Virgin Territory (14 page)

He winced as a solitary drip from the gutter spout trickled down his neck. Long after he’d wiped it away, Orbilio could still feel its icy track. In the kitchen behind him a pot crashed to the floor and a quarrel broke out, inciting that mangy guard dog Cerberus to damn near bark his head off. Didn’t take long, he thought, for the peace to be shattered in this household.

Keeping to the shadows, he ducked under each window, whether lighted or not, pausing again at the corner. In Rome this routine was second nature, this checking and double-checking, but tonight he was simply honing his skills. It was one way to take his mind off things and, under the circumstances, he couldn’t think of a better.

There was a scuffle to his left and Orbilio spun round to see a black rat disappear into the nettles. Mother of Tarquin, he was twitchier than he thought. He desperately needed a drink, but he’d been a good boy since he got here, hardly touched a drop. He looked up at the heavy bank of clouds. His drinking had got out of hand lately, trying to get that Seferius woman out of his mind, but he wasn’t stupid. He needed a clear head for this job—if only to impress his boss.

The very thought made him break out in a sweat. On the one hand it was a hot sweat, because he was furious with his boss for sending him off to Ostia in order to take the kudos himself for solving those gruesome murders. And on the other hand it was a cold sweat, because in his haste to track down Claudia and find a passage to Sicily, Orbilio had completely forgotten about making his report. In fact he was a full five hours into his voyage before it even entered his head—which meant that he was by then precisely two hours late for the meeting.

Since that left a high-ranking tax inspector hanging unnecessarily under a thundercloud of suspicion, Orbilio’s boss would have his cobblers for kebabs unless he could redeem himself, and the surest way of doing that would be to bring in a murderer red-handed. Red-handed and
single
-handed. It might not be enough to set his career back on track for the Senate, but it would be a damn good start. Oh yes, he could picture it now.

‘Clever fellow, that Orbilio. Sniffed trouble right from the outset.’

‘I know! Amazing, isn’t it, the way he knew the Seferius widow was in danger, and what with that Sabina creature passing herself off as a Vestal Virgin, well!’

‘Saved the poor widow, he did, and when the imposter was murdered, he caught the chap right away. Shrewd fellow all right. Should go far.’

Except that if he wasn’t careful, his boss would have him flushing out drains instead of flushing out criminals.

He played at adjusting the cloak over his arm, lifting and dropping the soft, scarlet wool into folds. Danger! He ought to have known better, imagining Claudia Seferius to be in danger!

Kidnapped and held to ransom for her inheritance, that’s what he’d thought. Ha-bloody-ha. The man who tried that would need his brains examining—it was safer rolling naked in a viper pit. Juno’s skirts, you’re a fool, Marcus. You knew she was in debt, you should have realized she’d be working some sort of scam.

Don’t blame me, a little voice argued back. I’ve been busting my balls all bloody year, first on that murder business, then in Ostia, I was too tired to think it through properly. Tired…and frustrated. He slumped against the wall, letting his head rest against the cool of the stone. Croesus, I need a woman. I can’t go on like this much longer. I’m twenty-four, for gods’ sake, it’s not bloody natural.

Aulus had sent him a slave girl, a pretty little thing, but she was only fourteen and quaking like an aspen, so he politely sent her away again. No, what he wanted was a real woman. One with firm, ripe breasts to tickle and tease him. One with long, dark curls to make a tent round their faces. One who breathed fire and passion. Electricity sparking in the night. Heat. Craving, begging, clawing fury.

And for him, Marcus Cornelius Orbilio, there
was
only one woman.

‘You’re a damned fool,’ he told his shadow. ‘Why all that shit about clapping her in irons? You know you didn’t mean it. And why say you followed Sabina? Why not tell her the truth?’

He knew why, of course. Not only the way that bastard Diomedes ogled her, blue eyes lingering blatantly (and Orbilio felt a stab in his gut whenever he thought about it), but Orbilio was no fool. He’d seen the looks she gave that bloody quack. He’d watched her whenever Diomedes’s name cropped up. Well, he was damned if he was going to tell her what really brought him to Sicily. A man had his pride, goddammit.

He ran both hands through his hair. He’d make her take that boat tomorrow, if he had to carry her down the gangplank over his shoulder. That slimeball wouldn’t lay one finger on her, not one damned finger.

He passed under the dining room window, empty now, except for tantalizing smells of goose and hare and the inevitable mutton and heard his stomach growl.

In many respects, the timing of his arrival was perfect—the very day Sabina had been killed—allowing him to inspect the body within hours of the murder, though interrogation had been one hell of a task. Collatinus had so many slaves, it was like being back in the army and Orbilio couldn’t be sure they weren’t breeding faster than he could take statements, because for every one on his list, three turned up at interview.

He paused to listen to the chirrup of crickets in the undergrowth and congratulated himself that hard work and diligence paid off. He had worked out who had committed this disgusting crime, but he had to have proof. Conclusive evidence to bring this bastard to justice, because without that, where was he? Grovelling to his boss, that’s where.

The local magistrate would be none too happy when he discovered the Security Police tramping his territory, but he’d have to bloody well lump it. Orbilio was only a few months away from his twenty-fifth birthday, the date he legally became eligible for the Senate. Time was not on his side, there was no room for politics. Not at this level.

Orbilio’s palms began to sweat. He was really beginning to need that drink.

One thing he couldn’t fathom was Claudia’s involvement. Money had to be at the core, but what did she hope to gain from passing an imposter off as Eugenius’s granddaughter? She was clever, he’d give her that. No one in the family suspected a damned thing. But what happened to the real Sabina? Was she dead? And why wasn’t Claudia upset that her partner had been killed? And in such an inhuman way?

Holy shit, the thought of raping a woman who was paralysed made his gorge rise, but to do it while she lay dying was too disgusting to contemplate. What sort of pervert did that?

Orbilio’s hand patted the dagger in his belt. Chances are he wouldn’t need to use it, and even if he did, he’d have no compunction at killing the evil sod, his only regret would come from not taking him back alive.

Squaring his shoulders and straightening his neck, he turned his mind back to the job in hand. With the evidence he had gathered, there was only one man who
could
have killed Sabina, and to get the proof he needed, a search of the man’s room was required. That was why he’d chosen tonight. Everyone was out of the way.

Fabius was visiting an army pal in Sullium, Linus was drowning whatever sorrows he might have in a wineshop in Fintium, Portius was hobnobbing with his clique of so-called intellectuals, and Aulus was out checking wool stocks with his father, who’d suddenly demanded to go over them. (Why he’d chosen this time of night when he could have chosen any time he liked and when the light would have been better, Jupiter only knew. But that was Eugenius for you. Liked to keep them on their toes.)

Plus it was Senbi’s night off, Diomedes was moonlighting, Dexippus was stuck with totting wool stocks, which left only Antefa, Senbi’s son, who’d been allocated to act as Orbilio’s manservant and Orbilio had sent him off on an errand. Oh, and Piso, who liked to frequent the local brothel on a Thursday evening.

He had the place to himself.

The time for playing games was over. Stepping purposefully out of the shadows, Orbilio threw his cloak over his shoulder with a flourish and strode across the tiles.

The shutters were closed, as would be reasonable on a night like this, and there were no yellow lines round the door to suggest a lamp burning inside. Nevertheless, his dagger was in his hand as he threw wide the door.

Empty.

Closing the door quietly behind him, Orbilio fumbled for a light. The room was bigger and more opulent than he expected, the friezes quite remarkable. He had set down his lamp in preparation for the search when he heard footsteps. Light footsteps, those of a woman. Dancing footsteps, those
of…

‘Well, well! If it isn’t our friendly neighbourhood snoop hard at work as usual.’

His heart began to pound, though he couldn’t tell whether it was from pleasure at seeing her or from jealousy at why she was here.

That was not an outfit one wore for darning one’s slippers.

She was wearing a stola of the very finest cotton. Midnight blue with midnight intent. It was girdled below the breasts to fall in delicious folds, clinging to her thighs and draping delicately over her feet. That alone could drive a man wild, never mind that the upper edge of her garment, the bit that fell from neck to elbow, had not been sewn but was pinched together at small, enticing intervals by a series of gold brooches. So many, a man could be sent insane unclipping them slowly, one by one, and kissing the place they’d been keeping. And that would be after he’d removed every bracelet, every anklet, every armlet, every pendant she had deliberately and desirously draped over every inch of bare, soft skin.

When he tried to speak, his voice failed him and he resorted to a sickly smile, only to be skewered by the sort of glance that kills the shine on polished bronze.

‘Enjoying yourself, are you, poking around in other people’s secrets?’

He shrugged. It was his job and she bloody well knew it.

‘Your trouble, Orbilio, is that you’ve got no one except yourself
to
enjoy. In fact, I hear they call you Bedspread these days, you’ve been turned down so often.’

He could feel his lips twitch and turned away before they let him down completely and showed teeth. She was angry, he could tell by the flush on her cheeks and the flash in her eyes, but Jupiter be praised, he was confident now of getting her on board that grainship tomorrow. He didn’t mind admitting, either, he was going to get a real kick out of bursting her bubble.

He’d have to tread carefully—not only because she was softer than she made herself out to be, but burst it too quickly and she’d never forgive him, he’d be back where he started. The knack was to make her understand for herself. And if there was someone there, close at hand, a shoulder to cry on, during that long, long voyage back to Rome, was it Orbilio’s fault he just happened to be that person…
?

He noticed her finger was trailing the edge of the cupboard beside her.

‘Good quality furniture,’ he said quietly, wondering where to begin his search. The room was packed with shelves and cupboards for all his paraphernalia, the instruments, the apparatus, the drugs, the palettes, the balances.

‘Why not? Physicians are worth their weight in gold pieces.’

Especially Greek ones. They were reputed to be the best in their field, although Orbilio had scant regard for these so-called skills. It was all too easy to bury your mistakes.

‘You obviously think so, to be troubling him this time of night. Couldn’t you sleep?’

He realized his mistake the instant the words slipped out, and unable to help himself his eyes jumped from her tantalizing outfit to the broad couch in the corner. How many times had she been here, he wondered, as red hot irons began to wrench his guts apart. Diomedes, blast his balls, must have set to work straight away and what a smooth operator he turned out to be. She’d been here only a week.

Claudia shot him a brittle smile. ‘I’ve always found that early to bed, early to rise, my dear Orbilio, was the most wonderful piece of advice I was ever given the chance to ignore. Too many good times would have been utterly ruined otherwise.’

He pretended not to hear. Dammit, when he sailed halfway round the Mediterranean, he’d expected her to be in danger. He didn’t expect her to be in some stranger’s bed.

‘What are your greasy little fingers looking for, anyway?’

Orbilio forced his mind back to his search. No doubt there was method in this wild disorder, but for the life of him he didn’t know what, and he had to be careful not to show anything had been disturbed.

‘A scalpel.’ If he didn’t find it tonight, he’d try again in the morning.
‘
The
scalpel, actually. The one that killed Sabina.’

Her mouth turned down in disgust. ‘How revolting! How do you know it was a scalpel?’

He was back on level ground now. ‘I examined the wound carefully. The blade that made it was sharp, thin, and the cut so precise it verged on the professional.’

She tipped her head on one side. ‘Oh dear, have you been sniffing the hemp seeds again? I mean, you can’t seriously suspect Diomedes?’

He closed one cupboard carefully, opened another. He lifted the lid of a tin and inhaled warily. It reeked of stale animal fats.

‘Who else?’

He tried not to sound too cheerful. Means, motive and opportunity. Find that weapon and he had him bang to rights.

‘Well for a start, he was with me when Sabina was killed. Or do you have me down as an accomplice?’

‘I wouldn’t put anything past you.’ Orbilio shook a copper vessel, heard the liquid inside swish and untied the bung. Vinegar. ‘But not on this occasion. However, by his own admission, Sabina had been dead between two and three hours. Ample time for him to nip into town and establish an alibi. Especially if she’d been dead, say, an hour longer. Just remember who showed you that shortcut in the first place.’