Stone Cold

Twenty-Three

The air in the Governor's atrium was kept cool by high, vaulted ceilings and an abundance of marble, and kept fragrant with fountains and roses. Satinwood inlaid with ivory and mother-of-pearl gleamed in the muted, late-morning sunshine, while family shrines embellished with silver offered libations of the very best vintage. Looking at the proud ancestors staring into eternity from their lofty stone pedestals and at the famous victories celebrated in mosaic and paint, Orbilio could have been home.

As slaves washed his feet and massaged the skin with oil of peppermint, serving girls plied him with dates stuffed with almond paste and tiny pancakes dripping with honey. Since he hadn't eaten for over twenty-four hours, his stomach would have preferred something savoury to line it. A thick steak of tender young lamb, for example, or a gravy-filled venison pie, but beggars can't be choosers, and he wolfed down the sweetmeats at a speed not normally associated with the aristocracy.

'Sorry to keep you waiting, m'boy!' The Governor's voice boomed down the hall. 'Needed to tie up the last few strands of paperwork. Nasty old business, what?'

Orbilio gulped down the last pancake before the plate was whisked away. 'Indeed, sir.'

'You've done Rome a great service, lad, ridding us of those scum.' A large paw clapped him on the back. 'And to think my chief scribe was the orchestrator!'

'I noticed he wasn't among the prisoners in the yard,' Orbilio observed smoothly. It didn't take a genius to guess that the chief scribe was the last of the Governor's 'paperwork', no doubt left alone with a sharp sword to fall on, or perhaps that old favourite, a nice cup of hemlock.

'Better this office is kept out of it,' the Governor said, shrugging. 'Shit sticks and we can't afford to have one bad apple contaminate the barrel, can we?'

'No, sir.'

'Must say, m'boy, you handled this whole thing exceptionally well-'

'I hardly think so,' he protested. 'The nightwatchman was butchered, a seven-year-old defiled-'

'Eggs and omelettes, lad. Eggs and omelettes.' The Governor waved his objections away with a massive hand. 'You've cut off the head of a heinous monster. The gang's finished, thanks to you, and now we have the names of the bastards involved-'

Yes, Orbilio had heard the screams ringing out from the prison, and that was the thing, of course. Since none of the gang had opted for Roman citizenship, torture was a legitimate method to extract information. And a satisfying one, judging by the smiles on their inquisitors' faces. A lot of the men in the garrison had children the same age as the girl in that dark, dingy attic…

"The credit for this is all Zina's,' he said. 'She went out on a limb for what she believed in, knowing it would tear her family apart.'

'Like to meet this plucky little minx. Where is she?'

'Governor, I have absolutely no idea,' Marcus said, spiking his hands through his hair.

She was at his side when they burst open the attic door. She was at his side when they carried the whimpering child down the stairs. She was at his side when the soldiers burst in and arrested her stepfather. But at some point between rounding up the rest of the gang, finding a caring home for the victim, searching the boatyard and rushing back to the villa to spread the word about the manhunt, Zina had taken herself off.

'That girl is a law unto herself,' he added ruefully.

The Governor leaned forward to whisper in confidence, 'My mistress is a Gaul, so you ain't telling me anything new, lad. Minds of their own, won't do a damn thing you tell 'em. Just as well our Roman gels don't grow up like that, what?'

Marcus thought of Claudia and said nothing.

'What d'you say we give that Zina of yours a commendation?'

'I think, sir, that she'd much prefer a gold bracelet.'

The Governor's laugh echoed round the atrium. 'That can be arranged, but dammit I've a seven-year-old granddaughter meself. Even if Rome don't thank her officially, I'd like to express my personal gratitude, and it's important I get the sequence of events right. Don't suppose you'd mind running through it again, would you, lad?'

'Not at all, sir.'

After the chaos of the last twenty-four hours, he welcomed the chance to put things in order, if only for his own peace of mind.

'As you know, Zina left an anonymous tip-off at the inn where I was staying. For some time, she'd been suspicious of her stepfather's movements, thinking he was cheating on her mother, so she followed him. It was only when she saw him handing over a child tied up in a blanket that she put two and two together about the beggar children who'd gone missing.'

'Those rumours never came to my ears,' the Governor growled. 'Bastard scribe made sure of that.'

Orbilio wasn't going to allow himself to be distracted at this stage. 'From snatches of conversation that she'd overheard, Zina was convinced someone in authority was behind the child sex ring. That's why she approached me. Fresh from Rome, she hoped I'd be unbiased, but kept an eye on me just to make sure I wasn't part of the operation or about to cut myself a slice of this very lucrative cake.'

The surveillance man under surveillance himself!

'She realized I was serious the night they handed over another small victim, when Rintox the nightwatchman was killed.' He saw no reason to tell anyone, least of all the Governor, that a seventeen-year-old girl knocked him out cold when he'd drawn his dagger, intending to rush the gang singlehanded! 'Outnumbered, there was nothing we could do, especially since we didn't know who was masterminding the abductions.'

What they hadn't realized, of course, was that they'd been looking at the whole thing back to front.

'When Zina first saw her stepfather by the river handing over a child, she assumed they were bringing the kid ashore.'

This had coloured Orbilio's thinking, too. Her note was so specific — who, what, where and why — that he hadn't thought to question the 'how' side of it, and when he'd heard the muffled whimpers the night Rintox died he, too, had assumed she'd come by boat.

'That's what niggled Zina,' he explained. 'Why didn't we hear any wheels or hooves? Then she realized the girl must already have been imprisoned in her stepfather's yard, and the boat hadn't come to collect her. It had come to take her away."

'To that stinking den upriver with the sign of the Black Boar.' The Governor snorted. 'Knew it was a gambling den, of course, but no matter whether gaming is against the law or not, m'boy, it ain't going to stop. Far better we know where and keep an eye on it than have it disappear underground, where we can't trace it.'

Bear-fights, dog-fights, fist-fights, cock-fights, everything went on at that old shack by the river, because the minute you brand a vice illegal its popularity soars, as everyone wants a bite of the action. Rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief, they were all there, at the sign of the Black Boar. The chief scribe merely saw a business opportunity opening up. Guttersnipes, who'd miss them? Their parents, who should have known better than to keep breeding children like rabbits? Half of them were orphans anyway, the product of drunkards and brawlers who'd dug their own graves with their wine jugs. What loss to society were scum like that?

'Your scribe knew a lot of men who would pay handsomely for tender young flesh.'

Heaven knows how. Orbilio hadn't had a single bite from the perverted requests he'd put out. Perhaps it was some secret club? More likely, he thought, he hadn't been in town long enough to be trusted. Paedophiles operate in stealth, but, more importantly, they never rush what they're doing.

'For him, the boatbuilder and the rest of the gang,' he told the Governor, 'it was purely a business transaction.'

'Be interesting to see how highly they value their profits on the long haul to Rome. How many sesterces being paraded through the streets is worth, when garbage and dog shit are thrown in their faces, and even more interesting to see how far their ill-gotten gains take 'em during a protracted and painful execution, what?'

Did torturing the torturers make it right? Hell, Orbilio didn't have seven-year-old granddaughters. Who was he to judge?

'Thanks to Zina following her stepfather the other night, and seeing coins change hands outside the Black Boar, she was able to sneak in and determine the situation.'

'Bastards.' The Governor all but spat. 'Don't suppose y'know what happened to the poor little sods who had gone before her, do you?'

'No, sir, but we can guess.' He'd seen for himself the ease with which Rintox's throat had been cut. That kind of handiwork didn't come without practice.

'Well, good work anyway. Both of you!' The Governor rubbed his jowls thoughtfully. 'Y'know, we could use a chap of your calibre in Santonum. Seen your record, lad. Nigh on a hundred per cent detection rate, what? I tell you, Aquitania needs men like you.'

'I, um…'

'I'm serious, Marcus. The Security Police has no representation here. Reporting directly to me, you'd pick your own men, set up your own team and run the whole damn shooting match yourself. What d'you say?'

Orbilio drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. Claudia didn't want him. His wife had divorced him for a sea captain in Lusitania. Why go home? Why slog his guts out for a boss who didn't appreciate him, among a family who despised his choice of career?

'I'll certainly give it my serious consideration, sir.'

'Can't imagine why you don't jump at the chance.' The Governor grinned. 'Short winters ain't to be sniffed at, there's excellent hunting to be had in the forests and, take my word for it, lad, these Santon women know how to keep a chap warm at night.'

As Orbilio's fist made a salute he was hardly aware of, he wondered why he wasn't biting the Governor's hand off. Head of the Security Police in the steadily rising province of Aquitania while still a month short of his twenty-eighth birthday was not to be sneezed at. All the same, there were more pressing matters right now.

'Zina?' he called up from outside. 'Are you home?'

He was pretty sure she'd taken herself home after her stepfather's arrest. Her poor mother would be riddled with guilt not only for harbouring a monster, but living off the proceeds of his evil trade. But Black Eyes still hadn't grasped that she wasn't Marcus-my-lord's woman, and, sure enough, as he bounded up the stairs, he smelled bacon with lentils cooking on the stove, along with the scent of fresh crusty bread.

'Zina, the Governor wants to-'

It was as far as he got. As he pushed open the door, once again Orbilio's world exploded in a million white stars.