layer of stones and hey presto, a box full of 'gold'.
'You rotten bitch,' Flea growled. 'What if Flavia really had been kidnapped?'
As I said. Bluff and double-bluff . . .
Torch-bearers appeared as though conjured up, lighting the way of those who could afford it, and laughter echoed out
of a brightly lit tavern on the corner at the punchline of a joke, that hoary chestnut about the centurion and the barber's wife, hilarious no matter how often one had heard it. From the serried ranks of the balconies above came arguments and sneezes, meows and bedtime tears, the smell of frying mullet, onions and stale garlic. Slowly, though, the landscape changed. Cramped and overcrowded tenements gave way to spacious houses, whose inner secrets were muffled by high windowless walls, and the aromas were more of roasting boar and incense, fresh paint or the polish from the armoured vigilantes.
'I've never been up here before,' Flea marvelled. 'They,' she indicated the vigilantes, 'always ran me off.'
They would! Private security organised by those who inhabited these exquisite mansions ensured no crime took place in this district on the Esquiline. One glance at their mighty clubs, studded with nails, and you realised it wasn't called Nob Hill for nothing!
Outside the shops, the pavements still glistened where the shopfronts had been swabbed down at dusk and the gentle strains of a harpist drifted from one house, while doves crooned in their sleep from the courtyard of another.
'Some gaff, innit?'
Flea's eyes were the size of temple censers as Claudia stopped outside a white-fronted house of modest proportions, which screamed breeding and good taste. The door was highly polished, you could smell the beeswax even in this clammy heat, the bronze unicorn knocker gleamed in the light of the brands which burned either side the doorway in blacked-up iron brackets. 'Whose is it? Family or friend's?'
'Neither,' Claudia replied tartly.
Let people close and they hurt you.
Her hand hovered over the unicorn, then withdrew, uncomfortably aware of a churning in her stomach, the fluttering of a whole flock of starlings inside her ribcage. Anxiety - what else? Watched by half a dozen tough looking vigilantes, she lifted the knocker and pounded the unicorn with such force, it
was a wonder Neptune himself didn't rise up out of the ocean to see what the fuss was about.
Suddenly, as the door swung silently open on its well-greased hinges, a fish hook tangled deep inside her and began to pull. Damn his eyes, why couldn't Orbilio be married, bald, fat or ugly, why did he have to have a twinkle in his eye? Bloody unfair that the Fates had bestowed on him an easy lope and that sceptical, lop-sided grin, because sometimes, when she couldn't sleep at night or when her mind drifted at the baths, Claudia would find herself musing on what it would be like, his lips on hers, his strong hands exploring nooks and crannies - although equally quickly she'd snap out of it. He was patrician, rich and clever, with integrity all but tattooed on his cheekbones. She came from an altogether different class and walked a tightrope between what was legal (very little) and what was not.
And as any rope walker will tell you, the last thing they need is some berk yanking on the balance pole, no matter how tall and wavy-haired and rugged!
Besides. Any lustful feelings were on her side only. He'd never even made a move, in all the months she'd known him, in all the adventures they had shared together.
His sights were on the Senate, not her bed!
In the shadows she noticed a small shape, dark and shifting. It slithered forward. Bending down, she scooped it up and thrust it in to Flea's disbelieving arms.
And as Claudia Seferius swept into Orbilio's lofty vestibule, she couldn't help wondering what propitiation the gods of this magnificent cedarwood threshold demanded.
She had a feeling it would be one colossal slice of humble pie!
Chapter
'You rotten bitch,' Flea growled. 'What if Flavia really had been kidnapped?'
As I said. Bluff and double-bluff . . .
Torch-bearers appeared as though conjured up, lighting the way of those who could afford it, and laughter echoed out
of a brightly lit tavern on the corner at the punchline of a joke, that hoary chestnut about the centurion and the barber's wife, hilarious no matter how often one had heard it. From the serried ranks of the balconies above came arguments and sneezes, meows and bedtime tears, the smell of frying mullet, onions and stale garlic. Slowly, though, the landscape changed. Cramped and overcrowded tenements gave way to spacious houses, whose inner secrets were muffled by high windowless walls, and the aromas were more of roasting boar and incense, fresh paint or the polish from the armoured vigilantes.
'I've never been up here before,' Flea marvelled. 'They,' she indicated the vigilantes, 'always ran me off.'
They would! Private security organised by those who inhabited these exquisite mansions ensured no crime took place in this district on the Esquiline. One glance at their mighty clubs, studded with nails, and you realised it wasn't called Nob Hill for nothing!
Outside the shops, the pavements still glistened where the shopfronts had been swabbed down at dusk and the gentle strains of a harpist drifted from one house, while doves crooned in their sleep from the courtyard of another.
'Some gaff, innit?'
Flea's eyes were the size of temple censers as Claudia stopped outside a white-fronted house of modest proportions, which screamed breeding and good taste. The door was highly polished, you could smell the beeswax even in this clammy heat, the bronze unicorn knocker gleamed in the light of the brands which burned either side the doorway in blacked-up iron brackets. 'Whose is it? Family or friend's?'
'Neither,' Claudia replied tartly.
Let people close and they hurt you.
Her hand hovered over the unicorn, then withdrew, uncomfortably aware of a churning in her stomach, the fluttering of a whole flock of starlings inside her ribcage. Anxiety - what else? Watched by half a dozen tough looking vigilantes, she lifted the knocker and pounded the unicorn with such force, it
was a wonder Neptune himself didn't rise up out of the ocean to see what the fuss was about.
Suddenly, as the door swung silently open on its well-greased hinges, a fish hook tangled deep inside her and began to pull. Damn his eyes, why couldn't Orbilio be married, bald, fat or ugly, why did he have to have a twinkle in his eye? Bloody unfair that the Fates had bestowed on him an easy lope and that sceptical, lop-sided grin, because sometimes, when she couldn't sleep at night or when her mind drifted at the baths, Claudia would find herself musing on what it would be like, his lips on hers, his strong hands exploring nooks and crannies - although equally quickly she'd snap out of it. He was patrician, rich and clever, with integrity all but tattooed on his cheekbones. She came from an altogether different class and walked a tightrope between what was legal (very little) and what was not.
And as any rope walker will tell you, the last thing they need is some berk yanking on the balance pole, no matter how tall and wavy-haired and rugged!
Besides. Any lustful feelings were on her side only. He'd never even made a move, in all the months she'd known him, in all the adventures they had shared together.
His sights were on the Senate, not her bed!
In the shadows she noticed a small shape, dark and shifting. It slithered forward. Bending down, she scooped it up and thrust it in to Flea's disbelieving arms.
And as Claudia Seferius swept into Orbilio's lofty vestibule, she couldn't help wondering what propitiation the gods of this magnificent cedarwood threshold demanded.
She had a feeling it would be one colossal slice of humble pie!
Chapter
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