Marilyn Todd - I, Claudia

‘Don’t tell me-you can only get off by frightening people.’

Orbilio smiled. ‘No, but I’m prepared to make an exception in this case.’

‘You’re just feeling smug because I put one over on you yesterday.’

He flexed his shoulder muscles. ‘Don’t I have every reason? I knew you’d come back. It was only a question of time.’

‘Let’s get one thing straight, Orbilio. I haven’t come back. I’m here solely because my name’s been dragged into this mess and I intend to clear it.’

‘And you couldn’t think of a better way?’

Why he seemed amused was beyond her. ‘Certainly not. Ask any one of those people downstairs, I very much doubt whether a single person is able to lay claim it was me they saw.’

‘You mean “willing”, not “able”. How much did you pay them?’

‘Orbilio, grow up. Hundreds of people live in this slum, do you honestly believe I’ve gone round bribing every single one?’

‘I meant just now. I watched you throw a handful of coins in the air. Don’t tell me that wasn’t to-how shall I put it? — sway their judgement?’

‘Orbilio, I wouldn’t tell you the time. Now get out of my way, you’re blocking the door.’

‘Since you’re so observant, perhaps you can tell me what you saw last time? Apart from the corpse.’

‘There was no last time. Get out of my way or so help me I’ll scream the place down.’

‘Feel free, no one’ll come-assuming they even hear you. That’s the way it is here. What were you doing in this room last Saturday?’

Claudia folded her arms across her body and stood firm, confident that sooner or later her wall of silence would wear him down.

‘Was Crassus your lover?’

No response.

‘I suppose you’d have to meet somewhere out of the way, in case Gaius found out, although personally I’d have chosen a rather more salubrious setting.’ In bright sunshine, with thyme-scented hills as a backdrop.

Claudia pretended to study her nails.

‘It’s against the law, too.’

Silence.

‘Claudia Seferius,’ he said mildly, ‘I’m calling you an adulteress.’

‘Yes, dear, and you’ll soon grow tired of it.’

A smile tweaked at his mouth. ‘Was Crassus protecting your reputation? We all know how strongly the Emperor feels about adultery, especially in view of his own daughter’s behaviour…’

He trailed off. Everyone knew the story about the woman’s voracious sexual appetites and how deeply it embarrassed the Emperor, flying in the face of his own moral preachings. It’s always the same, Claudia thought, one law for one sex, another for the other.

‘Cousin Markie, if husbands paid the same price for their affairs as women pay for theirs, there’d be a damned sight more lonely men about, I can tell you.’

Cousin Markie! It served him right, he supposed, getting saddled with a label like that. He’d thought he was clever. He’d thought he could wheedle his way into the Seferius household. Claudia would rebuff him instantly, but at least it would get him an introduction to social gatherings where he could pursue his enquiries. Instead the tables were turned so completely it had been humiliating. He congratulated himself that he’d managed to even the score by waiting in this sordid room until she arrived. He smiled. He knew she would. She was always going to point her horns and charge straight in to attack. Mother of Tarquin, she was lovely.

Provoking a reaction by suggesting adultery with that bloated old haddock Crassus failed miserably. Not that he gave the idea serious credibility. He’d thrown it in to create ripples, but the water remained calm. Too calm. Why hadn’t she torn his throat out at the mere suggestion? ‘How long had he been dead when you found him?’

Claudia watched the slow progress of a cockroach crawling over the peeling plaster.

‘I have three grounds for placing you at the scene of the crime.’ He had nothing to gain by holding back. ‘One.’ He ticked them off on his fingers. ‘A snip of green cotton.’

‘We’ve been through that.’

Orbilio grinned. ‘So we have. First Gratidius says it was you, then he’s not sure because his assistant suddenly swears it wasn’t. Incidentally, that’s the same assistant who’s just settled a long-standing doctor’s bill. However you missed something.’

It was no good her pretending indifference.

‘You forgot to bribe the porter who delivered it to your house.’ Hooray, that brought a spark of life to her eyes. Even though she covered it quickly. ‘Two. You returned to the scene of the crime. Perhaps not evidence in itself, but highly suggestive and a trait common to most criminals.’

‘Want to arrest me?’

‘And, three, I have a witness. You were seen coming in and going out of this room.’

Orbilio opened the door wide. Frowning, Claudia looked up and down the empty passage.

‘You don’t see him?’

She pulled a face.

‘Rufus!’

A bundle of rags in a doorway formed itself into a small boy.

‘Rufus, do you recognize this lady?’

The urchin shuffled closer. ‘Yep. That’s her.’

‘Nonsense!’ Claudia turned to Orbilio. ‘How much did you bung this little guttersnipe? One ass? Two?’

‘She called me a poxy little oik.’

Her eyes flashing, Claudia looked the boy up and down several times. ‘That’s hardly conclusive. I should imagine everybody calls you a poxy little oik.’

‘And up yours and all, missus!’

Orbilio watched recognition dawn on Claudia’s face, but instead of a feeling of triumph, an iron claw gripped his guts.

‘I remember this horrid little ragbag now. It was in the Forum.’ She turned to Orbilio. ‘He rammed me with a pig’s head. The snout, if I recall correctly, caught me right here.’ She jabbed her navel.

‘You was wearing green.’

‘ You was running from the shopkeeper.’

‘You was here.’

‘I was not!’

‘You was. I’d know that swagger any place.’

‘I most certainly do not swagger!’ Claudia spun round to Orbilio, who quickly covered his mouth with his hand. ‘Are you seriously considering the word of this offensive little street arab against mine?’

The investigator scratched the back of his neck. ‘Yes,’ he said at last. ‘I rather think I am.’

Claudia glowered at the boy. ‘Hop it, you. I want to talk.’

Orbilio tossed him a copper and nodded assent. ‘Come back inside, Claudia,’ he said quietly, sweeping his arm round the room. ‘Because I very much want to listen.’

Under a sky which made promises of rain it had no intention of keeping, Claudia sat in the cool of the peristyle, half-heartedly strumming a lyre. Around her, tiny birds in cages, their plumage brighter than jewels, trilled to drown the melody. By rights I should be enjoying the second day of the games, she thought, weighing strength of elephant against armour of crocodile, or cheering dwarfs as they cartwheeled through the legs of giraffes or cavorted with ostriches. Instead I spend half my morning ploughing through riffraff and dross in some sleazy backstreet slum. Drusilla came running up, tail erect, and began rubbing against Claudia’s shins until, eliciting no response from this tactic, she jumped on to the seat beside her and yowled at the top of her voice.

‘I’m sorry, poppet, I was miles away.’ At the foot of the Quirinal, holding my nose to be precise. Claudia clapped her hands. Why do they build tenements, with no water and no sanitation, in the bowls of hills where the smell can’t escape? ‘Fetch some chicken, bread and cheese, will you,’ she commanded the slave who answered the call, ‘and root out a sardine or two for Drusilla.’