Marilyn Todd: I, Claudia

Drusilla began to knead gently, the tips of her claws snagging at the fine linen.

The cat and Claudia had been together for seven years, long before Claudia took up as a dancer in Genoa, and having found each other, both of them lonely and starving and living off their wits, there wasn’t a single secret they hadn’t shared since.

‘Prrrrrr.’

‘Me neither.’

Melissa had burned the evidence, Julia and Flavia had provided the perfect alibi. All the same…

She drained the goblet in one swallow. She’d seen some sights in her time, but many moons would wax and wane before Claudia, inured as she was, would forget the corpse of Quintus Aurelius Crassus, a stab wound to the heart and two bloody, raw holes where his eyes should have been. This made the fourth such murder in the past six months and each of the victims had been a respectable, high-ranking official. The authorities, under that foul-mouthed midget Callisunus, were no doubt sweating their sandals off in the search for a common link. So far they hadn’t found it, but Claudia knew what-or rather who-that link was.

Her.

‘We’ve got a problem here, poppet.’

The cat snuggled up under her ear and drew a long, deep, contented breath.

‘It can only be a matter of time before they latch on to us, then dear old Gaius will know what we’ve been up to. Now we can’t have that, can we?’

‘Mrrow.’

Gaius Seferius was old and he was fat and his breath smelled, but he was frightfully rich and, praise be to Hymen, he didn’t pester her for sex. His family was grown up, and he didn’t want another, although his position as one of the most successful wine merchants in the city had dictated that he ought to remarry. So why not take pity on the young and lovely widow of a judge from the Northern Provinces, grieving for an entire family wiped out in the plague? Providing she didn’t interfere in any of his activities, commercial or personal, Claudia had everything at her disposal. She bridged her fingers in concentration.

‘Shame patricians were out of the question, eh, Drusilla?’

Too bloody canny, that’s why. Never dream of taking anyone on face value, no matter how tragic the circumstances. Pity, really, because Claudia was hellbent on having aristocratic children. She might not make the grade herself, but by Jupiter she’d get at least one son in the Senate if it was the last thing she did. One million sesterces, that’s what it needed. One measly million. Still. She had settled for a leading light in the equestrian order, the next best thing, and although the marriage hadn’t been consummated, compensation came in the knowledge that Gaius’s chest pains occurred with increasing regularity. It could only be a matter of time before tragedy struck and she was widowed ‘again’-and then she could think about bearing sons for promotion to the Senate.

Yes, indeed. It was merely a question of waiting… Unfortunately, after less than a year of mixing with empty-headed matrons with whom she had nothing whatsoever in common, Claudia realized, somewhat to her disquiet, that wealth, social standing and a life of luxury were nowhere near enough. It wasn’t that she regretted the wheeling and dealing that had been necessary to hook Gaius, far from it, it was simply that she’d been living on the edge for too long to suddenly give up the thrills. In short, she needed stimulation. Thus to feed the giant cuckoo she had hatched, Claudia had resorted to her old business activities.

‘What do you think we should do?’

Drusilla’s rough tongue was abrasive on her cheek, but she made no effort to draw away.

‘So do I, poppet. Because if we don’t find out who’s knocking off our clients, someone else will and that’ll really put the fox among our comfy little chickens.’

She kissed the cat between its ears and swallowed a whole goblet of warm, honeyed wine. Drusilla lifted her face, twitched her ears in the direction of the door and let out a short, guttural growl. Claudia tapped the side of her mouth thoughtfully.

‘Yes, that had crossed my mind, too.’

The cat’s eyes had become mere slits. ‘Rrrrow.’

‘I know, Drusilla. Irrespective of who he is, we’re going to have to kill him, aren’t we?’

‘There’s a very handsome gentleman to see you, madam. Gives his name as Marcus Cornelius Orbilio.’

Claudia glanced at Melissa in the mirror. ‘To see me? Not my husband?’

‘You, madam.’

She was in a good mood. They had just returned from the Field of Mars, where, victorious from his campaign against the Alpine tribes in Gaul, Augustus unveiled his testament to success, the magnificent Altar of Peace. Watching the Tiber roll gently past as the Emperor expounded on a glorious age of sunshine and gold, where civil war was a thing of the past and expansion of the empire the only way forward, there wasn’t a Roman left standing who wasn’t bursting his tunic with patriotic pride. Mighty restorations had already begun-roads, bridges, temples, the lot. Why, in Rome alone eighty-two major renovation works were in progress. Day and night hammers reverberated round the city, turning brick into marble, clay into stone.

‘Then don’t just stand there, girl. Show him into the garden.’

She dabbed scent delicately behind her earlobes, prodded a wayward curl back into place and slid another gold ring on her long, slim finger. As an afterthought, she clipped a black onyx brooch to her tunic.

He was sitting on a white marble bench in the shade of a sour apple tree. High patrician nose. Firm square jaw. And a mop of dark, curly hair which showed no signs of thinning. Claudia doubted whether there was an ounce of fat on his body and conceded he’d make a formidable adversary, although at the moment he seemed to have met his match.

Back arched and hackles raised, Drusilla advanced sideways, growling menacingly in the back of her throat.

‘Pretty kitty.’

Claudia thought his voice lacked a certain conviction.

‘Mrrrrow.’

‘There you are, poppet.’ She scooped the glowering cat into her arms and turned to her visitor. ‘I see you’ve met Drusilla.’

Marcus Cornelius Orbilio stood up. ‘Claudia Seferius?’

‘Do I look like one of the slaves? What do you want?’

Orbilio glanced at Drusilla, who was scowling at his face as though she’d like to shred it to pieces, and squared his shoulders.

‘I’m empowered by the Security Police to investigate the murders of four high-ranking officials-’ He paused, and Claudia’s quick wits sent her bending to park an indignant Drusilla on the ground, knowing it would pass off the flood of colour to her face.

‘And?’

‘And I wondered whether you could spare me a little of your valuable time.’

Valuable time! Claudia clapped her hands and called for wine and figs and some pecorino cheese, which was her favourite. Then she forced herself to stare him out. Drusilla jumped up on to the sundial and copied her mistress.

‘Yes, well… Perhaps I can begin with asking you how well you knew Crassus.’

‘Who?’

‘Quintus Aurelius Crassus, the senator whose body was found in, shall we say, unusual circumstances last Saturday.’

‘Oh, him. Hardly at all. Why?’

‘Didn’t he dine here a week or two back?’

That was a shot in the dark, she thought. If he knew for certain, he’d name the date. ‘Everybody dines here at some stage,’ she said. ‘Was he the one who’d just come back from some dire little outpost?’

She turned to the dark-skinned slave girl hovering with the tray who was obviously hanging on every word. ‘Clear off, you. I’ll see to this.’

A smile twitched at the side of Orbilio’s mouth. ‘Something like that, yes. Did you know where his body was found?’