The Mammoth Book of Locked-Room Mysteries And Impossible Crimes

Marilyn Todd worked as a PA before setting up her own secretarial agency, but these days she writes full time. She is the author of the audaciously delightful series of mysteries set in ancient Rome, in the early days of the Empire. The first was I, Claudia (1995), and the series currently runs to six volumes. This is her second Claudia short story, but the first “impossible” murder.

Fat and replete against the trunk of an ancient oak tree, the old boar suddenly snorted awake. What was that? Hairy ears pricked forward, straining, craning – but through the dappled shade they discerned only the liquid trill of a flycatcher, the rustle of foraging beetles. Unconvinced, he lifted his snout and sniffed the sultry air. Ripe woodland raspberries. Chanterelles. The musk of a badger who’d passed through last night. Familiar scents, which should have reassured a seasoned tusker – yet the bristles down his back refused to be pacified. Obedient to a million years of instinct, the old boar lumbered to his feet.

Then he smelled it.

Dog! Dog and… and – He was halfway up the bank before he placed the memory.

Man.

Dog and man, and as he shambled towards the brow of the hill, the glade behind him filled with alien sounds. The clash of steel. Shouts. Baying. And the sickening scratch and slither as frantic claws sought a purchase on the slippery leaf litter…

Only once did the old boar glance back. The hunt was gaining. One man was way out in front now, the sunlight off the hunter’s long spear blinding the boar’s button eyes. This was not his first brush with the enemy. Last time, when he’d stupidly allowed himself to be cornered, he escaped only by goring two dogs to death and leaving one human male badly gashed. Even then, someone shot an arrowhead into his haunch, but he’d been lucky. The barb dropped out as he ran and the wound quickly healed. Nevertheless, it was a lesson learned the hard way and today the stakes were higher than ever.

The first litter of the year had been raised, this was the mating season again. The old tusker had sows and his territory to protect…

And so it was, crashing through the undergrowth, with the smell of sweat and metal closing fast, that the wily boar prepared his defence-

II

“Disappeared?” A little worm wriggled in Claudia’s stomach, leaving behind an icy cold trail. “Cypassis, grown men don’t vanish in broad daylight in front of a dozen other men.”

But her tone did not match the strength of her argument – goddammit, the hunt was turning into a nightmare! First her bodyguard, Junius, was stretchered home, bloodied and unconscious, having lost his footing up on the ridge. Then two more men returned, wounded and weak. And now we hear that another member of the party’s come a cropper…

“Exactly how is Soni supposed to have performed this feat of magic?” she asked. Dear me, the lengths men go to for a few yellowed tusks and some antlers to hang on the wall! “Taken wings, like Pegasus?”

“I know it sounds ridiculous,” said her ashen-faced maid. “But apparently Soni was leading the hunt one minute and – pfft! gone the next. There was talk of a boar – perhaps that distracted him, maybe he took off alone, but the point is, he hasn’t come home – and – and-” Cypassis spread her large hands in a gesture of helplessness. “And the worrying part is, no-one really cares that he’s missing.”

Yes, well, Claudia thought. They wouldn’t be the first rich bastards not to give a toss about their slaves. “Have you questioned the bearers?” she asked. Surely they’d care that one of their number might lie at the mercy of ferocious wild beasts?

“That lot!” Cypassis sneered. “Within ten minutes of returning, they were too drunk to string two words together!”

“And Junius?” Claudia ventured. “I suppose he can’t shed light on the matter?”

“Still no change in the poor boy’s coma,” Cypassis said sadly, and a nail drove itself in to Claudia’s heart.

It was her fault Junius was on the ferry landing, poised to cross the River Styx. A lump formed in her throat and refused to subside. The trouble was, the young Gaul had been so eager to join this morning’s hunt! She paced her bedroom floor and put the stinging in her eyes down to the brilliance of the setting sun. Max, the hunt’s organizer had been against it from the start -Junius being a rank amateur and all that – but Claudia had prevailed, pleading her bodyguard’s case that the last time he’d been hunting had been as a ten-year-old lad with his father, long before he’d become a slave through the wars.

Also, she wanted to give Junius a treat.

Max’s hunts were famed the length and breadth of Italy – rich businessmen handed over small fortunes for the privilege of being one of the few – and if her bodyguard was to go hunting, dammit, he might as well go with the best! And now look. Waxy and pale, barely breathing, they’d scraped him up from the foot of a gully and carried him home on a stretcher.

“He’ll be fine,” she assured Cypassis. “I’ve seen these head wounds before, it’s simply a question of time.”

Liar. She’d never seen one in her life, had no idea whether Junius would pull through or not, but there was no point in both of them worrying themselves to a frazzle.

“And you can stop fretting about Soni. He was the star of today’s show and, trust me, heroes don’t pop like bubbles.” Sweet Minerva’s magic, to hear them talk, you’d think the boy was a god in the making, not simply another bearer Max had trained up!

“They said he led the hunt from the start,” Cypassis said breathlessly. “Ran like a hare, according to one. Even uphill. Even weighed down with his javelin and arrows!”

Remembering his bunched muscles and stomach harder than permafrost, it was easy to see why Cypassis had been so eager to fulfil her errand of seeking out the young slave. Claudia glanced at the girl’s bosom, bouncing and generous like puppies in hay, and knew that no man alive had yet rejected charms given so freely and yet totally without obligation. Cypassis loved ’em and left ‘em, usually with dazed grins on their faces and memories warm enough to last them a lifetime, and Soni – red-blooded hunk that he was – would be putty in those broad Thessalian hands. If Wonderboy was missing, it was certainly not because he was hiding!

With Claudia’s bodyguard out of action, who better, she’d thought, than Soni for a replacement? His skill, his courage, his cunning had been praised from the rafters, and let’s not forget his strength and his stamina. Thus, Cypassis had been despatched to fetch him with a view to sounding him out, but that had been over two hours ago…

Across the atrium, where cedar-scented oil lamps hung from every pillar, where water cascaded down five circular tiers of a fountain and where marble athletes wrestled, boxed or weighed up the discus, an orchestra suddenly struck up, making her jump. Every note from the horns and the cymbals, the trumpets and drums dripped testosterone.

“Oh, no! The banquet!” Cypassis clapped her hands over her mouth. “I didn’t realize it was so late!” She scurried across to Claudia’s jewel box and rooted out a handful of ivory pins. “There’s your hair to pin up, your shoes need a buff-”

“You concentrate on finding Soni,” Claudia said. Any fool can give their sandals a rub on the back of her calves, and as for her curls – well, they’d simply have to get on with it. “Unless,” she grinned, “you’d rather I approached someone else?”

Deep dimples appeared in Cypassis’ cheeks, and some of the colour returned. “I’ll settle for Soni,” she grinned back. “I hear he holds his women as tight as his liquor!”

Masculine voices boomed out in the hall, laughing, recounting, reliving, as they made their way to the banquet and Claudia clipped on earstuds shaped like a bee. Gold – naturally. A present from Max. She buffed up her armband, inlaid with carnelian and pearls, another gift, and fixed a filigree silver tiara into her hair. The tiara had been the first in this generous line, along with alabaster pots containing precious Arabian perfumes, intricate onyx figurines and rare spices all the way from the Orient.

Despite knives scraping against plate, silver platters being cleared and replaced, despite music and voices growing louder and louder, as though each had to compete with the other, Claudia made no move to join the men in the banqueting hall. Instead she leaned her elbows on the warm windowsill. The setting sun had sponged the enveloping hills a warm heather pink and the mew of the peacocks strutting on the lawn cut through the rasp of the crickets and the low-pitched croon of the hoopoe. Far in the distance, a wagon clattered over the cobbles, bringing home the last of the harvest. Down in the fertile lowlands of the Tiber, the wheat would have been threshed and winnowed a whole month before and would already be piled in granaries guarded by tomcats. But this was Aspreta, hilly and wooded, deep in the Umbrian hills.

This was the land of the huntsman.

Of one man in particular, Max – who had tamed the wild woods around his sumptuous villa to create vast landscaped gardens awash with artificial lakes, temples and grottoes. With watercourses rippling their way down the hillsides. With fishponds and porticoes and foaming white fountains, which the dying sun had transmuted into molten copper. A skein of ducks flew overhead, and the air was rich with the smell of freshly scythed grass and the merest hint of ripe apples. It was surely impossible for anything sinister to have occurred in this Umbrian idyll. There would, Claudia felt certain, be a perfectly simple explanation for Soni’s disappearance…

She poured herself a glass of chilled Thracian wine and sipped slowly. Dear me, Max’s lands were so vast, a girl had to positively squint to even see the hunting grounds from the villa. A smile twisted one side of her mouth. Oh, yes. This was definitely the right decision, accepting his invitation to stay…

She pictured her host, tanned and blond, lean and muscular, and knew that the sight of him in an open-shouldered hunting tunic cut high above the knee had fluttered many a female heart in its time-

Max. She rolled the name around on her tongue. Max. Ducatius Lepidus Glabrio Maximus to be precise, but known (for obvious reasons) as Max. And this fabulous estate was his. Or more accurately, was his and his alone. No wife – Max divorced wives like most men shuck peas – but more importantly, no heirs either. Claudia sighed happily. That’s right. No little Max’s running around, waiting to inherit the pile. Idly she wondered how quickly a girl might conceive, to redress this obvious imbalance…

The sun sank below the hilltops, swamping the valley in its garnet embrace, as swallows made their final parabolas over the lake. A perfect night for seduction, she reflected. A perfect night for-

A gentle tap on the door cut through her reverie. “Claudia?”

Many a fair-skinned man will suffer for a day outdoors in the sun, but the hunt had had the opposite effect on Claudia’s host. It had deepened his tan, lightened his hair, and set off the white of his linen tunic to Greek god perfection.

“Are we too raucous for you, darling?” Aegean blue eyes ranged over the arch of her breasts, her exquisite jewels, the rich tangle of curls piled high on her head. “Is that why you haven’t joined us?”

“Are you sure you want me?” she countered, as the door closed softly behind him. “I am, after all, the only female guest and… well, boys will be boys and all that.”

“Janus, how could I not want you?” His eyes were smoky, his voice a rasp. “Claudia-” He opened his clenched fist to reveal a shining sapphire ring. “It’s a betrothal ring.”

Oh, Max. How predictable you men are!

“Oh, Max, this is so unexpected!”

For a minute he said nothing, and she watched the rise and fall of his magnificent chest. Then, as he was about to speak, the moment was broken when, emitting a cry not unlike a strangled cat, one of the peacocks on the lawn shook its tailfeathers then spread them in a brilliant display of iridescence to a pair of peahens who continued to strut with total indifference.

“Isn’t it risky, allowing such precious birds to roam free?” Claudia asked, as he advanced towards her, his soft leather sandals making no sound on the dolphin mosaic. He smelled faintly – very faintly – of almonds. “Suppose your wild beasts fancied a nibble? They’d surely be the easiest of targets.”

“In my business,” Max whispered, his hand slipping round the curve of her waist, “a man can leave nothing to chance.”

For a beat of six, Claudia watched as the drab peahens flapped in to the branch of a walnut tree, to settle down for the night. Then she gently removed his hand. The peacock’s fantail fell limp.

“Over that hill -” Max swept the rejected arm towards a spot far on the horizon as though that had been its original intention “- runs a high perimeter fence with some pretty ferocious spikes on the top.” He laughed. It was a melodious, gentle, masculine laugh, pitched seductively low. “The only threat to these beautiful birds is my cook. He claims their roasted flesh is delicious!”

And when searching blue eyes bored deep into her own, Claudia saw a man who was very much pleased with himself. Not smug, not self-satisfied. Just quietly confident, like a man who’s achieved something special. Any other time and she’d have put that down to his counting all those lovely gold pieces that he’d fleeced off the men who were so noisily swilling his wine – had it not been for that little matter of the sapphire ring.

“That perimeter fence,” he continued, “was erected not only to keep my hunting beasts in, but also to keep other animals out. Since I breed my own stock,” he whispered, and she felt his breath on her cheek, “I can’t risk weakening the strain by letting them loose with the native population. My bears, for instance, are particularly belligerent, and it’s touches like these that give my hunts their – shall we say, competitive edge.”

Claudia knew what he meant. Only last year, the scion of one of Rome’s leading tribunes had died of wounds received whilst tangling with one of Max’s famous wild wolves – an incident which, far from deterring others, had in fact doubled the hunter’s trade. The greater the danger, apparently, the more men wanted a slice – especially rich men, who had never seen action in war. It was a pretty bizarre consequence for two decades of peace, but man’s compulsion to dance with Death had made Max wealthy in the extreme. Who was Claudia Seferius to decry a system that worked?

“Somehow we seem to have drifted away,” he said quietly, “from the subject of this little trinket…”

The drifting was not accidental. “Max, this isn’t the time.” Claudia kept her gaze on the horizon. “With the banquet in full swing, you should be there for your guests.”

He lifted the back of her hand to his lips and kissed it lightly. “Beauty. Intelligence. And impeccable manners, as well. Darling, you and I will forge a brilliant alliance.”

Claudia said nothing, and it was only when she was alone once more in her bedroom that she realized that, somewhere along the line, Max had pressed the betrothal ring into the palm of her hand. She slipped it on to her finger and watched the light reflect off its facets.

Hot damn, this was working out well.

III

“To Claudia!”

“Hurrah for the lady!”

“A toast to Claudia Seferius!”

One cheer after another ran round the banqueting hall, drowning the flutes in the background. All this, she thought, because I was the one who put Max on to Soni at the slave auction – what would they have been like, had she suggested he purchase a whole string! Goblets chinked, roasts were carved, and plates of salmon and oysters and hazel hens were passed round as slaves continuously topped up the wine. Except. Claudia coaxed a scallop out of its shell. Except Max had only bought the one slave, and what a magnificent specimen he was, this Soni from Gaul.

As a Greek balladeer recounted Jason’s triumphant lifting of the Golden Fleece, Claudia leaned against the arm of her couch and thought back to her first meeting with Max. Was it really only three weeks ago? So much had changed in that short space of time. She popped the scallop into her mouth and reflected that, without that chance meeting at the slave auction, she would not be here tonight as… well, as “guest of honour”, shall we say, of the man on whom Rome’s wealthiest citizens descended with greater regularity than a double dose of prunes, and where small fortunes changed hands for the gamble of turning wives into widows…

“See this?” A portly marble merchant on the couch opposite lifted the hem of his tunic to show his fellow diners a livid red scar. “The puncture wound was so bloody deep, I’m left with a permanent limp, but he was a plucky bugger, I tell you. Game to the end.”

“Call that a scar?” The magistrate beside him yanked at his neckline to expose a long and jagged line, barely healed. “Compared to mine, yours is a scratch.”

Much to the balladeer’s confusion, all eight then began dismantling expensive clothing in a bid to compare injuries, each insisting theirs was the worst while swearing at the same time that their quarry was the bravest, the toughest, possessing by far the most guile – ever. The singer’s words became drowned in the melee and Max shot a slow, but happy wink at Claudia. He had noticed, then, the ring which she wore on her finger…

Perhaps not as rich as Midas, hunts which were famed the length and breadth of Italy had enabled Max to not only purchase this fabulous villa stuffed with antiques and fine art, but lands that stretched to every horizon. No, sir. Claudia impaled a prawn on her knife. Without that chance meeting in Rome, Claudia Seferius would not be sitting here tonight with the man around whom Great Plans revolved…

Sometimes, she reflected, the gods on Olympus do smile down on mortals. Her mind drifted back. She’d been crossing the Forum from the east and another man had been crossing the Forum from the west. Marcus Cornelius Orbilio, to be precise, but- But dammit the man’s name was not important! What mattered was that the sweetest of all goddesses, Fortune (may her name live for ever), Fortune arranged for the slave auction to be held smack in the middle of their crossing paths. And Marcus Cornelius, god bless him, knew Max…

Marcus.

Marcus Cornelius.

Marcus Cornelius Orbilio.

Something skittered inside her when she pictured his face and she gulped at her wine to settle the jitters. Pfft! So what if he was tall and dark and – all right – not exactly bad looking? Who cared that his hair was wavy, except where it sometimes fell over his forehead, and that he wore the long tunic of a patrician? Marcus Whatsisname Thingy meant nothing to her. Nothing whatsoever. Less than zilch. In fact, the only reason her pulse raced now was owing to the lack of legality of certain scrapes she’d been in, seeing as how Supersnoop was attached to the Security Police.

In fact, that’s what she’d been doing in the Forum, returning from some rather dodgy dealings, but hell, what other option is there, when merchants conspire to freeze a young widow out of the wine trade that she’d been thrust into after inheriting her late husband’s business? Goddammit she’d married the old goat for his money, the least others could do is allow her to spend it. But no. Supersnoop’s always there, sticking his investigative snout in her business, hoping to catch her red-handed. One day he’d cotton on that she was too damned smart for him, but in the meantime Marcus God-but-I’m-handsome Orbilio had, for once in his miserable life, come up trumps.

Until then, Claudia was stuck with relying on moneylenders, con-tricks and bluff to keep the creditors at bay, but Fortune was favouring more than the brave that day. She was favouring Claudia Seferius. It was obvious, from their frosty introductions, that the two men weren’t exactly bosom buddies and chances are the meeting would have come to nothing – had Max not then excused himself, saying he needed to purchase a slave from the block.

“Just the one?” Claudia had asked. Normally people picked up quite a number. “One is hardly worth coming to Rome for.”

Suddenly the opening was there for the blond hunter to score points over his aristocratic rival. “My lovely Claudia,” Max had rasped, his eyes stroking her curves. “For me, one person is always enough.” Arched eyebrows indicated the auction block. “Which of those slaves would you recommend?”

“It depends on what qualities you’re looking for,” she’d purred back, with barely a glance in Marcus’ direction.

“In men,” Max replied huskily, “it has got to be staying power. Don’t you agree?”

“I wouldn’t settle for anything less.” From the corner of her eye, she saw the flush rise on Marcus’ face and, noticing Junius jabbering away in his native tongue to a fellow Gaul beside the auction block, she found it delectably easy to add, “Personally, I’ve always found Gauls to have extremely strong backs…”

Marcus by that time was glaring daggers and Max, capitalizing on this sexual undercurrent, instantly bid for the Gaul, whose name, it transpired, was Soni. The same Soni who had done the hunt so proud today.

All in all, Claudia thought, things were going exceedingly well…

Especially that exquisite moment when, swallowing his pride, Orbilio enquired whether he might attend Max’s forthcoming hunt. Knowing these were extravaganzas to die for, Claudia watched his face turn to thunder when Max oh-so-politely informed him that, alas, he only ever took ten men on a hunt and, he was so very sorry, but the next was fully booked…

As it happened, Claudia had been in the courtyard this morning when the hunt had set off. And there were eight men present, not ten. Dear me, she really must remember to mention that numbers thing to Marcus next time she saw him-

If she saw him again. The chances were, now he knew she was ensconced here with Max, he’d stop pestering her and stick his nose into someone else’s illegal wranglings.

“… I parried to the left, made a feint, dodged back to the right, but he was too smart for me…”

“… I was impaled once, right here.” More linen was bunched up to expose violated flesh. “Tossed me right on to my shoulder, he did…”

He! A wave of disgust washed over Claudia. They talk about boars, bears and wolves as though they were the hunter’s equals, yet how often do you see stags armed with a slingshot, or running with their own pack of dogs? She looked round the banqueting hall, at watery red eyes, fists thumping on tables, where words were already slurring, and wondered how these cloistered, overweight city-types would fare in one-to-one combat. With no bearers carrying their spears or their arrows. With no dogs at their side to hound wild creatures into panic. Just them out there, with only their wits to keep them alive…

“Having fun, darling?”

“Absolutely.”

And what would it be like, living with a constant succession of drunken braggarts, day in and day out? Max coped admirably, but then the post-hunt entertainment – this orgy of showing off afterwards – was part and parcel of the package he sold. He was, she decided, a magician. An illusionist. A man who – abracadabra! – turns fat slobs into young bucks, and should they look in the mirror back in Rome and see who they really are, then hey presto! All they need do is hand over more coins and suddenly they’re heroes again. The “war” wounds were not only worth the pain and aggravation. They were fundamental to the whole process.

She recalled their return this afternoon, whooping and hollering in the courtyard amid carcasses of slaughtered beasts and a welter of blood-caked spears, concerned only with the glory of their own achievements and not a single thought for the wounded. Or a lowly slave, who hadn’t come home…

“Is our hero not invited to join the celebrations?”

For perhaps a count of ten you could have heard the proverbial pin drop following Claudia’s question, then everyone clamoured at once, most of them bursting into raucous, drunken, astonished laughter.

“You mean Soni?”

“Not in here, love!”

“Soni? Join us? Now that’s rich!”

Claudia felt a tug on her elbow as Max gently steered her away from the couch. “That,” he said, speaking through his forced smile, “was extremely embarrassing, darling. My guests comprise merchants, politicians – the cream of Roman society.” He paused. “They do not take their dinners with slaves.”

“They take their dinners with dogs.”

“Cyclone and Thunderbolt are exceptions,” he said, and his blue eyes were steel. “The other dogs remain in the kennels, and never, ever do any of the bearers join in the banquet.”

“No matter how competent?”

“No matter how competent.” She felt his whole body unstiffen. “I admire your liberated ideas about slaves and equality,” Max said, winding one of her curls around his little finger. “But it’s my job to give these men what they want, and believe me, they don’t pay several thousand sesterces to dine with common slaves. Ah! The desserts.”

Platters of melons and cherries, quinces in honey, almond cakes and dates stuffed with apple passed by in mouth-watering succession.

“Come sit by me while we eat, it gives me an excuse to slip my arm round your lovely smooth shoulder.”

“Shortly,” Claudia promised. “There’s something I must attend to first.”

“Of course.” Max gently released the ringlet. “Hurry back, darling,” he whispered, rubbing the sapphire ring on her finger. “Your beauty is all that makes the evening tolerable. Oh, and Claudia-”

“Yes?” She turned in the doorway.

“Betrothal rings go on the left hand, my love.”

IV

The room in which Junius lay was lit only by a single lamp of cheap oil, whose stuttering flame cast staccato shadows against the far wall. No mosaics covered his floor, no painted scenes brought bare plaster to life. Even the welter of bandages which swaddled his head seemed uncared for.

“You blockhead,” Claudia whispered, wiping a bead of sweat from his cheek. “What did you have to go and get yourself beaned for?”

Dust motes danced in the wavering flame, and the scent of her spicy Judaean perfume blocked out the smell of caked blood. He was lucky, according to Max’s physician, that no bones were broken, he’d taken one helluva tumble, but watching the shallow breathing and the waxy texture of his skin, lucky was not the first word which came to Claudia’s mind. Her hands bunched into fists. Dammit, Max knew the terrain up on the ridge like the back of his hand, he should have warned Junius that shale was dangerous. The stretcher-bearers told her what happened – how he’d lost his footing under the weight of the weaponry he was carrying – but the fact that the accident happened at all was the problem. She should not have allowed Junius to go. Max knew he was inexperienced, dammit he should have insisted the boy stayed behind – but since he hadn’t, then he should bloody well have taken better care of his charge!

She opened the shutter, allowing a small breeze to sport with the flame. From here, there was only a view of the cowshed, plus a hint of the moon through the oaks. Far away, a fox barked and she felt, rather than heard, the door open behind her.

“How is he?”

Claudia’s heart flipped a somersault. It can’t be. Sweet Janus, this isn’t possible – She waited until her pulse settled down. “Lazy as ever,” she said, not turning round. “But that’s servants for you these days. Not a thought for anyone but themselves.”

The baritone chucked softly, and her heart began to spin like a top.

“I’ve just come from the banqueting hall,” Marcus said. “And I think it’s a reasonable prediction to say there’ll be some jolly sore heads in the morning.”

Claudia did not smile. “Orbilio, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Oh.” He rubbed a hand over his chin. “Just passing.”

“On your way where, exactly?”

“Home.”

She took in the long patrician tunic, the high patrician boots, the firm patrician jaw. And wondered why it was that little pulse always beat at the side of his neck when they were alone. “Isn’t this something of a detour for you? Say, of some one hundred miles?”

His teeth showed white in the darkness and she could smell his sandalwood unguent, even through the pongs from the cowshed. Then the grin disengaged and his voice, when he spoke, was a rasp. “Claudia, you must leave, it’s dangerous here.”

She closed the shutter, and the flame straightened up. “It’s the Emperor’s fault,” she told the comatose bodyguard. “He will keep subsidising theatrical productions, some of the drama’s bound to rub off. Or could it be, Junius, that this aristocrat’s simply jealous of Max?”

“This has nothing to do with-Is that a betrothal ring on your finger?”

“See what I mean?” she asked the welter of bloodstained bandages.

“It is! It’s a betrothal ring! Claudia, you can’t marry that man, he’s worn out five wives already.”

“Six has always been my lucky number.”

“Fine!” He threw his hands in the air. “Fine. Do what you like, only for gods’ sake, let’s discuss this back in Rome. I have horses outside, we-”

Claudia spun round to face him. “Who the bloody hell do you think you are? My guardian? My husband? I’m not one of your flunkies.”

“You’ve got me wrong-”

“I haven’t got you at all, and that’s the root of it. You’re jealous as hell that I’m here with Max, and moreover, I intend to stay here, Orbilio. I have Great Plans for my future-”

“As Soni had Great Plans for his!”

Claudia felt the ground shift underfoot. “Soni?”

“Dammit, he was one of our best undercover agents.” Orbilio slammed a fist into the palm of his hand. “When he failed to report back, I came looking – only I can’t find him anywhere.”

The floorboards became marsh, and Claudia slumped down on Junius’ narrow pallet bed. “Soni’s a policeman?”

“Of sorts,” Marcus said. “Why?” She saw him stiffen. “Do you know anything about his disappearance?”

Claudia rubbed at her forehead. “Yes… No…” The room was spinning around her. Umbrian idylls crumbled to dust as she explained how Soni hadn’t come home from the hunt.

“Shit.” Orbilio sank on to the bed beside her, and buried his head in his hands. “That means someone rumbled his cover and took the opportunity of this morning’s excitement to kill him.”

But how? When? Obviously suspicious, Soni’s idea of life insurance was to keep himself in full view of the hunt. How could he possibly have been eliminated without witnesses? What was it the head bearer had said? Now you see him, now you don’t-

“What-” Claudia could not bring herself to say “who”. “What are you investigating?”

Orbilio spiked his hands through his hair, and when he spoke, his voice was weary. “Max,” he said slowly, “makes too much money for my liking. I mean, look at this place, Claudia. A man doesn’t make legitimate millions from stag hunts and bears! So I started making some enquiries and… ”

“And what?”

For a long time, the only sound in the room was the shallow breath of the unconscious bodyguard. Then: “I couldn’t be certain – after all, the top echelon of Rome are visitors here. I had to tread softly. So I set up that business at the slave auction-”

Soni was a plant?

“Goddammit, Orbilio, you set me up, too!”

That was no accidental meeting, that day in the Forum -Supersnoop had been waiting for her! He knew where she’d been, she knew where she was going, and on top of it all, he damn well knew Max would be there. Both of them, plums for the picking!

“I needed you to add authenticity,” Marcus said. “That way, Max would suspect nothing and I’d have an undercover agent to sound out my theory.” He scrubbed his eyeballs with his thumbs. “What the hell am I supposed to say to his mother?”

Several more minutes ticked past, and the candle guttered and spat.

“I think it’s fair to say that, having rumbled Soni,” Marcus said quietly, “they feared Junius was also a spy.”

Nausea clogged Claudia’s throat as she studied the comatose form on the bed. “His injuries aren’t accidental?”

“Don’t you think it’s strange he has only head wounds? For a chap who supposedly tumbled down a ravine, it seems odd no bones were broken.” He paused, before adding, “I’m sure they believed they were bringing his corpse home to you.”

Tears scalded Claudia’s eyes. Sweet Jupiter, that might yet be the case…

“What hunch were you working on?” Claudia asked, but her words were cut short as the door to the sickroom burst open, spilling bright orange light on to the floor.

“Seize him!”

Half a dozen men rushed into the room, grabbing a kicking, struggling, protesting Marcus and hauling him in to the corridor. Claudia shot after them, but there were too many and Orbilio was quickly bundled down the slave wing, watched by a blond huntsman with Aegean blue eyes.

“Where are you taking him?” Claudia demanded, but a strong arm shot out to restrain her.

“Stay out of this,” Max growled. He needed both hands to contain his struggling fireball. “This is between Orbilio and me.” To his men, he said, “Get a horse, tie him to it, then escort this gentleman to Rome.”

“This is outrageous,” Claudia hissed.

“I know,” Max admitted. By the gods, she could squirm! “But I can’t allow people to go around slandering me, particularly well-connected patrician policemen.”

“He says-”

“I know what he says, and perhaps he genuinely believes I’m up to my ears in extortion or blackmail, but Jupiter’s balls, I’m no gangster. I won’t have the slur bandied about. Now, Orbilio’s pride might be hurt, riding home hogtied, but it will only be pride.”

He released her at last, leaving them both panting and red from exertion.

“What of his claim that Junius’ injuries aren’t consistent with a fall?” she spat, and to her astonishment, Max burst out laughing.

“Have you seen the bruises on that poor bugger’s body? Junius hit his head on a rock, Claudia. Knocked himself out – and you know yourself what happens when drunks roll about. The body goes limp.”

Actually, that was true…

“Orbilio’s problem,” Max chuckled, “is not that I might be a gangster, not even that I make more money than Midas by ripping off rich bastards hand over fist. His problem is, I have you!”

Claudia slipped off the armband, the one set with carnelians and pearls, and ran it round and round in her hand. “Like you have Soni, you mean?”

Aegean blue eyes flickered briefly. “Soni,” he said, “is a slave. Yes, I own slaves. Yes, unlike you, I don’t treat them as equals. And yes, I’ve been married five times, if that’s what you’re driving at, but I never think of women as chattels.” He drew a deep breath. “Whether you believe me or not is another matter,” he added.

“Whether I believe you,” she said slowly, “rests on my seeing Soni, face to face, right this minute.”

An astonished expression crossed Max’s face. “Are you serious?”

“Is there a problem?”

“No. No, of course not,” he stuttered. “It’s just that… It’s just that I’m jealous, my love. I know I can’t compete with a stripling half my age and whose pecs are solid steel, but… well, I’m not in bad shape and, unlike a slave, I can give you wealth unimaginable-”

Not unimaginable, Max. I’ve imagined it many times.

“I want to buy Soni,” she snapped, “not sleep with the boy.” If everything was above board, then there would be no obstacle. Max had denied her nothing so far.

“Ah.” For a moment, he faltered, then the old seductive laugh returned as he led her back through the lofty atrium, rich with its cedarwood oils. “In that case, darling, you must accept him as a gift, with my compliments. May he serve you as well as he’s served me.”

Claudia felt a tidal wave of relief wash over her. For once, Supersnoop was wide of the mark. Junius had simply cracked his head on a rock before falling down that ravine! But what of Soni?

Suppose, she thought, trailing her hand in the fountain as she passed, Max had decided to satisfy himself that Soni was all that he’d seemed? Soni’s refusal to comply with a criminal act would have blown his cover right out of the water, and suddenly Claudia was extremely keen to meet the man who had staged his own disappearance in broad daylight without arousing suspicion and yet had returned with a convincing explanation!

Glancing at Max, suave and easy, Claudia found no problem in picturing him up to his ears in racketeering, using the hunts as a front, both to make deals at the highest of levels and also to enforce any threats. He led her in to his office and clapped his hands. Immediately, a negro slave answered the call.

“Fetch Soni here, will you?”

“Master?” the old man’s face creased in a frown.

“Stop dithering, man. Just fetch him. Shoo!”

Strong hands poured two goblets of rich honey mead, hesitating a fraction before handing Claudia hers. “You- You aren’t going to marry me, are you?” Max asked quietly.

“No,” she admitted. “I’m not.”

His gifts were welcome, of course – the tiaras, the earstuds. But the Great Plan had been to ingratiate herself with his wealthy clientele and sign them up for hefty consignments of Seferius wine. Well-oiled (thanks to Max) they’d be pushovers for good, vintage wine and would be in no mood to worry about loaded prices. Especially when the alternative was this sickly concoction. Yuk. Two parts thunderbolt, one part bile, it was watered down with three ladlefuls of the River Styx. No wonder they had to add honey!

“Claudia -”

His voice came from down a dark tunnel, and the tunnel was closing in all around.

“Claudia?”

The voice echoed like stones in a barrel and her vision grew cloudy. Bloody mead! Filthy stuff.

“Is everything all right, darling?”

“Perfectly.”

But everything was not all right.

Jellified knees gave way. Lights went dim. And Claudia collapsed in a heap on the floor.

V

Was she dead? Was this blackness Stygian gloom? There were no three-headed dogs about, but there was barking. Claudia tried to lift her head, and found it had been glued to the floor. When she finally raised it, she wanted to hold it with both hands to prevent it rolling into the corner.

Except… Except her hands had been glued down, as well. She couldn’t lift them. Ignoring the hammering inside her head, she tried harder. And found not hangover lethargy, but ropes binding her tight.

“I’m sorry it ended like this,” said a familiar voice from the corner. The chair creaked when he stood up. “But you would keep pressing the subject of Soni. Oh, Claudia. If only you’d let it go.”

Primeval creatures slithered down Claudia’s spine. And how strange. High summer, yet her teeth were chattering… She struggled, but the knots were professional and her skin chafed itself raw.

“You know.” When he knelt down, she could smell the leather of his boots. “You really are very lovely.” He ran a hand gently down the length of her cheek. “Had your brain been full of feathers, we could have had a wonderful marriage and raised some damned good looking kids.” He sighed at what was not to be. “Unfortunately, though, dawn is breaking. Time to leave.”

Cold. So very cold. “People will come looking for me,” she gabbled. “Marcus, for one, won’t let it drop-”

“Ah, but this is terrible country for bandits. So many tragic accidents can befall a beautiful woman.” Either Max had thought it out carefully during the night, or else he’d done this before. “Oh, don’t look like that.” He dragged her to her feet and propelled her to the door. “I’m not so hard-hearted that I won’t pay for a lavish funeral tribute and endow the most magnificent of marble tombs you could imagine in a prominent position along the Appian Way.”

“You spoil me.”

The door cranked open and two hefty bearers pushed her into the pale pink dawn light. The barking escalated, and some of the dogs started baying. The sound, she realized with a chill, was caused by impatience. Their desire to get underway.

“Max?” Surely he wouldn’t kill her? Not Max.

But Max clicked his fingers, and the bearers manhandled her into the courtyard, where eight fat city men in short tunics milled around. None looked in Claudia’s direction. Terror gripped at her throat.

“Please-” She could hardly breathe. “Help me. For gods’ sake, one of you, help me!”

Last night, these men were her friends. Business colleagues. They’d laughed at her jokes, given her contracts for rich, vintage wine.

A vice tightened round her ribcage. Oh, sweet Juno in heaven. It’s not that they can’t hear me. It’s not that they imagine I’m drunk. They’re not helping, for the simple reason they’re busy. Checking spears and arrows and slings… And when they do glance around, it’s not a terrified girl that they’re seeing. They’re simply assessing the strength of their prey.

The true horror of Max’s hunting parties slammed into her, filleting every bone from her body. Finally she understood what had happened to Soni.

Why he was way out in front of the others.

The slave, goddammit, was the quarry.

That’s why Max only wanted the one. Only ever the one…

“You’ll never get away with it,” she cried, as the cart bumped over the lawns. Past the peacocks. Past the watercourses. Past the shimmering man-made lakes rimmed with reeds.

“Wrong,” Max replied, as they approached the wooded hunting grounds. Behind, the bearers loped along at a steady rhythm, their dogs straining at the leash. “All over the Empire, you’ll find men bored with a quarter century’s peace. Sons of warriors who’ve only ever heard about the clash of weapons, the bittersweet fear of hand-to-hand combat. And since they’ve never ridden into battle themselves, they hunt boar, they hunt stag, they hunt bear for their thrills and to affirm their manhood. Unfortunately, with some, that’s not enough.” Slowly, he reined in the horses. “Some seek a further dimension.”

Aegean blue eyes scanned her face.

“Can you imagine how much these men are prepared to pay to hunt humans? Thousands, Claudia. Thousands upon thousands, and you know the best part? There’s an unlimited market out there. Oh, I know you’re going to tell me your clever friend, Marcus is on to me. He’s suspected me for some time, but what can he prove? Nothing! Not one bloody thing.”

Drawing a broad hunting knife, he cut through her bonds in a businesslike fashion. For how many others, she wondered, had he done this?

“You have intelligence, cunning and resilience, Claudia Seferius, you will be a worthy adversary.” Max took her trembling chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Your tomb will do you credit, I promise.”

Claudia spat in his face. “Go to hell.”

“I probably shall,” he agreed. “Now then. We always give the quarry a chance. Here’s a slingshot, a javelin and a short stabbing dagger. Try,” he whispered, glancing at the businessmen, “to take at least one of them with you.”

Breath was too precious to waste on this son-of-a-bitch, her mind whirled like a cap in the wind. The estate was fenced in; the gates closed behind them; guards were posted; and ferocious spikes topped the perimeter fence. What the hell chance did she have?

“We normally give a count of a hundred,” he said, “but seeing as how you’re a woman, I think two hundred is fair-”

Though she had weapons in her hands Claudia made no effort to kill him. He’d be prepared, would only injure her, consigning her to a lingering death. She had no choice. She set off- a victim of the very men on whom, only last night, she had wished this particular fate.

Behind her, she could hear Max counting aloud. “Sixteen. Seventeen.”

Father Mars. Mighty Jupiter. Can you hear me up on Olympus? Can you help?

“Twenty-two. Twenty-three.”

“Nobody move, you’re surrounded.”

For a second, Claudia’s heart stopped beating.

“Drop your weapons, put your hands in the air.”

Then the breath shot out of her lungs. That was no Olympian deity. That baritone was quite unmistakable, even through the shell he used as his loudspeaker-

As one, fifty archers stepped out from the bushes, their arrowtips aimed at the group. Almost before the daggers and javelins had crashed to the ground, eight men began babbling. Explaining. Exonerating. Bribing.

“You all right?”

Claudia hadn’t realized she had collapsed, until a strong hand pulled her up. Even then, her knees were so weak, the only way to stay upright was with his arm tight round her waist.

“Nothing better than a run in the country,” she said, and it was odd, but her teeth were still chattering.

Orbilio grinned, and brushed the hair from her eyes with his thumb.

“I thought they’d run you out of town,” she said.

“I was expecting some form of trouble,” he replied. “Which is why I brought back-up.” He paused. “It took a little persuading, but eventually one of Max’s heavies told us of Max’s plans for you. Hence the trap we were able to lay overnight.”

Behind him, pleading, protesting, terrified merchants were rounded up – men of substance, yet men of no substance at all – while the bearers tried to explain how they were under duress to obey, that they got drunk to blot out the horror, that if they didn’t participate, they would become the next quarry. For many years afterwards Claudia was able to recall, with bloodcurdling clarity, everyone’s clamouring at once. While not one word of remorse fell from their lips.

“You know this won’t come to trial?” Orbilio said, steadying her with his grip. “Senior politicians and influential businessmen on slave hunts? The scandal would de-stabilize the Empire in no time, Augustus wouldn’t risk it.”

“They’ll get off?” The prospect of these scum swaggering free was almost too much to bear.

“No, no!” Orbilio was certain of that. “It’s suicide for these boys,” he said, leaving unspoken the fact that, in at least two cases, the exit would require a certain assistance.

The soldiers, meanwhile, were being none too gentle with their captives, yet throughout the whole ignominious defeat, one man had said nothing. Outmanned and outnumbered, Max surrendered at once, quietly and without fuss, and stood, hands bound in front of him, as his rich clientele and his poor bullied bearers were kicked in to the cart.

His passive acceptance alone should have alerted them.

“Shit!” shouted the captain of the archers. “After him!”

Sprinting through territory as familiar as his own back terrace, Max hurdled tree roots and obstacles with the grace and ease of a gazelle, heading deeper and deeper into the woods.

“Wait.” Orbilio’s voice was calm. His authority stopped the men in his tracks. “This is his ground, we can’t hope to either catch or outwit him. Soldier!”

A burly archer stepped up. “Sir.”

Orbilio relieved him of his dark yew bow and weighted it in his hands. Carefully, he plucked an arrow from the quiver. Sweet Janus, the white tunic was now barely a dot!

“Marcus,” breathed Claudia. “Leave this to the archer.” So many trees in between, it needed an expert!

“This,” said Orbilio, notching the arrow into his bow, “is for Soni.”

Claudia felt her heart thump. “I’m just as much to blame as you are,” she said. “I know you put him up as a plant, but it was my urging that bought him his grave.”

The bow lifted.

“This,” he repeated, “is personal.”

With a hiss, the arrow departed. Silence descended on the clearing – the men in the cart, the soldiers, Claudia, Marcus – watching as one as the arrow took flight. No-one breathed.

In front of them, the white dot grew smaller. Then, with a cry, Max fell forward. No-one spoke. Not even when Max hauled himself to his knees, then his feet, and then began running again…

The colour drained from Orbilio’s face. “I winged him,” he gasped. “Only winged him.”

The arrow, they could see now, was lodged in his shoulder. Painful. But hardly life-threatening.

Orbilio wiped his hand over his face, as though the gesture might turn back time. Give him one more chance to make good.

Then-“Look!” Claudia pointed. Marcus followed her finger.

In the distance, a huge bristly boar came charging out of the undergrowth, tusks lowered. His furious snorting could be heard in the clearing. As though in slow motion, they watched as he lunged at the figure in white. They watched, too, as Max tried to duck, turn away, but the wily old boar had been there before.

This was the mating season, remember.

He had sows and a territory to protect…