‘Little one! Little one!’ Oceanus waddled across, looking ridiculous in his skimpy tunic. He enveloped her in a hug which smelt of olive oil, herbs and stale sweat.

  ‘Not too hard, Oceanus,’ Claudia whispered. ‘Where’s Uncle?’

  ‘Oh, he’s gone along to see the Prefect of the Police.’ Oceanus released Claudia.

  ‘He’s not in trouble, is he?’

  ‘No.’ The ex-gladiator played with the dried ear resting against his sweaty chest. ‘The stupid bastard just wants to ask some questions. That’s all.’ He led her across to a table. ‘I’ve got some fine spiced sausages and fresh bread. Look, everybody!’ Oceanus shouted. ‘Claudia is here!’

  Shadows appeared at the kitchen door but Oceanus gestured at them to stay away. He served a dish of asparagus and chopped sausage and a cup of Falernian wine mixed with water. Claudia ate hastily. She was hungry, but Oceanus would never answer a question until he was satisfied she had had her fill.

  ‘Right.’ She wiped her fingers on the napkin provided. ‘Polybius is with the police. Where is Poppaoe?’

  ‘Our dusky grape is out in the bird garden with a cold cloth over her face. She claims all the commotion is just too much.’

  ‘What commotion?’

  Claudia must not let anything slip to these people: she was a palace servant girl, nothing more.

  ‘That silly bastard, Arrius? He goes out to collect his dues and brings the silver in here? He always rents a chamber, has his dinner then hires two of the girls for bed sport.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well, he came here, made himself comfortable and locked the door of the most spacious chamber we have on the first floor. An hour passed. The greedy bugger never sent down for food so off I went, knocked and knocked, no answer. I went out into the garden, looked up but the shutter was fastened. I went back up and peered through the keyhole. The key was still there. I told Polybius.’ Oceanus paused to remember. ‘That’s right, I told Polybius. We forced the door open. Arrius was lying on the bed with a second mouth.’

  ‘He had his throat cut?’

  ‘From one end to the other, mistress. His saddle-bags were empty, the money gone. The old bugger was as dead as a nail. Polybius had to call the police. In they came, pinching the wine and the serving wenches. They took one look at Arrius and were about to arrest Polybius when Poppaoe rushed in with a brush. She fair laid about them, I tell you that. Even I was frightened. “Thick heads!” she shrieked. “My husband . . .” He’s not really that, is he?’

  Claudia shook her head.

  ‘Anyway, she told them her husband had got witnesses: he never went near the room. That made the police really think. So, they bought some wine and sent for an officer. You know, one of those young men who don’t want to do a turn in the army. Now, he was really puzzled. You’ve seen the chamber, mistress. Like a big box: two entrances, one through the window, but that was shuttered, and you know Arrius, the door was locked and bolted from the inside.’

  ‘But the money’s gone?’

  ‘Vanished.’

  ‘How do we know he had it in the first place?’

  ‘Because when he came in here, it was fair clinking. The police sent a rider out into the countryside; Arrius had collected his rents and, as usual, brought them in here.’

  ‘It’s a real mystery, Claudia.’

  Granius, a thin, spiky-haired young man, came over, close-set eyes above mocking lips. He was Uncle Polybius’ self-proclaimed manager. Behind him was his girlfriend, the serving wench Faustina. They both kissed Claudia on the cheek, pulled over stools and sat opposite.

  ‘It was a horrible sight,’ Granius declared. ‘Wasn’t it, Faustina?’

  The cat-faced serving wench shoved back her long tresses of black hair, a gesture she always performed to make men stare at her.

  ‘Blood all across his chest. You’d think someone had spilt a flagon of wine over him.’

  ‘And he’s still there?’ Claudia asked.

  ‘Yes. The police have said it’s Polybius’ concern. He has to send the body out for burial. I hope he hurries back; by tomorrow evening Arrius will be ripe and smelling.’

  ‘We’ve all been up to see it,’ a customer who had been eavesdropping shouted. ‘Polybius was charging us to see the corpse.’ He stuck his chin close to his chest and twisted his face into a snarl. ‘Arrius wasn’t the prettiest thing when alive, but just lying there, he looked really angry that he’d been killed.’

  ‘Wouldn’t anyone?’ Granius quipped.

  Other customers now began to group round the table, including Januaria, a buxom wench, soft on the gladiator Murranus.

  ‘He’s going to appear in the games, you know,’ Januaria said dreamily. ‘You know, the Emperor’s victory celebration?’

  She rested her chin on the heel of her hand as if impervious to everything happening in the tavern. Claudia smiled. Januaria was always in love: Murranus held the record for keeping her attention the longest. Januaria wore her blonde hair parted down the middle, falling in tresses to her shoulders. Whatever the weather, her tunic was always cut low. She had learned how to serve, giving her customers the most generous view, without her plump breasts popping out.

  ‘He says if he wins,’ Januaria continued, looking dreamily at Claudia, ‘he’ll marry me.’

  ‘Fat chance!’ Oceanus muttered. ‘Here today and gone tomorrow, as Polybius said about his piebald pig which did a runner three weeks ago.’

  ‘He’s a Frisian, a good fighter!’

  Oceanus breathed in noisily and shook his head. ‘Murranus has fought six and won five. The last time he escaped because the crowd felt sorry for him.’

  ‘But that’s life.’ Simon, a bedraggled, shabby philosopher, spoke up from his stool near the counter. This self-proclaimed stoic spent most of his time in the She-Asses, lecturing anyone stupid enough to listen. He got up and shambled across, his face a picture of misery. ‘We are just bladders of wine,’ he began, ‘strutting about: meaner than flies we are, because flies are good for something! What are we good for?’

  ‘Oh, tell us something happy!’ Faustina cried.

  Simon the stoic chewed on his gums.

  ‘Crispin the baker’s dead.’

  ‘Good riddance!’ Oceanus exclaimed. ‘He was a man ready to snatch a half-penny out of the dung-heap. He was so randy not even the house dog was safe.’

  Claudia watched the doorway, distracted by the man who peered there, a dark, indeterminate shape. Had he followed her here?

  Oceanus followed her gaze and got to his feet.

  ‘Welcome, stranger, what do you want?’

  ‘I’ve swallowed half the dust on the Appian Way.’ The stranger came forward, pushing back the hood of his gown: he was old, with a small, wrinkled face under tufts of white hair. He glanced at Claudia then looked away. ‘A cup of wine and some fish?’ He shuffled over to a corner.

  ‘Well, go on!’ Oceanus urged Januaria. ‘Serve the man.’

  Claudia let the chatter swirl about her. Simon the stoic was in good form: he began to lecture Faustina on her appearance.

  ‘A girl really needs to know how to look her best,’ he proclaimed. ‘Now, you’ve got an oval face. So, part your hair down the middle. I understand there are some beautiful blonde dyes from Germany. Have you tried them?’

  Claudia watched the stranger. Januaria came tripping out of the kitchen with a cup and platter and put them down. The man sat with his back to her: Claudia waited for a while, then, excusing herself, walked to the doorway. When she came back she stopped at the table. The stranger had put his finger in the wine and drawn a fish above the number IV. Claudia went back to her stool. Faustina had now regained her wits and was screeching at Simon the stoic about his unsolicited advice. A fight would have ensued but Oceanus intervened. Januaria began to moan loudly about the whereabouts of Murranus.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about him,’ Granius declared spitefully, narrowing his eyes. ‘He’s probably trying out some little filly, making sure it shakes its head and raises its legs.’

  ‘I wish you’d go!’ Januaria leaned across the table. ‘I wish you’d piss off back to where you came from, some kennel in Marseilles!’

  ‘I will be leaving soon.’ Granius winked at Faustina. ‘Isn’t that right, my dear?’

  ‘Where?’ Claudia asked curiously.

  ‘Oh, perhaps north. Maybe go to Milan. See some of the world.’

  ‘Join the army,’ Oceanus declared. ‘You’ll see the world then, my boy.’

  ‘No thank you,’ Granius replied. ‘I don’t fancy chasing some bare-arsed barbarian through the mist.’

  ‘You wouldn’t know how to hold a sword!’ Januaria riposted. ‘You have difficulty enough with your dick!’

  ‘Don’t you go up there!’

  Claudia looked round. Poppaoe had come in from the garden. Dark, juicy and jovial as a little plum, her black hair piled up and kept in place by a silver comb, Poppaoe stared round the eating hall. Claudia got up and Poppaoe’s plump face creased into a smile, followed by screams of delight, hugs and kisses. Simon the stoic, who had been creeping up the stairs to have another look at Arrius’ corpse, slunk back into the shadows.

  ‘It’s good to see you, Claudia.’ Poppaoe held her at arm’s length.

  ‘Very good indeed!’ a voice thundered from the doorway.

  Polybius was back. He swaggered across, his heavy, dark face twisted into a grimace. He wiped the sweat from his balding pate and plucked at the tendrils of hair which circled his head like an imperial wreath. He ignored the others, and for once that day, Polybius smiled. He kissed and hugged his niece, then squeezed one of Poppaoe’s breasts.

  ‘Questions, questions, questions,’ he grumbled, ushering them all back to the table. ‘The Prefect of Police is a cantankerous bastard. He kept asking me the one question: if I didn’t kill and rob Arrius, who did?’

  ‘And what did you reply?’ Claudia asked.

  ‘I told the bastard I was an innkeeper with a good cookshop, restaurant and clean rooms. He’s the so-called Chief of Police, not me!’

  ‘What’s his name?’ Poppaoe asked.

  ‘Saturninus. I kept calling him Arsinus. It took the thick clod an hour to realise I was making fun of him.’

  ‘And?’ Poppaoe demanded.

  ‘Not for the moment.’ Polybius stood up. ‘I want a cup of unwatered wine.’

  Claudia noticed the stranger had now disappeared, his meal half-finished. Her uncle made her stand up and looked her over from head to toe.

  ‘So, a serving-girl in the Imperial Palace, are we?’ His lips curled in disdain but his eyes were soft and gentle. He stretched out a hand and cupped Claudia’s cheek. ‘It’s good to see you,’ he murmured. ‘I get so worried.’ He ignored the rest. ‘Every time I look at you reminds me of your mother.’ He blinked quickly. ‘Lovely lass, Claudia, with a smile to lighten my day. If your father hadn’t married her . . .’ Polybius wetted his lips, lost in his own reverie. ‘I’ve been out to Felix’s grave.’

  ‘Hush now! Hush now!’ Claudia stroked the back of his great hairy hand. ‘You’ve got troubles enough.’

  Polybius snatched the wine cup from Oceanus and half-drained it.

  ‘But business is good now the Greasy Pig has gone up in flames. You remember sly old Cassius, kept a filthy tavern two alleyways away? A born fraud, he could turn red wine white and white wine red. Anyway, he was roasting some thrushes, drunk as one of the pigs he resembles. The entire place went up in flames.’

  Claudia refused to be distracted.

  ‘Arrius!’ she insisted.

  ‘Ah well,’ he breathed. ‘You’ve got sharp eyes. I might as well show you: the rest stay down here.’

  Claudia followed her uncle across the hall and up the stairs. She was always fascinated by the apartment block. Polybius owned the three floors facing the front: the rest was a rabbit warren and smelt like it, though Polybius kept his part clean. The stairs and walls were scrubbed, with flowers placed in pots. He’d even put some carvings on the walls.

  Polybius had also served as a soldier in the Second Augusta and fought in both Germany and Britain. Claudia knew little else of his previous life, but loved him for what he was: a man who pretended to be miserable and hard but was really kind and gentle, except for his fierce hatred of the local police. True, Polybius was also a rogue with fingers in many pies. Claudia suspected that he liked this apartment because there were so many stairways, exits and entrances; it would take an entire legion to organise a thorough search. As they mounted the stairs, Claudia recalled the quiet knocks on the door in the dead of night; Polybius meeting people out in the hall or the garden; carts, their wheels covered in rags and straw, delivering goods at the most surprising times.

  ‘You are well, Uncle?’ she called out as they reached the passageway.

  Polybius paused, his hand on the latch of the door which had apparently been forced. Great splinters of wood had been gouged out and lay scattered on the floor.

  ‘I was until this bastard turned up. Come in!’

  The chamber was dark, the shutters still drawn close. Claudia smelt the stench of death: a nasty, fetid taste. Cursing and muttering, Polybius threw open the shutters and, using a sulphur match, lit the lamps. The chamber was box-like. It contained a few sticks of furniture, bench, stools, table, a large earthenware chamber pot and some hooks on the wall. Arrius’ corpse lay on a bed in the alcove with a horse blanket tossed over it.

  ‘Behold our sleeping beauty!’

  Polybius, holding the lamp, pulled the blanket away. Someone had made a pathetic attempt to accord Arrius a little dignity by straightening his legs. He was a scrawny old man with cropped white hair, streaky moustache and beard. His chin seemed to have sunk into his chest and so he appeared to be looking at them from under his half-closed eyes. The dark blue tunic was soaked in blood, as were the sheets and blankets. Claudia inspected him carefully. She had seen death in so many forms. She had knelt and wept beside her brother’s corpse. What further horrors could be inflicted? Death was the end. A lump of flesh cruelly treated.

  ‘This is peculiar.’ Claudia inspected the weather-beaten panniers at the foot of the bed. ‘There’s nothing in here at all. I mean, he must have carried more than a few bags of coins? And look, Uncle, though he’s lying on the bed,’ she tapped the dead man’s leather boots, ‘he didn’t even take these off.’

  ‘He always was an inconsiderate bastard,’ Polybius growled.

  Claudia noticed Arrius’ cloak was still draped round his shoulders, the chain which held it secure also stained in blood. She walked round the bed and stared back at the door. The bolts had been forced, the lock splintered, the key still in it.

  ‘So?’ she asked. ‘Arrius came up here?’

  ‘Yes, Granius brought him up. My noble assistant asked him if he wanted anything to eat or drink. Arrius, miserable as ever, sat on the bed and said not for the moment, so Granius left him. He heard the bolts being drawn and the lock being turned.’

  ‘Was that customary?’

  ‘Oh yes.’ Polybius pointed to a sycamore box with special clasps. ‘Arrius put whatever he had in there, kept the window shuttered and the door locked.’

  ‘He must have eaten and drunk?’

  ‘Oh, he paid well: on previous occasions food was taken up to him on a tray. When he’d finished, he’d open the door and call down. Granius would go up and collect the tray and arrange for some girls to visit him. Mind you, Arrius wasn’t popular! He only paid the asking price and the wenches always said they had to work very hard.’

  ‘But this time it was different?’ Claudia was now concerned. The bravado Polybius had shown below had now disappeared. He sat on a stool scratching his stomach, a common gesture whenever he was highly anxious.

  ‘Yes, this time it was different. Granius left. He met Faustina at the top of the stairs. She also heard the bolts being drawn and the lock turned. Down they come. Time passes, darkness begins to fall. Oh, aye, I think, the miserable bastard hasn’t ordered any food. Oceanus went up and knocked, no answer. He went out into the garden but the shutter was closed so he alerted me. Soon we had half the neighbourhood on the stairs. Granius fetched a wooden bench. Oceanus and I broke down the door. We smashed the lock and this is the sight which greeted us.’

  ‘And what did the police say?’

  ‘Well, they’ve got no proof against me or anyone else, but the Prefect is threatening to close me down for a month, maybe even two, so he can carry out a thorough search.’

  ‘And Arrius was . . . ?’

  ‘A wine merchant. He went out every month to collect his dues. He lived the other side of the city. A bachelor. I think he liked to lord it here for two or three nights, have his pleasures and go his miserable way. I’d do anything,’ Polybius moaned. ‘I’m not too sure if the Prefect was angling for a bribe, but if I’m closed down, Claudia, it would be a fate worse than death. I wish I had followed Poppaoe’s advice,’ he continued, lost in his own misery of woes. ‘She advised me to buy a wolf’s beard and tie it to the door post to fend off ill-luck.’

  Claudia half-listened as she went round the bed. The straw mattress had been covered by a sheet. She noticed this was tucked in at one corner. She lifted it up and saw the tawdry yellow parchment sheets beneath. She took these out and unrolled them.

  ‘No one thought of looking there,’ Polybius said.

  ‘What’s this?’

  Claudia suppressed her own unease. The parchment was of poor quality, rather greasy. At the top were the Christian signs: the Chi and the Rho. Beneath, scrawled in dark red ink, as if it was blood, the crude letters ‘In hoc signo occides’.

  ‘What’s all this?’

  Polybius snatched it out of her hands.

  ‘Oh, shit! Something to do with the Christians, is it? I recognise those signs. They are appearing all over Rome.’

 

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