Almost as an afterthought he unhinged the shutters to let in the cool, healing evening breeze.
*
‘Good morning!’
Claudia plumped herself down on the edge of the couch and dangled a bronze manicure set from her right index finger.
Marcus Cornelius Orbilio opened one eye. ‘What’s that for?’
‘Well, it was difficult to know what to give the man who has everything and virtually all of it contagious.’
He gave a sickly grin. ‘Thank you.’
She dropped the manicure set on the bed. ‘You can play with your toys later,’ she said airily. ‘I came to update you on the news.’
Since he’d declined the offer of grapes, Claudia placed the bowl in her lap and began to strip the bunch one by one.
‘Around dawn, Eugenius finally did what Old Conky’s been praying for these past sixteen years. Collatinus, like the reptile that he was, sloughed his mortal skin and slithered away to join his ancestors.’
‘There’ll be a sign up,’ he said. ‘“Under New Management.”’
‘You’re not well, Marcus. Leave the jokes to me.’ She decapitated another grape. ‘I also have to report that Linus, as of today, is a reformed character.’
Unlike Diomedes, Orbilio found his imagination stretched to its very limits picturing Linus, purely by chance, falling horizontally on to a vertical fruit knife, but wholeheartedly agreed that it couldn’t have happened to a nicer chap.
‘What else?’
‘Sarcasm doesn’t become you,’ she said, turning the bunch over to attack the grapes from the other side. ‘Lots of things have happened while you’ve been idling away in your pit. Tanaquil, for instance. Antefa went to give her her supper and guess what he found?’
Orbilio struggled to prop himself up on his pillow. ‘Don’t tell me, let me guess. Four guards unconscious, door open, Tanaquil gone.’
Claudia’s mouth pursed. ‘Have you heard this before? Swear it?’
He swore it.
‘Then how did you know?’
A sparkle danced in his eyes. ‘I’m a policeman. What was I supposed to make of two big strong Nubians hanging round the litter shed? The puzzle is, why did you let her go?’
The grape about to enter Claudia’s mouth was brandished like a weapon. ‘Who said I let her go? Don’t get me wrong, Orbilio, I’m not saying I’m sorry she’s free, but why you suspect me is a mystery. Are you sure you don’t want a grape?’
‘And deprive you of the last four?’
‘Oops. Sorry about that. Anyway, that’s not all, guess who’s vanished?’
‘Surprise me.’
‘Diomedes.’ She started in on his dish of figs. ‘Upped and went last night without a word. What do you think of that?’
‘Astonishing.’
‘Then sound like you mean it. They’ll track him down, of course, he won’t get far.’
‘Who wants to track him down?’
Claudia spread her hands in an exasperated gesture. ‘You, for one. Ever since you arrived.’
‘Ah. I have a confession to make. I was wrong about Diomedes.’
‘No, I was wrong about Diomedes.’
‘No, I was.’
‘Orbilio, I said I was-’
‘Diomedes didn’t kill Sabina or Acte, he-’
‘Rubbish, he’s as guilty as hell-’
Orbilio banged his head three times on his pillow. ‘Dammit, Claudia, listen to me-’
‘There’s a chap in the clipshed called Melinno-’
‘The shepherd?’
‘Marcus Cornelius Orbilio, will you shut your mouth for thirty seconds and use your damned ears for a minute?’ The instructions were so utterly absurd that they both fell into fits of laughter. Then the figs slithered to the floor in one sticky heap and the manicure set slipped elegantly off the bed to land right in the middle, like a cherry on a custard. You could have fried a dozen flatfish in the time it took them to calm down.
‘I’m serious, Orbilio,’ she said, mopping her eyes. ‘There’s a boy in the clipshed, his name is Melinno and he came here to kill the man who killed his wife. And that man was Diomedes.’
‘Did he tell you how his wife died?’ He was the policeman once more.
‘Not in so many words, no… Don’t look at me like that, the boy’s had his lungs cut open, what do you expect? But all the time he’s been calling her name, Sulpica, and crying because he can’t remember her face clearly, and promising to kill the man who killed her.’
‘Diomedes?’
‘Put it this way. When I told him the name of the man who had cured him, he put his head back and roared like a wounded elephant. Let me demonstrate.’
Claudia tipped her head back and yelled at the top of her voice. Ignoring Orbilio’s claims of permanent deafness, she gathered up a handful of raisins. ‘And I’ll tell you another thing, that girl didn’t die peacefully in her bed. Melinno talks of a slow death in excruciating agony.’
‘Sabina and Acte didn’t die in excruciating agony, though. Not in the way he seems to describe.’
‘You’re in no physical condition to split hairs, Marcus Cornelius.’
‘Maybe not, but my theory… Could you pass me a drink of water while there’s still some left? My theory is that Diomedes killed her by negligence. It wasn’t murder.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘It’s a long story,’ he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘I’ll tell you some other time.’
He should have known better. Within minutes, she had prized the whole sordid tale out of him, how Diomedes had flitted from rich family to rich family, ingratiating himself by first making one of the more influential members fall ill and then ‘curing’ them. Each time his goal was wealth. Each time he had set his sights on marrying one of the daughters, and each time his proposal had been rejected, because although he might be a valuable asset as a family physician, as a bridegroom he didn’t pass muster.
‘There aren’t any marriageable daughters here,’ Claudia protested, and then remembered Sabina. ‘What about the widowed oil merchant, who was lined up in pole position?’
‘I think the plan was to make Sabina fall sick and work back from there. Probably couldn’t believe his luck when the retiring Vestal came home with a full suitcase but only half her wits, and when Diomedes saw she’d brought along a wealthy young widow, well! Two bites at the cherry.’
Claudia’s nose wrinkled in scepticism. ‘As much as I am tempted by your theories, especially as they dovetail with previous theories of my own and you know how I hate to be wrong, it doesn’t explain why he’s done a runner.’
Orbilio looked away. ‘You remember your conversation with Urgulania in Agrigentum?’ He began to pleat the bedsheet. ‘Let’s just say, I’ve evened the score.’
‘Do you mean to tell me that you, Marcus Cornelius Orbilio, the pillar of every Roman community, actually lied!’
‘I’m sure my account to Dreamboat was as truthful as yours to the good matron.’
Claudia had learned her manners from her mother, who, when sober and not prone to suicide attempts, had quite a repertoire, having once served as a rich man’s courtesan until he dumped her for a younger model. It was therefore from her mother she had learned that snorting was vulgar. On the other hand, there are times when vulgarity is vital to a girl’s well-being. Claudia let rip the kind of snort your average hippo would be proud to own.
‘I didn’t know you did warthogs as well as wounded elephants,’ Orbilio said mildly, and received a slap on his arm for his pains.
‘The invalid is so tired he’s starting to hallucinate.’ Claudia stepped daintily over the figs. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot.’ Liar. ‘The reason for my gracious visit to the sickroom was to let you know I’m leaving this afternoon.’
All things being equal, his expression should have changed-fallen, ideally-and he should have asked what time, how was she travelling, what were her plans. In fact, any number of possibilities presented themselves except the question: ‘Before the funeral?’