Why hadn’t Claudia come home last night? Where had she been? And with whom?
Marcus quickly discounted any possibility of danger-that Gaulish bodyguard would protect her with his life. Unfortunately, though, he could not discard the young Gaul. What was the relationship between them? Junius’ eyes followed her every waking movement, and his step faltered as his mind pictured them, entwined. Or was it Porsenna she found so attractive? Him with his blond hair and vacuous charm-and pots of money stashed away? Orbilio swallowed. Mother of Tarquin, this is madness. The same thing happens every bloody time. The closer I get to Claudia Seferius, the more jealous I become and why? Because with each fraction I move closer, the more frightened I become that I might lose her. And thereby lies the sting.
She isn’t mine to lose.
Claudia belongs to no man, never will, and that’s what’s so damned alluring. Not that she’s stunningly beautiful, with curls I want to bury my head in and a freckle on her collarbone I want to investigate closer. Not because she’s Miss Firecracker one minute, Ice Maiden the next. It’s her spirit that sets her apart-and any man who tries to tame that spirit might as well try tethering lightning.
Although any man who wants to is a fool.
The house on the Caelian was quiet, as he knew it would be, because the price she demanded for checking out Arbil had been for Orbilio to get rid of the aunts. Which he had, goddammit. Which he had.
The shutters were drawn. Was she in? Janus, Croesus, who was she with? Porsenna? The Gaul? Whose bed would she sleep in tonight?
‘Oi!’
Startled, Orbilio spun round and found himself staring into the doleful eyes of an ass.
‘Shove over, mate,’ its driver yelled amiably. ‘You’re holding up the traffic.’
Marcus spread apologetic hands and stepped aside. The spell was broken. He’d been a fool. A damned possessive fool at that, and he was deeply ashamed of himself.
Nevertheless, he remained beneath her balcony as cart after cart jolted past, their reins rattling, their rawhide whips cracking like logs on the fire as the drivers whooped and hollered. An invisible procession followed with them. The scent of straw which protected the fragile terracotta pots. Soft tangy leather. Acid charcoal. Fruity wines. Threaded through with the smell of sulphur from the torches and the sullen snorts of mules. At one point he thought he heard a whistle, whit-whit-whit, and despised himself still further. And because nothing could be achieved by standing here, Orbilio took off to get pissed.
It was well into the early hours when he sauntered back along the Caelian. There were no longer wagons fetching in comestibles, no whistles now to mock his investigative prowess. Only a hardboiled ginger tomcat, paws tucked in, whose amber eyes followed with the unblinking secrets of a century. A dog barked from the depths of a building as he worked his way round to the slaves’ entrance and unlocked the door. Just a peep into Claudia’s bedroom. That was all.
In the atrium, a faint light flickered. He could hear the trickle of a fountain near the entrance, heard snoring from the slaves’ wing. Silently he worked his way past the marble busts and columns to the stairs which led to Claudia’s bedroom, then stopped. It must be the effects of the sun, he thought, beating on his head all day long. Followed by too much wine, much too quick.
Because sitting on the floor beside the fountain, cross-legged and with her long hair loose, the woman he had come to check on leaned towards a small boy kneeling in his nightshift. They appeared to be competing for a local gurning championship, and it took every ounce of Orbilio’s willpower not to rush over and scoop them both up in his arms.
*
‘Goody, it’s the man in the frock.’ Jovi scrabbled to his feet and dragged Orbilio across to the window, where he twizzled his neck and flattened his cheek against the thick glass. ‘Look! There’s the Divine Julius, that star up there, can you see it?’ His stubby finger pointed directly at the Pole Star.
‘The Divine Julius?’ Orbilio asked mildly.
‘He was turned into that star after he was murdered, Claudie says so.’
Claudie, he noticed, was adjusting her gown with great meticulousness. ‘Then it must be true.’ Marcus nodded solemnly. ‘Now then, young man, why aren’t you tucked up?’
‘I couldn’t sleep, so me and Claudie played a game, you can join in, if you like,’ Jovi said eagerly. ‘All you have to do,’ his little face puckered, ‘is lick the tip of you nose,’ pucker, pucker, ‘with the tip of your tongue.’
‘Who won? You?’
‘Claudie.’ Jovi sighed philosophically. ‘Every time.’
‘Ah, well, she has a natural advantage. You see, she sharpens her tongue on a cuttlefish every morning.’ Taking care to avoid the venomous glare which burned into his back, Orbilio picked the lad up, wheeled him round in the air then patted his bottom. ‘Come on, you. Back to bed.’
‘What, already?’ But Jovi had already discovered that the force of grown-ups was too strong to tackle head-on and off he stumped, singing rude words to a popular marching song.
‘I won’t ask where he learned that,’ Orbilio laughed. ‘But oughtn’t he be learning money matters, or something?’
‘Orbilio, he knows that money matters. We all do.’
‘I meant arith-forget it.’ His mood sobered. ‘The mother’s not come forward, then?’
Claudia’s face twisted as she turned away. ‘Nor likely to,’ she muttered.
Yesterday, Leonides managed to pinpoint the whorehouse where she worked. Mean little dive, he said. Stank of stale wine and cabbage water, with stand-up cubbyholes for sex and fishheads in the doorway. So keen was Jovi’s mother to break the sordid cycle, she upped sticks with the first man to ask her-but not before turning her son loose on the streets. Until Leonides arrived, the other whores had naturally assumed she’d taken the child with her.
‘What have you told Jovi?’
Claudia threw up her hands. ‘What am I supposed to tell him?’
‘The truth?’ he suggested quietly.
‘For gods’ sake,’ she cried. ‘The boy’s still a baby! Do you expect me to sit him on my knee and say, “by the way, your mum’s abandoned you, she had a better offer”?’ From the corner of her eye, she caught a movement. Fleeting, but it was there, nonetheless. The unfolding of two tiny hands from where they’d been gripping the stair rail…
Shit!
Her eyes began to sting and the atrium blurred. A week ago he’d been wandering the Argiletum, lost and lonely, and she’d promised him upon her honour she would take him home next day. If only she’d persevered that same night! She might have caught his mother before she flitted off, changed her mind and persuaded the bitch to take the lad with her. At the very worst, Claudia could have prepared Jovi from the start, instead of raising his hopes day by day…
‘I’ll find him a foster home,’ she gulped. ‘A mum and dad to love him.’
‘You love him,’ Orbilio said softly. ‘Why not let him stay?’
‘No!’ The violence of her protest shook them both, but what could she say? That deep down she was scared of loving anyone, except Drusilla? Because cats love unconditionally, expect nothing in return? Because cats never let you down. Or break your heart? She marched down the atrium and out into the scented night air of the peristyle.
Following, Orbilio stared up at the constellations twinkling above them, inhaled the peach blossoms and the wallflowers, and said nothing.
‘Care to tell me?’ Claudia blew her nose, ‘what you did to get rid of the aunts?’
Whatever it was, it was damned effective. The only trace of their visit was a heap of dirty bedlinen when she got home, and Herkie still locked in the cellar. No doubt Cousin Fortunata would return to collect her little diddums, but something made the old bats leave in a hurry.
His sheepish grin was quickly suppressed. ‘Following on from the chalk and ash routine which made you look so poorly, it was but a step to mix flour with wine dregs and,’ he turned to look at a statue, ‘dab it on your servants’ faces.’