Wolf Whistle Read Free

admiring the stamping. The air vibrated with hammering from the lasts, but now it was merely heavy with the tang of their hides. Upmarket booksellers also congregated along this street, their wares ranging from rare volumes to—
    Claudia was wrong. The street was not quite deserted. A small boy sat in the gutter, elbows on knees, fists balled into his cheeks. His face was puffy from crying, the tears had left runnels in the grime.
    ‘Hello, soldier.’
    Melancholy eyes rolled up to look at her. Words did not come.
    Hmm. That was not a head of hair you could ruffle. Not unless you had a stomach for beetly things. But you couldn’t just pass on. Not while his little lower lip still trembled.
    Claudia plumped herself down and mirrored his pose. ‘Want to talk about it?’ she asked softly.
    Small shoulders shrugged. Bewildered, dejected, he was determined not to give in.
    Claudia studied him as closely as she could by what paltry light was cast from an upstairs window. Maybe five years old, his clothes had been stitched and stitched again, and his bare feet were clearly strangers to leather.
    ‘Lost, are you?’ Too well she knew what it felt like for a grown-up—the terror and the claustrophobia—what must it be like for a tiddler?
    A small chin jutted out defiantly before he nodded. ‘I want me ma.’
    Will I never get a hot bath?
    ‘I asked that lady to take me home, but she wouldn’t help me.’ A grimy finger pointed towards a shuttered bookshop. There was, of course, no one there.
    ‘No?’ Claudia stood up and shook the folds of her tunic. ‘Well, I’m here now. Come along.’
    ‘She’s asleep.’
    ‘Who is? Your ma?’
    ‘That lady there.’
    Poor kid. ‘What’s your name, soldier?’
    A half-smile flitted across his tear-stained face. ‘Jovi.’
    ‘And where do you live, Master Jovi?’ Merciful heavens, please don’t say back where I’ve come from!
    ‘Dunno.’
    Dumbfounded, Claudia leaned down to look him in the eye. ‘Say that again.’
    He gripped one thumb in his fist and stared at his little blackened feet. ‘I’ve never bin away before.’
    He was making such tremendous efforts not to cry that, in spite of herself, she ruffled his matted hair. ‘You’d better fall in line then, soldier, because tonight you’re on escort duty.’
    Jovi stood up and cocked his head on one side. ‘Yeah?’
    ‘Yeah. You can deputize as my bodyguard and walk me home, and as a reward, you shall receive a hot pie and a bowl of honeyed apricots, and after breakfast I will take you home to your ma. How does that sound?’
    ‘Promise?’
    ‘Upon my oath, young man. First thing in the morning, we’ll have you washed and scrubbed so clean your mother will think she’s got two sons called Jovi.’
    ‘You won’t forget you said apricots, will you?’
    As a small, dry hand slipped into hers, Claudia had a feeling they were not entirely alone on the Argiletum. It could be the lamps flickering from the upper storeys. It could be the dark, damp, starless sky. But she had the strangest feeling that wretched lovesick ghost was back to haunt her.
    The one whose name was Trouble…

II
    Less than a mile away, in the smart town house of the pepper merchant, Marcus Cornelius Orbilio killed time by admiring the exquisite decor. Sweeping pastoral frescoes, so perfect you could almost hear the goats bleat. Hanging lamps with six or seven wicks lit the room brighter than a midsummer noon. A bronze dog was curled in the corner and rare aromatics filled the air. He glanced at the water clock. It was not like his informant to be late, but these were difficult times. Less than a fortnight before, the Empire had been rocked to its core when Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa — at once the Emperor’s closest friend, finest general, son-in-law and Regent—had returned from campaign and promptly died. The shock waves could not have been greater had the earth itself trembled, because if the Fates could cut this man’s thread at