‘Why should you think I’d want to help?’
‘Because life at the moment is too dull?’
In spite of herself, Claudia chuckled. ‘Just what is it you want from me, Marcus Cornelius?’
Orbilio’s unseeing gaze looked down at the racetrack. Oh, Claudia, how can I answer you that? Dozens of labourers were now raking the sand, a man up a ladder reversed the gleaming dolphins and another stoked the sacred flame of Mars before adding sweet-smelling resins, which, as they burned, sent up clouds of pungent black smoke. What I want from you, Claudia, is for you to tell me Porsenna means nothing. That he’s no more than a diversion to keep Larentia happy. What I want is to hold you in my arms and as the moon rises high in the heavens, whisper our secrets, our dreams, our hopes, our ambitions. Oh, what I want, Claudia, are your kisses. For my fingers to tangle in your wild, dancing curls, to hear the rich cadences of your laugh in my bed. And, Mother of Tarquin, more than anything, I want the courage to tell you ‘I-’ He cleared his throat and turned to face her. His eyes were dark with emotion, she saw, his face strained, and she felt an invisible vice tighten inside her. He was so close she could smell the rosewater in which his clothes had been rinsed, his sandalwood unguent, the sweet warm scent of his breath on her cheek. ‘Claudia, this might not be the right place, but I have to tell you how I feelJanus! ’
Grabbing her roughly, he jerked her upright and pushed her towards the aisle. Around her, the crowds had risen to their feet.
‘Quick! To the exit!’
Claudia tried to shake off his arm, but he was shoving her with the full strength of his weight. ‘Will you stop this?’ she protested, knowing how a carved wooden soldier feels being shoved along the board. The noise inside the Circus was deafening.
‘For gods’ sake,’ he hissed. ‘Can’t you see what’s happening down there?’
‘Only if I had eyes in my hairclips,’ she snapped. It might not have occurred to him, but she was going in the wrong direction to look at the race track. ‘Orbilio, will you let go of me, people will think I’m under arrest!’
His sole response was to shove harder, and she tripped up the stairs. People were surging towards them, then her feet were more flying than walking. He did not relax either pace or grip until they were outside.
Claudia pulled away and rubbed at the bruise on her arm. ‘What was all that in aid of?’
Orbilio fell against the high stone wall and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. ‘That-’ As he waited to get his breath back, two bands of legionaries converged on the entrance, swords drawn. ‘-stupid, bloody augur! Didn’t you hear him? From the flight of a flock of pigeons passing overhead, he concluded all further races should be cancelled.’
‘What?’
After the death of their hero just a fortnight before, devastating the entire populace of Rome, these Games were just the tonic they needed. And since there were only ever seventeen days of the year on which races could be held, they’d really worked up a head of steam for today. For some silly bugger to cancel the Games on account of a few birds was utter madness.
That Orbilio had sensed the start of the riot and steered her so quickly to safety was a credit to him. But it would only make him big-headed to mention the fact…
Behind the high walls, shouts and screams mingled with the smashing of wood and the clashing of swords upon stone, which, like young bucks locking horns, was more for effect than anything else. However, the fact that there were soldiers outside said much for the flashpoint at which the Empire stood at the moment. The din of the rioting attracted crowds, Claudia and Marcus had to push their way down to the river, where marketplaces and wharves stood deserted apart from a handful of porters left guarding the goods. Sacks and crates, amphorae and bales sprawled in eerie confusion. An oar slipped out of its rowlock and disappeared quietly under the water, and a bemused mule brayed to its harnessed companion.
‘You have to leave Rome,’ he said, leading the way across the Fabrician Bridge. ‘It’s not safe.’
‘Rubbish. There’s a fray every month in this city, people need to let off steam now and then-’
‘I’m talking about the danger from Magic,’ he said firmly. ‘You can see what state the Empire’s in. How precariously it’s balanced.’
Standing beside the Healing Temple in the middle of the Tiber, watching its turbulent currents slam against the honey-coloured piers of the bridge and hearing its yellow, muddy waters slap against the strong retaining wall around the island, Claudia understood perfectly. Augustus would have no trouble calming down the riot, he was probably already showering the crowds with lottery tickets, and some will win a sticky bun, some a jug of wine and one jammy devil will walk home the owner of a brand new house and villa. Then the augur will backtrack, the races will continue-but the unrest? The unrest will still be there, and the veil of anarchy was growing thinner by the day. Until the crisis was past, and for however long that took, Marcus Cornelius Orbilio would be on call and on duty twenty-four hours a day. By necessity, his interests in stalkers, serial killers and indeed anything else, must come second.
‘Rome needs heroes,’ she said, plucking a blossom from the tree. ‘Go and do your duty, Marcus. I can look after myself.’
Always have, always will.
‘My solution,’ he said, idly examining the donations left by grateful patients, the wooden cups, the garlands, the cakes, ‘is for you and Annia to visit Arbil’s ranch-’
‘Who’s Arbil? And why on earth should I visit a farm? I despise the countryside-’
She didn’t think he’d heard her protests. ‘It’s a very short ride,’ he was saying, resting his elbows on the wall. ‘If you set off at first light-’
‘Orbilio, are you completely off your chump?’ Claudia flung up her arms in exasperation. ‘Leave the trout farm just like that?’ The man’s barmy. A solid gold fruitcake.
He lifted his head and there seemed to be a sparkle in his eyes. Unless it was reflection off the water. ‘Yes,’ he said simply. ‘ Just like that, and your old trouts won’t suspect a thing, and you know why?’
She didn’t dare ask.
‘I, too, have a foolproof plan,’ he continued, and the maddening twinkle did not abate. ‘Which, funnily enough, also takes a little while to work.’
XXIII
Not always does the obvious attract the seasoned gambler. True, he will not turn up his nose at a healthy game of knucklebones, nor thumb the same appendage should a pair of gladiators be slogging it out on the sand. But he’ll remain on the lookout for more exciting methods to satisfy his craving. Thus, for Claudia Seferius, the chance to cock a snook at her greedy, snobby in-laws, knowing that if just one of the old dragons found her out, there’d be sufficient grounds for Larentia to drag her into court-well, the temptation was simply too great to resist. As the water swirled round Tiber Island and more and more soldiers rushed from their practice grounds on the Field of Mars towards the great Circus Maximus, Claudia felt the fire burning in her belly.
‘I’m listening.’
A thin, young woman holding a limp baby in her arms, her face blotched and swollen with tears, negotiated the piles of clay body parts which littered the steps of the Healing Temple to advertise its potency. Because while it was round the interior columns that pilgrims left terracotta organs, limbs, or what have you, then prayed to the god Aesculapius to heal the afflicted part, it was outside, when they’d been cured, that they removed their models to decorate the steps as encouragement for others. In the cool shade of the porch, the priest eased the child from its careworn mother’s arms and led them gently inside.
‘Then watch this,’ Marcus said, and cast around amongst the vast array of donations for cosmetic jars, watched by a suspicious temple warden whose job it was to prevent thieving.