Wolf Whistle

‘You have to be there to understand.’ Claudia puffed out her cheeks. ‘The whole complex is so claustrophobic in its foreignness, that even when the children leave, it’s Rome which feels alien to them. Arbil’s slave farm represents security, and they look back on their childhood with fondness and affection. Is this getting us anywhere?’

Orbilio rolled the pin round and round between his fingers. ‘We’ve got five major suspects, suppose we run through the list, starting with Tryphon?’

‘I’m pretty sure that if the Captain wanted to kill someone, he’d stick them like a pig, not slice them slowly to ribbons.’ That man was a born soldier.

‘All right, then. Dino. He slopes off when he visits Rome, according to your gossip.’

Claudia smiled a slanting smile. ‘Dinocrates appears to live the high life, but peer closer, my friend, and you’ll see it’s the same few shirts he wears, the same old boots, and he never touches the women they go out with.’ She paused for impact. ‘He saves it all to support his wife and tiny son.’

‘So-o?’

‘The woman is a Persian-and you don’t need too powerful an imagination to picture Arbil’s vengeance, were he to discover the man he raised as a son has not only committed himself in marriage to one of Babylon’s sworn enemies, he’s fathered a child to boot. The Persians, remember, did a Trojan Horse on Babylon by sneaking up the Euphrates to capture the city and wounds like that never heal. Arbil’s barbaric bronze laws would have Dino flayed alive as a traitor.’

Marcus tossed the pin up in the air and caught it. ‘Any time you want a job in the Security Police, Mistress Seferius, I’ll resign to make way for you.’ He jabbed the pin into a cushion. ‘Arbil, then. What do you make of those trips to Rome, the blackouts?’

Claudia swivelled sideways in her chair and swung her knees over an armrest carved in the shape of a sphinx. ‘What trips to Rome?’ she said, folding her hands behind her head. ‘On whose word do these phantom journeys hinge? Who, exactly, verifies their authenticity? Arbil is many things. He’s shrewd and ruthless and obsessed with himself, he’s organized and religious and partial to date liqueur. Have you ever tasted date liqueur, by the way?’ Marcus shook his head, more in bewilderment than the negative.

‘Well, don’t. That’s my advice. It’s thick and strong and peels layers off your tongue, but boy, can you slip things in it without the imbiber being any the wiser.’

He stiffened and leaned forward. ‘Such as?’

‘Conjuring tricks rely on distracting the eye and creating illusions. One sees what one is led to see, believes what has been fed you. In Arbil’s case, it was the floppy, pouchy skin. Are you with me so far?’

‘Not even close. What you describe are classic products of a dissolute lifestyle, and that ties in with Arbil.’

‘On whose say-so?’ The truth had come to her when she awoke in Arbil’s guest room. ‘A few dirty pictures, a leggy young wife, a tipple of liquor of dates. Does that smack of degeneracy? Or a normal middle-aged man with a healthy sex drive and a regular bowel? Suppose, instead,’ she flashed a grin, ‘Arbil’s skin sags from an administered substance?’

Orbilio’s mouth moved up at one corner. ‘Such as?’

‘In the Indus Valley the oleander shrub is known as “the horse killer” because it’s so potent. Did I ever mention Angel-’

‘-is Indian? Once or twice.’

‘Then we have our old friend, thorn apple,’ she smiled. No wonder the girl looked so shaken when Claudia burst into her bedroom and saw those white, trumpet-shaped flowers! ‘Depending on the strength, it can make a man excitable, act out of character-making amorous lunges at his house guest, for example. A stronger dosage, he’ll start having delusions, hallucinations-and I can only guess at the cocktail which brought on the blackouts. All it needs is a tinksy bit of help, and one can get away with…murder.’

Orbilio leaned back, crossed his legs and for the first time in hours, began to relax. ‘Naturally, you have no idea who Angel’s helpmate might be?’

‘Funny you should ask.’ Claudia kicked off her sandals. ‘There’s a young groom name of Lugal-he’s the one who’s supposed to drive his master to Rome, yet no one else has ever seen them leave, and you know, it’s a strange thing about Lugal. The lad never takes his eyes off the master’s pretty wife.’

Well, I’ve warned her. It’s up to Angel now, and if they have one ounce of common sense, those two, they’ll be half way to the Adriatic by now, and not stopping to look over their shoulder. When Claudia upended that jug of date liqueur over Arbil, she had unwittingly set his detox in motion. First he’ll attribute his clear thinking to having exorcised Lamashtu, the demon, but Arbil’s a clever man. It won’t be long before he sees his wife’s hand in his behavioural changes and blackouts-and when that happens, Lugal and Angel will be tied face to face and thrown in the river to drown. You don’t mess with us Babylonians.