Man Eater by Marilyn Todd Page B

throat, but another filled up the gap. Two days and two nights. Could it, after all, be more than the preponderance of foreign scents that had impeded her built-in tracking device? Could it…I mean, suppose… What if Drusilla really was… It was one hell of a bounce down the hill. Claudia had time to jump clear, but Drusilla? Back in January, one of her kittens worked its wobbly way on to the roof but, before Junius could rescue it, it had slipped. The feel of that tiny, twisted piece of velvet in Claudia’s hands was agony beyond words… And even if Drusilla hadn’t been hurt in the accident, there were the wolves…
    Macer had moved on to the traditional where-were-you-when-the-lights-went-out sort of questions, but Timoleon was reluctant to relinquish centre stage. Good. Let the lump of gristle talk all he wants.
    Unfortunately for Claudia, there had been no chance for that quiet word in Macer’s ear. No chance to slip him a bung to ease her passage through these troubled waters. Upon arrival, he thrust his splendidly plumed helmet into the hands of a waiting lackey (his sideways expression, incidentally, making it abundantly clear that his opinion of Claudia’s orange tunic ran along parallel lines to her own) and demanded to examine the corpse forthwith.
    ‘I shall need complete access to the premises and after that I have one or two primary investigations to make before I can begin the business of taking statements. I presume you can accommodate my officers overnight?’ He’d been addressing the head of the household, but it was Pallas who’d whispered ‘Tulola can’ under his breath.
    Now, with the early-morning sunshine bouncing off his breastplate, the Prefect wriggled the hilt of his sword in its scabbard. ‘Salvian, round up who’s missing, we don’t have all bloody day.’
    A boy with the same thin nose and baby-fine hair, either a son or a nephew, stepped forward uncertainly. Like children’s clothes, his armour seemed designed for him to grow into, it seemed impossible he could be a junior tribune already. He had barely taken two paces when the sound of male laughter barrelled round the lofty marbled banqueting hall.
    ‘Then Barea said, “Er what?” To which I replied, “Since you’re riding that stallion without a saddle, you err on the side of caution!”’
    The voice was Corbulo’s, but the exuberance on the faces of both him and Sergius was instantly subdued by Macer’s frown. The trainer pulled up a stool to Claudia’s left. Sergius took a stand between Alis and her ever-scowling sister.
    ‘Is that everyone?’ The Prefect fingered his gold medallions. ‘Right, let’s get down to—where’s Tulola? Salvian, lad, you had orders to fetch her, now jump to it.’
    The coughs and the shuffles began. Pallas decided to instruct Barea on the seventeen ways to cook sucking-pig, Timoleon and the Celt stared each other out, Sergius laid his hand on his wife’s shoulder. The look she gave him was of utter adoration and this, to Claudia’s astonishment, was mirrored in his own. Euphemia glowered at the ceiling and pulled at her lower lip. What I wouldn’t give to know what’s going through your little noodle, thought Claudia. Or do you pull a knife on every visitor? Across the room, half hidden behind a pink marble column, the driver of the gig huddled among the slaves and servants fidgeting nervously. It was the first time she’d seen him since the accident, and his arm was in a sling.
    Macer yawned and plucked a hair from his tunic. ‘May I enquire why you keep the menagerie, sir?’
    A flame of excitement flushed Sergius’ face. ‘Just as Augustus has brought peace and stability, you’ll find audiences will tire of watching the same old animals trotting round the arena.’ His eyes were dancing with animation and he leaned forward to emphasize his point. ‘I intend to revolutionize all that, Macer. I shall be the talk of all Rome, there’ll be nothing like it in the whole of