Wolf Whistle

And Annia would be branded the same way! Marcus Cornelius buried his head in his hands and prayed.

‘Help me, Penelope. Help me find your daughter.’

Before the Market Day Murderer does.

XII

As dusk spread her cloak across the seven hills of Rome, Claudia slipped in unseen through the garden entrance. The drizzle had stopped. Or had it? It was the sort of day when you could barely tell the difference. Transparent beads of moisture had collected on the junipers and cypress, and fairy pools of water had formed in the crucibles of the peonies; well, water was fine in its place, but what Claudia needed to unwind with was wine, and strong enough to sink a horseshoe, if you please. So then. A glass (make it a jug) of Falernian. A quiet hour reading Virgil, a lavender massage, supper sent to her room. Definitely no sucking up to the old boilers, who’d only want to gossip about the Market Day Murders.

‘Claudia.’ Fannia was waiting indoors in ambush. ‘My bolster-I’m sure it isn’t swansdown, and you know how delicate I am. Could you get it changed, or I’ll never sleep a wink?’

This, after seeing a girl hacked to mincemeat and just minutes after she had hired a professional assassin to dispose of the maniac who threatened to torture the life out of her. Nevertheless, Claudia was sure she had a winsome smile somewhere.

‘My dear Fannia, for your pillow I bought soft cygnet down.’ Chickens, swans, they’re all birds, aren’t they? ‘Trust me, you’ll sleep well tonight.’

As will the rest of the old trouts. I’m lacing your drinks.

But no sooner had Fannia clucked off, than Claudia’s escape route was blocked by a skinny creature with watery eyes and prominent cheekbones who came flying down the staircase. She appeared to be clutching a hairless brown rat under her arm.

‘Cousin Claudia! Oh, Cousin Claudia, what are you going to do about Hercules?’

In the Forum, in the colonnades, in the public libraries you will hear philosophers argue daily the finer points of rhetoric. Should one, for instance, go ahead with a birthday celebration, even though the augur has cautioned against it? If the man you find in bed with your wife is your boss, do you still go ahead and castrate him? But never do you hear it mooted what one ought to do about Hercules.

Claudia stalled for time. ‘It’s Cousin Fortunata, is it not? I don’t believe we’ve met I’m-’

‘It’s affected his appetite, you know. Put him right off his din-dins, hasn’t it, Herky?’

Claudia goggled. Hercules? That sawn-off runt’s named after the hero who undertook feats no other mortal dared? Herky let out a high-pitched yelp, and Claudia realized it wasn’t vermin but some sort of dog Fortunata had in an armlock, and thought wistfully that if only the moneylender in the Subura had had a pack of Herkies, it would have been a different story yesterday.

‘Terrified, weren’t you, baby? Yes, you were. Some spiteful boss-eyed cat chased Mummy’s Herky-perky under the bed and Mummy had to throw a glass of water over the nasty beastie. He’s very highly strung, you know.’

Not strung up high enough, in my opinion. ‘Shall I take care of Herkykins? Come on, darling, come to Cousin Claudie.’ She whipped the lapdog out of Fortunata’s arms, marched into the kitchens and thrust it at the nearest kitchen maid.

‘I can’t cook that,’ the woman squealed. ‘It’s still alive!’ Pity. It would have gone down well with a pepper sauce and parsley. ‘Find a cellar, lock it in,’ she ordered. I’ll not have him teasing Drusilla like that. ‘What is it, Verres?’

‘I was wondering,’ said the cook, ‘which wines you’d like serving with dinner.’

‘Try giving them saucers of milk.’ Claudia turned to Leonides, warming his backside by the bread oven. A row of pastry piglets cooled on the rack, and a batch of olive dough was proving in an earthenware bowl covered with linen. ‘You miserable traitor!’ She picked up a broad-bladed flesh knife and when she pressed it to the tip of the Macedonian’s nose, the squeak that came from his throat was not too dissimilar to the one which Herky gave when he bounced off the cellar step. ‘Right now I have but one household steward, but I am quite prepared to convert you into a dozen, thinner versions unless you answer truthfully. Did you or did you not show Marcus Cornelius Orbilio my crank mail?’

Someone must have put more charcoals in the bread oven, because sweat began pouring down his face. ‘Well…’

‘Well is not a condition you’ll be in for long. Answer me!’

‘It was for your own good, madam-’

For your own good. Can any words strike terror into a soul the way those four can? ‘I shall be the judge of what’s good for me, Leonides, and if I ever catch you with my welfare at heart again, I’ll turn you into a human torch and you can light my house for a week, understood?’

A toad-like croak escaped from his mouth and, satisfied this was as close as he was physically able to manage by way of a grovelling apology, Claudia impaled a couple of hot pastry piglets on her knife and flounced off into the atrium.