I, Claudia (34 page)

‘Only virgins may seek blessings at my feet for fecundity, yet you bring a harlot, experienced in the ways of men, to mock me.’

She brought the spear down hard on the boards, sending reverberations over the upper storey. The shaft, already broken, threatened to break completely. She couldn’t use that dodge again.

‘On your belly, you transgressor and make obeisance to Sospita.’

‘You!’ It sounded like a strong wind in a long tunnel.

Oh shit! He wasn’t staring because he saw Sospita. He was staring because he saw Claudia. Anger suffused his pallid cheeks. Anger not so much at her as at himself. For allowing her to escape. Claudia saw in his face that he would kill her for this omission.

‘Bitch!’ He flung the tweezers across the room and grabbed a knife. ‘Faithless, whoring bitch!’

The glint on the blade was nothing compared to the insane glint in his eye. With a manic cry he lunged towards her, the amputation saw flashing in his other hand. Claudia parried the knife with the shield, twisting to the left. He spun round, hacking downwards. Again she raised the shield, but Balbus was too fast. It spun out of her hand, wrenching her fingers, and she felt herself falling. The bootees had no grip, her feet were sliding, kicking air. Balbus lunged, but his foot caught in the goatskin. There was a crack as he landed on his knees and Claudia felt the rasp of the saw as it grazed her naked shoulder. She heard it clatter out of his hands and skid across the boards. Using the spear for leverage, she sprang to her feet just as the knife whizzed past. A bony hand fastened itself round her wrist and twisted. The spear fell out of her grasp as Claudia gasped with the pain from her raw, bleeding wrist. She was losing, she knew that. Her strength had been sapped from her ordeal in Sospita’s shrine, from the two fast runs across the city. His, meanwhile, was growing stronger, fed by insanity and bloodlust. Her foot caught Balbus in the groin, but there was no weight behind it. The knife flashed in the semi-darkness. She could hear a string of bitter obscenities under his breath.

Wildly Claudia’s eyes searched for the table of instruments. Circling and fighting for her life, she’d lost track of direction. Dear Diana, where was the bloody thing? Then she saw it. Faking a dive, she took advantage in the split second Balbus was diverted to dart towards the ring of oil lamps. From nowhere a hand clamped round her ankle and she pitched forward, the breath knocked out of her. Behind her she could hear Ventidius Balbus in the blackness.

‘Now you will die, you treacherous whore.’

The hand fell away from her ankle. Gasping for air Claudia scrabbled to her feet, but found herself stumbling over the shaft of the spear. Her hands clamped over it, but before she could regain her balance, Balbus was upon her, his blade raised.

She heard a man’s voice shout ‘The spear!’ and instinctively brought it up to protect herself, but it was too late. Claudia closed her eyes and waited for death. Her whole body jolted, she heard a sickening squelch, but surprisingly felt no pain. Confused, she opened her eyes to see Balbus floundering on the spear he’d run into. Suddenly the shaft snapped in her hand and she jumped backwards as though it were burning. She waited for him to fall, but instead he calmly pulled out the spear-tip, grinning horribly. Blood spurted everywhere. Vast red pools began to form.

‘Die, bitch!’

Balbus lurched forward, clutching his knife, but she was transfixed now. Like a rabbit in torchlight, she was his for the taking. She could see every pulse in his throat, every blink of his eye. Then, on the second pace, he slipped in the sticky puddle. Suddenly he was slithering and sliding, his palms thrashing on the boards. A hoarse rattle sounded in his throat, his eyes rolled, and he pitched forward. Four times he twitched then lay still. For an eternity Claudia waited, then—slowly and carefully—she approached his motionless form. With trembling hands she lifted his head by the hair. Ventidius Balbus was as dead as they come.

She glanced over at Marcus, who was white as birch bark, his face drawn with horror. Daresay mine’s no better. She drew a deep breath, counted to three, then let it out, wiping the greasy blood on the wooden floor.

‘Orbilio—’ She cleared her throat and started again. ‘Orbilio, are you going to sit there all night gawping just because I’m buck naked?’

He shook his head slowly from side to side in wonderment. ‘Claudia Seferius, you are incredible. You are absolutely incredible.’ His voice was as shaky as she felt.

‘Oh, come on, Orbilio. I’m better than that and you know it.’

Unexpectedly self-conscious under his scrutiny, Claudia snatched at Orbilio’s tunic. It was far too long, but it was a damned sight better than that skimpy woollen wrap and it smelled sweet. Besides, it was cold. She was shivering, so it must be cold, mustn’t it?

‘One clean stroke. Have you been practising?’

She grinned back at him. ‘All the way down here, Orbilio. I needed to find a better way to keep fit than running up and down these bloody hills all night long.’

She pulled the tunic over her head and ruffled her hair. It stank from being stuffed inside that rancid carcass.

‘Hey, where are you going?’

She paused at the top of the ladder to belt the tunic. ‘Home,’ she replied. ‘For a bath.’

‘You can’t leave me stranded! Claudia, for heaven’s sake, I’m tied up and stark naked. This is embarrassing.’ She put her foot on the top rung of the ladder. ‘I assure you, Orbilio, you have nothing to be ashamed of on that score. Believe me.’

She began her descent. Callisunus and the soldiers would be along soon. They could sort it out between them. It was what they were paid for, for gods’ sakes.

‘Untie me, Claudia. CLAUDIA!’

She took two steps upwards and popped her head over the top of the boards. ‘Orbilio, do you mind? This is Thursday already and I really do have a lot on my plate at the moment. A business empire to run, two households to manage, a husband to bury, a cat to feed and a farm that needs urgent attention.’

‘Mother of Tarquin, woman—’

‘The farm’s a priority. We’re still waiting for the augur to pronounce the vintage, but there’s straw to cut, land to plough and didn’t Rollo mention something tedious about irrigation? Now if I’m to catch the games in two weeks’ time, I’ve really got to get cracking.’

I still don’t know who paid off Lucan, but while I’m on a roll it’d be a shame to miss the fun. Claudia planted a kiss on her fingertips and blew it across to him.

‘So you see, Orbilio, I really can’t afford to waste time running around after you.’

With a toss of her curls, she flounced down the ladder and across the dusty boards of the warehouse. What sort of alleycat had Drusilla been consorting with? she wondered. As long as there aren’t more than four kittens, it would be all right, because she’d have to keep them, of course. Maybe two here and two up at the villa?

Marcus’s plaintive cries for freedom floated down to her and she smiled. You’re all right, Orbilio, do you know that? You’re all right.

Pausing on the bridge, watching a fisherman come home with his catch, Claudia breathed in the early morning air and looked at the city waking above her. Yes indeed, there was something exceedingly satisfying about Thursdays.

Hadn’t she always said so?

About the Author

Marilyn Todd was born in Harrow, Middlesex, but now lives with her husband on a French hilltop, surrounded by woodlands and vines. Apart from sixteen historical thrillers, Marilyn also writes short stories, which are mostly crime-based. When she isn’t killing people, Marilyn enjoys cooking. Which is pretty much the same thing.

I, Claudia
is the first in a series of Roman mysteries featuring Claudia Seferius, previously published in print in 1995—now released by Untreed Reads in ebook form. The second novel,
Virgin Territory
is coming in ebook form soon!

www.marilyntodd.com

Virgin Territory

It wasn’t fair. When you marry a man for his money, you expect him to leave you a shining pile of gold pieces.
Not
a crummy old wine business. So newly widowed Claudia Seferius jumps at the chance to escape Rome and chaperone a Vestal Virgin back to Sicily after her thirty years’ service is up. But it quickly becomes apparent that Sabina is an imposter.

Back in Rome, investigator Marcus Orbilio fears Claudia is in danger and sets off to Sicily to save that delicious neck of hers.

But before he gets there, a woman’s brutalized body is discovered…

What follows is the first chapter of
Virgin Territory,
the second Claudia mystery.

I

It wasn’t his fault. Captain Herrenius hardly knew her. How could he possibly predict that, despite keening winds and raging seas, no amount of persuasion would winkle this beautiful young creature from her niche in the prow?

‘It’s for your own safety,’ he urged, and the lack of response threw him. He was sure his voice had carried above the clamour of his crew, the crash of the waves. ‘You’ll be more comfortable in your cabin.’

He couldn’t mean that dingy mop-hole where she slept? Bilge rats had better bunks. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

When there were problems to be faced, there was only one way Claudia Seferius tackled them. Head on. Besides, storm or no storm, she had no intention of being bundled out of the way like a redundant artifact.

But her words had been carried into the churning Ionian, and all Herrenius could make out was the shake of a mass of dark curls as she drew her cloak even tighter. Scared, was she?

‘Don’t worry, m’dear, I’ll look after you,’ he said—only this time he found himself on the receiving end of a glare capable of cracking walnuts at fifty paces. Checking that the water cask was secure, he wondered whether given time, he would ever understand women.

As the ship rolled to starboard, Claudia’s cloak went skimming down her back to form a black heap on the boards. For one ghastly heart-stopping moment, she could see nothing but the liquid marble of the water then the ship righted itself. She snatched up her wayward garment. Made of goat’s hair it was favoured for its resistance to salt water and as she shook the dirt off this old workhorse, she had a feeling it was about to be put through its paces. Spume was being whipped up like egg white.

Noting the set of her chin and never one to admit defeat, the
Furrina
’s captain inched closer. Young girl alone on the seas, needed looking after, what? He cleared his throat. Charming filly and no mistake. Needed a man, though. A strong, capable man to help her weather the storm. A man with—what was the word?—
experience
, that was it.

Inching closer he caught the heavy scent of her perfume and felt a stirring in his loins as he remembered her at the stem rail yesterday, the breeze ruffling her hair and flattening her tunic against the outline of her body. Fully aroused at the memory of those taut, high breasts, the points of her nipples, the curve of her belly, the sweep of her thighs, Herrenius nevertheless waited until the ship gave another violent lurch before making his move.

‘Take your paws off me, you odious little greaseball!’

To his credit, the captain’s expression didn’t alter as his fingers unlaced themselves from her waist. Stuck-up bitch, he thought, but it was with immense care that his hands remained firmly clasped behind his back as he made his way aft as nonchalantly as he was able.

‘Come by the boat!’ he snapped, and the bosun looked up sharply. The jolly had been hoisted aboard this half-hour past. But he knew that mood, and to avoid being put on a charge, tossed another anchor over the side. That still left three, didn’t it?

Claudia snapped her fingers and the limp form of Junius, the head of her personal bodyguard, made a manful effort to straighten up from where it was hanging over the rail. Interesting colour formation, she thought. White for the main part, tinged with a spot of green here and a spot of grey there, and a tinksy bit of purple round the eyes.

‘Junius, if you ever let that scumbag Herrenius within one pace of me again, I’ll have you dangled from the masthead by your toes. Understood?’

The look he gave her was that of a whipped and starving puppy who’d just learned he was about to become the ball in a game of ‘countrymen’, but it was wasted on Claudia. The storm had all her attention.

They blamed Claudia for this easterly. Not in so many words (they wouldn’t dare), but in September these straits are blessed with westerlies, they are calm and pleasant and a veritable joy to sail. This, she had been assured time and again, was fact. So why, then, had the Tempestates been unleashed by the gods to wreak mayhem and havoc?

Drusilla, it transpired, was the key.

Suddenly the keel was thrown high out of the water sending Claudia crashing against the side of the ship. She clung desperately to a ratline as the freighter wavered, as though skewered on Neptune’s trident, before pitching forward with a spine-jarring shudder. Another check at the cliffs. This is not a good place for a shipwreck, she thought. Definitely not.

She licked the ropeburns on her palms and thought of Drusilla. It was a rough ride, she hoped she was coping.

Poor Drusilla! She didn’t deserve the crew’s hostility, but for some obscure reason, the presence on board of one small Egyptian cat with blue eyes and a wedge-shaped face had turned the entire contingent into gibbering, superstitious shadows of themselves. It had now reached the stage where two of her bodyguard—big, black Nubians, the toughest she could find—were permanently stationed outside the cabin door.