Claudia had hardly got herself comfortable when she heard the driver shout, ‘Whoa!’ and felt the mules slow down.
‘Now what?’ She jumped from the wagon and marched to the front. She would have a word with Eugenius, really she would, leaving a man like this in charge of a vehicle. He was incompetent. Downright dangerous in fact, and she was in the middle of telling him how she would have him roasted on a spit with artichokes and lovage when Junius butted in.
‘I think he’s trying to tell you the rider has signalled us to stop.’
‘What rider?’
‘You can’t see him from down there,’ the driver replied with no small amount of satisfaction, and magnanimously offered her a hand up.
Tempted to snatch the whip out of his hand and beat him to a pulp with it, Claudia refrained. The buckboard was narrow and uncomfortable, but you sure could see well. A rider was pushing his horse hard up the incline, head bent forward, as the hooves kicked up swirls of umber. She could only surmise, because the driver seemed to understand it, that his frantic arm-waving was some sort of recognized signal to halt. Reining in his horse, as handsome a grey as you got on this island, the rider became visible through the subsiding dust clouds.
‘Good grief, it’s the cavalry.’
Marcus Cornelius Orbilio gave a mock salute and shook the hair out of his eyes. A small, powdery halo formed and was quickly dispersed by the salt air. A second rider was hard on his heels, and Orbilio greeted him with surprise:
‘Linus?’
‘Marcus.’ As an afterthought, Linus turned to acknowledge Claudia. ‘Have you told her yet?’ His eyes, shining, were back on Orbilio.
‘No. Look, I’d be obliged-’
‘But it’s great news,’ Linus said, his face splitting into a grin. ‘We’ve caught him.’
‘Who?’ Claudia asked, aware that Tanaquil had left the wagon and was standing wringing her hands. Was this for Orbilio’s benefit or for Linus?
‘My sister’s murderer,’ Linus said, attempting to cover his baldness with his gingery hair. ‘We’ve got him, it’s all over.’ He manoeuvred his horse into a victory circle. ‘Isn’t that great?’
She glanced at Orbilio. He clearly didn’t think great was the word, and she could see what had happened. Collatinus was holding Utti prisoner and proud of it, a scapegoat to hold up to the world, and until he brought down higher authority, Eugenius was milking it to the full. He would know, as Orbilio would know (and indeed had probably told him till he turned purple), that it would never get to trial without evidence, and this wouldn’t bother Collatinus. He’d be getting enough publicity to last his great-grandchildren’s lifetimes. The Security Police had got nowhere, the local magistrates not even as far as that. He would be a hero, and when the real killer was caught, he could hold his hands up and cry, well, he was an old man, what do you expect, and Utti would…
Aha! Yes, Utti would also be a hero. Claudia began to see Tanaquil’s angle. Cunning little bitch, she’d been planning this all along. Those powers of hers, off-key and infrequent as they were, had served her well here, because when Utti walked free, everyone on the island would want to watch him wrestle. Coins would change hands, his fame would spread, they would move to Rome, where greater denominations would change hands. Claudia took her hat off to the redhead. She did know how to make a packet out of the Collatinuses-and without them coughing up one single copper quadran of their own. She looked at Tanaquil out of the corner of her eye, face hidden behind a white, linen blob. A white, patrician, linen blob.
She had taken so long in answering Linus that he was guiding his horse on a vociferous celebratory canter round the wagon, much to the driver’s annoyance. It was getting his mules’ rag up and, as we all know, when it comes to mules, rags don’t have very far to travel.
‘You’re talking about Utti, I presume?’
Linus seemed to have lost interest in Claudia and was asking Marcus whether he fancied coming to the pothouse tonight. Orbilio, she noticed, was trying to speak with his eyes to Claudia while answering with his mouth to Linus. Neither communication seemed to be getting through.
‘Giddy-up,’ she told the driver, squeezing herself between him and Junius, ‘let’s get these nags some hay.’ Linus was whistling, at least she presumed that’s what it was meant to be, as he wheeled his horse round. ‘Race you back, Marcus.’
Orbilio hadn’t moved. His gaze was directed straight at her now. Claudia felt a blast of cold, intuitive air. It wasn’t Utti at all. Holy Mars, they’d collared Diomedes! You bastard, she thought. You cold-blooded, calculating bastard. False imprisonment for a physician would ruin his career, he’d be begging on the streets within a year. Eugenius would turn him out, innocent or not, because mud sticks, even when you spread it yourself. And Supersnoop had let him do it. Correction, Supersnoop had actively encouraged it.
His gaze didn’t waver, neither did hers. An innocent man arrested for murder, because you see the doors of the Senate House opening in front of you. An innocent man ruined, because you can’t see beyond your own filthy ambitions.
As Linus galloped off, Claudia’s eyes ground into Orbilio’s. Well, if you can’t do your damned job, then I’ll bloody well do it for you. I’ll catch this pervert, Marcus Cornelius, and I’ll do it the only way I know how. I’ll set myself up as bait. I’ll have you looking so small, they’ll have to pick you up with tweezers. He inched his horse forward. ‘I’m sorry-’ he began.
By rights, ice should have formed on his eyelashes, snow should have fallen on his brow. Claudia’s glacial expression didn’t waver. This man didn’t know what sorry was. Yet!
His face was lined and drawn, his mouth pursed. The twinkle in his eye was reduced to a glint of pain. A stone mallet thudded into Claudia’s stomach. Oh no. Oh no, please, no…
‘What have you done to Diomedes?’ she asked stiffly.
His expression flickered. ‘Who?’
‘What?’ She was puzzled, too. ‘I’m asking what’s happened to Diomedes.’
Orbilio’s expression changed several times then hardened. He squared his shoulders before speaking. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, in a voice generally reserved for superior officers and inferior lowlife. ‘I thought you were interested in Utti.’
‘Utti?’ Tanaquil darted over and placed a hand on his knee. There was, Claudia noticed, no tunic covering that particular area of knee. ‘What about him?’
Orbilio covered her hand with his own, and Claudia felt a pang of something she couldn’t identify.
‘They’ve arrested him, haven’t they?’ Tanaquil made to run off, but Orbilio leaned down from his horse and held her back.
‘It’s worse than that,’ he said gently. ‘I am so sorry, Tanaquil.’ His face was twisted with pain. ‘Collatinus has impaled him.’
XXVI
Claudia did not know where to direct her anger.
From a hundred miles away she heard Tanaquil ask, ‘When?’ and Orbilio reply, ‘Yesterday, at dusk,’ then the sickening reality set in.
Utti. Impaled on a stake. A big man, a tough man, a fighter. Utti, who for those very reasons would have taken hours and hours to die. She imagined the scene, scores of slaves crowding round. Is he dead yet? Is he dead yet? Utti, the wrestler, with his great ham fists and his flattened nose and his cauliflower ears. Utti, the children’s favourite. Utti, impaled on a stake, roaring like a wounded bear, crying like the baby he really was. Alone. Frightened. Unable to comprehend.
Orbilio had dismounted and was doing his best to comfort Tanaquil, who stood as stiff and motionless as a statue. Junius, Kleon, the driver-everyone was open-mouthed and silent.