudgy finger. ‘You don’t want to know, you really, really don’t.’

With a whoop and a cheer, they overtook the plodding ox cart, resisting the urge to pull faces at Alis and Euphemia, and it was there, on the brow of the hill, that Claudia got her first glimpse of the sulphur pools. You could tell the channel that fed them by a straight line of wild cane stretching back to infinity but which terminated in a crashing, splashing waterfall the height of a cottage. Below these falls, a series of smaller cascades had been carved by the blue torrent to leave a score of shallow saucer-shaped pools, some no wider than a wine press, others the width of a bedroom, before the warm waters became lost in the river they tumbled into.

The same river where, stripped to his loincloth and plastered with grey-black mud, stood the man she most wanted to avoid. Silly cow, she told herself. Still can’t tell the difference between passion and compassion, can you? His eyes weren’t dark with lust last night, he was apologizing because he hadn’t cleared your name.

‘You made good progress.’ He rinsed the health-giving slime off his skin and bounded on to the bank.

‘I have just two words to say to you, Orbilio. One rhymes with pod, the other with toff.’

The gracious bow and twinkling eyes implied he hadn’t heard, but Claudia knew better. To her left, a small cave had been hollowed into the rock, its mouth covered by deerskins and guarded by a dragon, where freeborn women could rent bathing shifts. Claudia tipped the crone and marched inside.

‘Oi! Where d’you think you’re going?’ An aged claw snapped over Salvian’s wrist.

‘I’m ac-c-companying my prisoner.’

‘Not in ’ere, you ain’t. Not unless you’re a girlie.’ To the delight of the crowd, her hand whipped up his tunic and a raucous cackle confirmed her suspicions. ‘Nope.’ As women shrieked and men hooted, Claudia took advantage to duck round the drapes and up the steps of a tiny stone building with just two columns and a weathered old portico. Mingling with the throng, she became as anonymous as the next woman-unlike certain young men in full military uniform who stuck out like sore thumbs. Very, very sore thumbs.

The shrine, it seemed, served both Metaneira, the nymph who lived in the river, and Thoas, the sulphur god who plunged into her, and was suitably revered by men and women seeking improvements in their own love lives. And not all of them married to one another, to judge from the inscriptions on the lead sheets which had been so tenderly consigned to the sacred pool.

A pinched-nosed priestess dripping with gold filigree stood on call to aid the lovers, selling simple cyclamen at five times its value. Powder the root and he’s yours for ever, madam. Roving eye, dearie? My magic potion will cure that. Claudia sniffed the proffered flagon and detected only vervain. No wonder the old bag stooped with the weight of the gold!

Predictably the friezes were also of a suggestive nature, and you could hardly move for children sniggering and whispering as their grubby fingers traced the rudest of the paintings. Claudia kissed a coin and tossed it in the fountain for Metaneira, who, even if she possessed Tulola’s incredible stamina, must be heartily sick of Thoas’ attentions by now.

Outside, in what was now a Salvian-free zone, the place was buzzing. Theoretically, on public holidays you weren’t supposed to engage in trade or commercial activities, but try telling that to the people. Fortune-tellers predicted cures beyond the expectations of even the most optimistic of quacks and a group of lepers, fenced off from the healthy, clamoured to buy holy water for their wretched mutilations. Brown grasshoppers, as long as your little finger, bounded and chirruped and got crushed underfoot. From the pools there came squeals of delight, groans of relief, cries of encouragement as tetchy babies were coaxed into the shallows. Grown men squabbled over places in the pools, small boys held weeing contests under the waterfall.

Claudia clambered up steps hewn from the rock with the aid of a rope handrail, and inhaled. The smell of oceans and open spaces, of travel and adventure all rolled into one. Without warning the age-old feeling of restlessness welled up inside her. It was her craving for adventure that had got her into this mess and that self-same drive would probably bring about an early demise-but heaven knows it would be worth it. The thrill of the unknown! The excitement of each new, unfolding challenge!

I will always live life on the edge, she thought contentedly, gazing down on the saucers below. I cannot help it.

Here, at the top, the channel was narrow and surprisingly deep. Two portly gentlemen discussed oil prices as the blue-green waters gushed over their chests, and upstream Tulola’s Negroes laughed and joked and chased each other like elvers.

‘I’ve changed my mind about your henchman.’

‘Tulola! For gods’ sake, you nearly gave me heart failure.’

One carefully painted eyebrow rose provocatively. ‘Then I’d follow through with mouth-to-mouth.’

Dear Diana, was there no stopping this woman?

‘I’ve decided I want your delicious young Gaul after all.’

Even standard-issue shifts could not escape the Tulola treatment. She’d chosen a size too small to ensure her breasts and her hipbones stood out, leaving no one in any doubt that it wasn’t only her fingernails that had been hennaed. Her nipples looked like poppies through the thin, white cotton.

‘Despite his deficiencies?’

‘Because of them, sweetie.’ She brushed away a troublesome fly. ‘I rather like the idea of making him watch while I perform with a real man.’ A furrow appeared in her lovely brow. ‘Where is he, by the way?’

‘Around,’ Claudia replied airily, and counted to six before adding, ‘You recognized Fronto as the peeper, didn’t you?’

Tulola unleashed her throaty laugh. ‘My, my, you catch on quick, so I’ll let you into a secret.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I did recognize the face at my window but it wasn’t Fronto.’

‘Then who-’

‘Claudia! Claudia, for gods’ sake, is it true?’ Sergius came racing up the steps, wet hair plastered over his forehead. Salvian followed hot on his heels. Alis brought up the rear.

‘Is what true?’

Naked apart from a loincloth, Pictor’s physique was that of an athlete. Who could blame Alis for staying close? Far too many feminine eyelashes fluttered as he passed-and one or two masculine ones besides. Was that it? Was marriage to Alis a cover for his true orientation, good old Greek love?

‘This idiot says you’re under house arrest, he’s to watch you day and night.’

‘I have no idea what his instructions are, but I rather think following me into the changing rooms goes beyond the call of duty.’

The boy’s eyes bulged in alarm. ‘I didn’t kn-kn-know it was for w-women,’ he protested, his face once again matching his tunic. ‘Honestly Claudia.’

But when they looked round, she had vanished.

Launching herself into the cascade was one of the most exhilarating experiences of her life. The force of the torrent coupled with the utter helplessness was one of the most powerful feelings on earth. All too quickly it deposited her in a deep, warm pool that tasted faintly of mint and whose currents pummelled and massaged every inch of your skin. Breathless, she surged upwards out of the foaming waters and felt the spray dance on her face.

‘Good of you to drop in.’

On a rock at the edge of the waterfall, his legs swinging nonchalantly, sat the most infuriating policeman she had ever had the misfortune to meet. Dogged was not the word. In future she would need to trail aniseed.

‘You have the adhesive qualities of a leech, Orbilio, and only two-thirds of the charm.’

As fast as an otter she dived back down, but there was nowhere to go. As he well knew, because when she surfaced for air he hadn’t moved so much as one well-developed muscle.

‘Do you like children?’ he asked, his eyes fixed on a small boy, naked as nature intended, holding his sister’s head in an armlock as he tried to kick her legs from under her.

‘Too chewy,’ Claudia snapped.

‘How many should we have, do you think? Three? Four?’

Godsdammit, he was doing it again. Using sex appeal as a decoy. Except last night, what she’d mistaken for lust had been nothing more than a tweak of guilt at leaving her under a shadow. How could she have been so stupid?

‘Orbilio, do me a favour. Hold your head underwater till nightfall, will you?’

‘Come on, admit it. Admit that you love me. Admit you didn’t mean what you said last night! I didn’t.’

‘About me being accused of murder?’

‘No. About you keeping hold of your precious underwear.’

After splashing around like a demented tadpole for ten minutes, she realized there was no alternative but to accept the offer of that irritating outstretched hand. Slooop! She was out of the water like a cork from an oil jar.

‘You know, it could have been Junius,’ he said, passing her a towel.

I like a thrill, Orbilio, but I don’t employ homicidal maniacs simply to avoid the odd spot of boredom. Claudia rubbed her wet curls vigorously. ‘Yes, I heard it was a hobby of his, carving up strangers with a kitchen knife.’

‘He could have killed Fronto to protect you.’

Claudia lifted the cloth and peered underneath. ‘His job, my clever investigative friend, is to protect me. If he felt I was being threatened, I rather think he’d have mentioned it.’

Orbilio’s toes splashed in the water. ‘Not if the motivations weren’t entirely straightforward.’

Slowly Claudia lowered the towel. ‘Meaning?’

‘Let’s suppose, for the sake of argument, there was a green-eyed monster prowling around at the same time.’

‘Junius? Grow a brain, Orbilio. The boy’s a slave.’

‘He’s not a boy, and as for slavery, I recall he was offered his freedom and refused. Unusual behaviour, wouldn’t you say?’

Downright peculiar, now you come to mention it. ‘That was ages ago. He helped me out of a jam and in return my husband offered him a straight choice between money and freedom. Under Seferius rules, you only get one bite at the pomegranate.’

Orbilio’s gaze continued to rest on the children. Three more bare-bottomed toddlers had come to join them, and they were chasing each other round the saucer rims, squealing and squeaking, last one standing the winner. Their mothers might fuss and fret and turn grey with worry, but when you’re eight years old, there is no such thing as danger and the slippery, slidy basins were just one more piece on the board.

‘It never occurred to you why he might have taken the money?’

‘Why does anyone take the money?’ Claudia didn’t bother to hide the exasperation in her voice. ‘Look, we’re doing the same thing as those kids down there, going round and round in circles. Junius serves as my personal bodyguard because he’s trustworthy and he’s loyal. I haven’t forgiven him for running off to you, but I’m damned sure he didn’t do it because his conscience was at risk.’

‘Why not? He sees Fronto, a complete stranger, knocking at your door and suddenly he thinks, why him? Why not me? So-’

‘That’s a damned good question, Orbilio. Why would I invite Fronto into my bedroom an hour before dawn?’

‘-racked with jealousy, Junius runs off to the kitchens-which, incidentally, are in close proximity to your bedroom-grabs a knife and wallop. How’s he supposed to know you would fall under suspicion?’

‘I repeat, why should Fronto come to my room? Do I look desperate?’

‘Claudia Seferius, you know full well what Fronto was doing there.’

She slapped her hand against her forehead. ‘Does nobody listen to me? I have never-never, ever, ever-seen the dung-beetle before in my life!’

His eyes homed in on hers. Is that the truth, they signalled.

Shame on you for asking, hers flashed back.

Then I can safely assume it’s all a pack of lies, his replied, dancing with laughter.

Claudia snapped her gaze away. Down on the riverbank, a group of musicians was setting up to entertain the hordes and overhead a kestrel was being run out of town by a flock of starlings. The urge to run with it was overwhelming, but he would only follow. Boy tribunes were easy to shake off-create a diversion and go-but Orbilio was no Salvian.

‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ he said suddenly. ‘Green and lush, throbbing with vitality. It’s as though Venus herself came down and scattered scallop shells under the waterfall.’

Claudia felt her muscles tense. Dammit, he had no right to do this! ‘Don’t tell me, the water is as liquid larkspur, the air as pure as-’

‘There’s no poetry in your soul, you know that? Well, if you want to talk business, that’s fine by me. Let’s discuss your previous run-in with Quintilian, shall we?’

She picked a violet and began to pluck its petals off. ‘I haven’t a clue what you’re waffling on about.’

‘Let me refresh your memory. Firstly there was the tenement deal, then you diddled him out of his land in Campania-’

‘Rubbish! It was up for sale and my bid was the best.’ How the hell did he find out about that? ‘I rather fancy a villa in the suburbs-’

‘It wasn’t on the open market, though, was it? The Senator already had a gentleman’s agreement with the agent.’

Of course. Cleverclogs has a whole network of spies, and like the threads of a fungus, they are deceptively widespread. ‘Can I help it if the seller got greedy? Besides, there are times when a purchaser has a moral responsibility towards certain lands. I personally feel that in this particular case he was right to sell to the person most sympathetic to the existing landscape and the established way of life. What’s so funny?’

‘Nothing. It’s just that, for a second there, I thought you were referring to yourself. Ow!’

Since a backflip from her towel did nothing to eliminate the maddening sparkle in his eyes, Claudia concentrated on footholds as she made a direct ascent up the rockface. Free from Salvian, free from Supersnoop, free from the ragbag Pictor family, she could throw herself into the holiday spirit and get blissfully lost in the throng. Phrygian melodies hung in the air-harp and pipes and tambourine. There was probably dancing going on, as well.

The climb was stiffer than it looked, but these were man-made crevices and, dammit, she would not be beaten. Not with Supersleuth watching her progress. Nearly there. Nearly… Her hand slipped and, flailing out, she grabbed the nearest solid object, an upright leather pole, and levered herself over the ledge. It was only when she’d rolled both knees safely on to turf that Claudia began to wonder what a leather-covered pole was doing up there in the first place.

‘I’ve b-been looking everywhere f-for you!’

Pole? Claudia had both hands round a leather-clad military ankle. She released Salvian’s boot and glued a very broad smile into place. ‘Now there’s a coincidence,’ she said brightly. ‘Because I’ve been searching all over for you, too.’

And it could have been the rush of the waters, but she thought she caught a rich baritone laugh float up from below.