Marilyn Todd: I, Claudia

Of course, there were plenty more leads to follow, but assuming there was no professional connection, what other motives were there? Someone with a grievance? Crassus had been a miserable old curmudgeon with a reputation for cheeseparing, but Tigellinus, the man responsible for the metropolitan water supply? Horatius, organizer of the Megalesian Games? Such occupations attracted laurels rather than grudges. Fabianus the jurist might have been a possibility, had he not been widely respected for his sense of balance and perspective. Nevertheless, he might have offended someone-a man with a twisted sense of justice… Orbilio groaned and rubbed his eyes at the thought of the enormous number of trails still left to follow. And why were there no witnesses to any of these crimes?

‘Mother of Tarquin, is the man invisible?’

How much simpler if he could have unearthed (as he’d hoped) a conspiracy to assassinate the Emperor. Now that would have sent him winging up his ladder of ambition faster than a bolting steed-and the kudos, oh, the kudos! Unfortunately, the conspiracy theory held as much water as a leaky sieve and he was left without a single suspect and the barest minimum of clues.

Regardless of the amount of effort he’d put in, hadn’t Callisunus remarked that very morning, in his inimical silver-tongued fashion, that if Orbilio didn’t stop farting around with dead-end theories he’d put Metellus on the case instead? The worst part was he’d follow through, dammit, because if Callisunus suspected this dissent was halfway contagious he’d ditch him at the earliest opportunity.

‘I want evidence!’ he’d stormed at the briefing. ‘Concrete fucking evidence, not pansified piffle: The Emperor would kick my butt from here to Hades if I trotted out your far-fetched farrago, so I suggest you get your arse back to work before I lose patience completely.’

‘Well screw you, Callisunus,’ Orbilio said aloud. ‘You’ll see I’m right, you just wait.’

‘Huh?’ Petronella-or was it Vera? — lifted her head. ‘Did you say something?’

‘No. Go back to sleep.’

Cupid’s darts, what was he doing here, night after night? It was like when he was a kid. No matter how many of those saffron yellow honey cakes you ate, they never filled you up. Well, this is pretty much the same thing, isn’t it? He turned his face to the window and stared at the silver semicircle of the moon. I ought to marry again, he thought. Start a family. Work is work, but at the end of it a man needs something good to go home to. I want to be surrounded by laughter and squabbling. I want to be getting involved in my boys’ schooling, my wife’s family and my own duties as a senator. Because I will make the Senate, make no mistake, I’ll be there! Being born into the nobility helps, but it’s by no means a foregone conclusion. You still need to apply yourself-and Marcus Orbilio had certainly done that. Two years’ legal duties, two years as a tribune and eighteen months working in criminal justice. Six more months and I’ll be eligible to put myself up for a quaestorship, with automatic admission to the Senate-just the right amount of time to ensure people wouldn’t forget.

‘Orbilio? Fine fellow. Solved those gruesome murders, you know.’

‘Oh, yes. First-class work.’

‘In a matter of months, too, and he had virtually nothing to go on.’

Orbilio tugged on his lower lip. That would remain the stuff of dreams unless he could get to the bottom of this nasty business. Motive! If he could only find a motive! Having exhausted the obvious possibilities, his mind had turned to the less obvious. Tigellinus’s murder suggested a lunatic, literally, since he was killed two days before the moon was full, but Horatius was murdered when it was in the first quarter, Fabianus when it was waxing and Crassus halfway. Cross that off.

Then he realized Tigellinus was killed on the Festival of Juturna, Horatius at the start of the Megalesian Games. Could that be a connection? Both had been heavily involved in their respective ceremonies-Tigellinus because the festival was celebrated by men whose business was connected with sacred water and since the pool of Juturna was the source for all official sacrifices and seeing as how Tigellinus was responsible for the city’s water in general and this shrine in particular how much deeper could you be? The same with Horatius, responsible for organizing the games from start to finish. Unfortunately neither Fabianus nor Crassus fell even remotely close to the ceremonies and this theory had fallen by the wayside. Supposing he checked again? No, no. He’d gone over this, time and again, it was pointless running down the same blind alleys.

The thing that kept nagging at him was: why the eyes? Each man had been killed by an expert, with one savage, upward thrust into the heart. Oh, that makes it easy! He punched his pillow. That narrows it down! Dammit, there should have been witnesses…

It was odd, thinking about it, Tigellinus being lured away from so important a date in his calendar. The temple was right in the Forum, too, yet not only had he slipped away, he’d gone home and sent his servants, slaves and family packing. Horatius, too, had been killed at home, having dismissed the entire household and again, despite the density of people at the start of the games, no one had seen or heard anything. Fabianus was a different kettle of fish altogether. Unlike the other two, he was a man of low profile and equestrian, rather than patrician. He lived meagrely, ran a small household, yet he too was killed, some time between going to bed and waking up.

But why, why, why rip out their eyes?

One thing was certain, the murders were becoming increasingly frequent. Tigellinus was killed two days before the Ides of January, leaving the authorities to follow up what appeared to be a purely domestic affair: Except Orbilio could find no motive. The prefect was a popular man, loved by family and friends alike. Twelve weeks passed before the next victim and what should have been the start of a week of celebrations, of theatrical performances, processions, banquets and races, had culminated in another brutal murder. Orbilio’s mind raced on. Suppose Horatius was the intended victim, with Tigellinus killed as a decoy? He didn’t think so. April was a time of beginnings. Flowers open, so do the seas. Land travel becomes once again possible, campaigns begin in earnest and he was sure this would turn out to be a campaign of wits. He was right. Seven weeks passed, then Fabianus was killed, six weeks later Crassus…who was the most bizarre yet. What in Tartarus was he doing in a backstreet slum, tied up like a pudding?

Orbilio had just one tangible piece of evidence: that snippet of green cotton. He folded his hands behind his head. She was there. Without doubt, she was there! She was lying through her lovely teeth-and so, dammit, was the slave girl. He just couldn’t prove it. Not yet, anyway. He grimaced at the memory of that evil monster of hers. That bloody cat was enough to frighten the dead away. They were well matched, those two, scowling and spitting and attacking head on if they thought they were being threatened!

The furrows in his brow relaxed as he thought about Claudia Seferius. Venus, she was lovely! Orbilio was no ladies’ man, but he could tell that no matter how many pins she stuck into her hair nothing was going to restrain those luxuriant dark tresses for long. There were terracotta tints in there, and old gold and bronze and amber. He’d seen them when the sunlight caught it. Seferius was a lucky sod-assuming he ever got past that damned cat of hers. Oh yes, Gaius got his money’s worth with that one, and he’d like to bet she wasn’t such an abrasive bitch in bed. He pitied her though, having to satisfy a fat old slob like Gaius, when half the young men in Rome would give their right arm to have her. But of course, half the young men in Rome put together didn’t have one quarter of Gaius’s fortune…