Dream Boat

by Marilyn Todd

  Table of Contents

  Dream Boat

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Dream Boat

  By Marilyn Todd

  Copyright 2014 by Marilyn Todd

  Cover Copyright 2014 by Untreed Reads Publishing

  Cover Design by Ginny Glass

  The author is hereby established as the sole holder of the copyright. Either the publisher (Untreed Reads) or author may enforce copyrights to the fullest extent.

  Previously published in print, 2001

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher or author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, dialogue and events in this book are wholly fictional, and any resemblance to companies and actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Also by Marilyn Todd and Untreed Reads Publishing

  I, Claudia

  Virgin Territory

  Man Eater

  Wolf Whistle

  Jail Bait

  Black Salamander

  http://www.untreedreads.com

  Dream Boat

  MARILYN TODD

  THIS IS FOR MIKE ASHLEY, WITH THANKS.

  CRITICAL ACCLAIM FOR MARILYN TODD

  ‘Claudia—a superbitch who keeps us all on the edge where she loves to live... The Roman detail is deft, the pace as fast as a champion gladiator.’ Sunday Express

  ‘A timeless heroine for today—you’ll be hooked.’ Company

  'An endearing adventuress who regards mortal danger as just another bawdy challenge.’ She

  ‘Terrific read...thoroughly entertaining.’ The Bookseller

  ‘Marilyn Todd’s wonderful fictional creation—a bawdy superbitch with a talent for sleuthing—[is] an-enormous triumph.’ Ms London

  'A daring debut from a promising writer.’ Oxford Times

  ‘Feisty and fun.’ Yorkshire Post

  ‘Claudia lives life at the cutting edge, and has a way with the sword to prove it.’ Newcastle Upon Tyne Evening Chronicle

  ‘If you’re looking for a romp through the streets of Rome in 13BC, then this is the book to buy!’ Books Magazine

  'As juiciest as the ripest grape, this is a vintage romp to savour.’ Northern Echo

  ‘Claudia and Marcus make a volatile, clever and strong couple...an excellent escapist fantasy.’ Historical Novel Review

  Chapter One

  Kidnapped?' Claudia spun round. 'What do you mean, the silly cow's been kidnapped?'

  Jupiter, Juno and Mars, give me a break. I've hardly caught my breath from Gaul, avoiding that final ferry ride across the River Styx by so narrow a squeak I do believe Hades' brimstone still prickles in my nostrils. You don't seriously expect me to believe a major crime has been committed the instant I return?

  'Read this, then, if you don't believe me.' Julia thrust a scruffy piece of papyrus at her sister-in-law and rejoiced in yet another exquisite reason to hate her.

  Not enough that this long-legged, money-grubbing trollop had lured her dear brother into matrimony. Oh, no. The bitch had wheedled her way to inheriting the whole of Gaius's estate! Julia sniffed loudly. They should be mine, she thought. Mine. His prestigious wine business, his investments, the country villa, this . . . her hooded glance took in the rare woods and opulent marbles, the eye-watering dazzle of bronze, gold and silver, yes, this should be mine, too, this magnificent town house. Not that - that - that unspeakable creature, perusing the ransom note in her high-backed padded chair!

  Julia folded her arms across her chest and scrutinised the little office with its fine peacock mosaic, its maple wood desk encrusted with ivory, its wide double doors opening on to a peristyle alive with birdsong and the scent of white lilies. Under the laurels, that vicious, cross-eyed feline of Claudia's stretched and yawned beside a half-eaten mouse. Julia imagined it clawed the furniture indoors, given half a chance.

  To the west, the sun began to sink below the rooftops, turning the sky a violent ragged-robin pink and now, listening to the gentle splash of the fountain in the garden, she acknowledged bitterly that hers were stale grievances, raked over so many times in the past ten months since Gaius had died that the repetition had begun to pall, even on her.

  Until today.

  Today, in his house, in his office (which this little cat had already had the temerity to redecorate), Julia was fully justified in adding another vitriolic string to her lyre. 'Now will you treat this seriously?' she snapped. 'My niece, who - may I remind you - is also your stepdaughter, has, as that demand makes clear, been abducted.'

  Actually, what rankled was not so much that Claudia had found the concept of Flavia's kidnap incredible - indeed, Julia herself had had to read the letter twice - it was sweeping in here unannounced in the middle of a heatwave to find nothing going on which really got her goat. Talk about insult to injury. After all, you'd expect, wouldn't you, to catch the baggage out? Find her cavorting with some fancy man, whereupon they could have denounced her and got the will reversed before she spent the sodding lot. Alas. Julia snorted. No man. Worse, no sign of a masculine presence . . . and she hadn't caught her sister-in-law disporting herself with gaiety, dancing or enjoying any other entertainment unsuited to the state of widowhood. Damn! Julia's fingernail snapped in her teeth. The last thing she'd expected (or indeed had hoped) was to barge in and find Claudia Seferius poring serenely over the estate ledgers!

  What made the whole thing truly unbearable, however, was seeing Claudia's glossy locks, coiled and immaculate, and her robe crisp and fresh in the late afternoon. Absently, Julia's fingertips pushed away the straggles of hair which plastered themselves to her forehead and too late remembered the sweat patches under her arms.

  By Hermes, did the gods have no pity?

  'When did it arrive, this demand?' Claudia turned over the tatty sheet to examine the underside.

  'Just now, of course!' Julia cried. 'It was the first thing we thought of, to come to you.'

  And we all know why, don't we! 'Oh?' Claudia leaned back in her chair and threw one casual leg over the other. 'Why's that, then?'
/>
  'Well. . .' The older woman made a vague gesture with her hand. 'It's obvious, isn't it?'

  'Because Flavia is just fifteen years old, you mean? The product of my late husband's loins, dear little child that she is?' Claudia flipped the counters to the end of the abacus. 'Sorry, sentiment won't wash. Gaius wanted nothing to do with his daughter, she was fostered to you from birth.' Foisted would have been a better word. 'So I ask again, why, if the ransom note was delivered to you, have you brought it to me? Incidentally, I suppose it's too much to ask whether you thought to question the messenger?'

  The flush which rose to Julia's thin cheeks spoke for itself. 'We - that is, Marcellus didn't . . .' Recovery was swift. 'My husband is a prominent architect,' she reminded her sister-in-law, plumping herself down in a chair. Azure blue, indeed. Gaius would never have stood for such a gaudy shade of upholstery! 'He receives a score of letters every day.'

  'They all look like this, do they?' Claudia waved the greasy scrap of parchment and the thought flashed through her mind that, yes, in all probability, a number of them would. Marcellus might be an architect, but he was by no means a prominent one. In fact, he wasn't even a very good one. Over the past few months his practice had dwindled to virtually nothing, and this was no mean feat when virtually the whole of Rome was in the throes of rebuilding - marble for brick, bronze for wood, pavements for mud! 'How much does he owe?' she asked.

  'How dare you!' With a puff of indignation, Julia shot out of her chair. 'How dare you insinuate—'

  As an actress, Claudia thought, she wouldn't be given a job in a crowd scene. 'Come, come, Julia, we both know the score. Sit down and take a goblet of wine.'

  Claudia inhaled the fragrance of the rich vintage, admired

  its ruby tints as it trickled through the fingers of the dying sunlight into the frosted green glass. She pushed the goblet across the desk, only for it to stand ignored. Very well. Play it your way.

  'You imagine I don't know why you're here instead of Marcellus?' she asked, gently sipping Julia's wine. Typical slimy move, sending his wife to do his dirty work. 'Money, Julia.' Bushes were for idle cats to snooze beneath, not for beating round. 'Not out of concern for my late husband's daughter. You're here because you want me to stump up the ransom.'

  The older woman subsided into her chair and scowled at the newly painted floral frescoes, the damask roses, the acacias and the heathers turning scarlet in the sunset. 'You can afford it,' she muttered. 'We can't.'

  How true. Marcellus had been siphoning off Flavia's annuity for months - at least he had been, until Claudia severed the allowance. It stood to reason that, with his business in trouble and his income cut short, the next step would be to borrow and moneylenders (as Claudia knew from painful experience) bled their victims down to the bone.

  Not that she'd been under any legal obligation to underwrite her wretched stepchild in the first place. Gaius' will was unequivocal. The widow inherited everything, the relatives not a copper quadran. Nevertheless, a - shall we call it goodwill? - gesture was enough to prevent either Flavia or her grasping foster parents digging for dirt, because the last thing that bunch of spongers wanted was to see their clover supply drying up.

  Some charities, Claudia reflected, were well worth the sacrifice. Which was not to say she was prepared to indulge Marcellus's recklessness indefinitely! Idiot. Why couldn't he content himself with what every other person in his situation did? Cream a bit off the top and be happy? Claudia stared at her thin-nosed sister-in-law from under lowered lashes, saw the deep lines of dissatisfaction around the mouth, the permanent frown on her forehead and understood why Marcellus slept in a separate bedroom.

  Pursing her cherry-tinted lips, Claudia studied the limp piece of parchment in her hand. Badly written, poorly spelt, there was no mistaking the message, though! Flavia had been kidnapped, they were to await further instructions. The consequences were unambiguous, too. Call in the army and Flavia dies.

  Shit.

  Under the laurels, Drusilla, her blue-eyed, cross-eyed, dark Egyptian cat, began to lick a languid paw in preparation for the evening hunt of moths and mice and crunchy creepy-crawlies.

  'I presume you've checked that Flavia isn't staying with friends?' Claudia asked. The Games of Apollo kicked off in two days when there would be eight days of races and feasting and plays. Could this be some teenage prank related to the festivities?

  The girl has no friends,' Julia retorted, and Claudia could well believe it. A sulkier, more self-centred little madam was impossible to find. 'She simply went out last night and never returned.'

  Something slithered around in Claudia's stomach. 'What time did you notice she hadn't come home?' she asked, instinctively knowing the answer. The poor little cow hadn't been missed until that note arrived!

  'I've been busy,' Julia snapped. 'To make ends meet, we've had to sell some of our slaves, which loads extra work on me - and besides, the girl's old enough to come and go as she pleases.'

  'In other words,' Claudia drained the goblet in one swallow, 'you can't actually pinpoint when she was snatched.'

  'Now that's where you're wrong.' A smug expression settled on Julia's features. 'I've narrowed it down to last night, because the only things missing from her bedroom are the clothes and jewels she went out in.'

  'Which were . . . ?' No wonder Gaius had had little truck with his doltish sister. She was as slow as he'd been sharp, as dull as he'd been shrewd, self-centred as he'd been focussed. In fact, Claudia did not recall Julia ever once tipping back her head and roaring with laughter, as her brother had used to do.

  'She was wearing her best rose-red tunic shot with gold. A ring set with jade, another with agates, two matching silver armbands, her favourite faience pendant, gold ear studs and,' Julia finished on a note of triumph, 'the emerald pin I'd given her for Saturnalia.'

  Good grief. The surprise is not that Flavia was kidnapped, more that she wasn't robbed! 'Is it usual for Flavia to leave the house dressed like a dog's dinner?' For a girl with no friends and with the Games not kicking off for two days, surely Julia thought it odd, as Claudia certainly did, that Flavia had gone out in her finery?

  'Oh, didn't she tell you?' Julia's smile was pure reptile. 'That's why she's been all Apollo-this, Apollo-that, of late. You must have noticed her preoccupation?'

  'Teenage girls fall in love with gods and heroes all the time,' Claudia said. One minute it's dolls and skipping ropes and dressing up. Next, it's spots, cosmetics and infatuation with either ruff-tuff, he-men types such as Hercules, whose bulging pecs and oozing masculinity sends them swooning in their pillows, or else they fall for the dreamy poet-cum-musician types. 'Long-haired Apollo with his lyre and romantic verses is always a hot favourite,' she pointed out. And - like every teenage crush - gloriously out of reach!

  'That's as maybe,' Julia said, 'but it's been driving me demented. Her bedroom walls are covered with ghastly yellow sun discs, which she's painted herself, hundreds of the blessed things, and all because she's been invited to take the lead role in Friday's production of The Serving Women. That's when—'

  'Yes, yes, I know what it is.' Everyone in Rome knows, you stupid cow! Claudia got up and began to pace the office. How many generations had turned to dust since that fateful day when Rome had been besieged by an enemy who took to demanding high-born female hostages? Quite for what purpose Claudia shuddered to imagine, but out of hardship, heroism is born. A humble serving wench gathered together a group of equally spirited young women who, disguised in their noble counterparts' finery, employed strength, cunning

  and resilience to turn the tables on their assailants and save the day. In return, Rome honoured their courage every year by re-enacting the drama.

  'Exactly what connection does this have with Flavia's abduction?'

  'No need to get prickly.' Julia bridled. 'I just wanted you to be aware that the Prefect organising the show felt our little Flavia was perfect for the lead. Not everyone gets selected, it's a tremendous hon
our for us—' Claudia's sizzle of a glare cut her short. 'Anyway,' Julia finished stiffly, 'the point is, she didn't return from rehearsals.'

  Out in the garden, the trunk of the sour apple tree glowed like a dying ember in the last vestiges of twilight. In the distance, a trumpet blasted, a signal to heave open the great city gates. Would that a second blast could spirit away this carping hag!

  'What about the authorities?' Claudia asked, returning to her desk. 'Has Marcellus notified any of the officials?'

  There's a clue here, she thought. Something Julia had said . . . something which didn't add up.

  'Are you mad?' Julia squeaked. 'You've seen what it says in the letter, they'll kill her!'

  Claudia moistened a fingertip and ran it lightly over her eyebrow. 'I doubt whether anyone who spells authority with an "O" is in an intellectual position to find out,' she said dryly. 'I advise you to seek official help.'

  'I will not,' Julia snarled, 'compromise this girl's life for a measly sesterces or two.'

  Claudia heard her chair scrape across the mosaic floor. Then again, it could have been the grinding of her teeth. 'This is not a question of compromising Flavia's life,' she hissed back, 'it's a matter of basic common sense.'

  The kidnappers might settle for a single payment. Then again, they might not. Greed is an unpredictable commodity. Moreover, they might return the girl alive, but in all probability they would not. No witnesses. No loose ends. Without doubt, this was a job for the professionals.

  'So what are you saying?' Julia tried to shrug free the clammy tunic which was sticking to her back. 'I'm to return to Marcellus and inform him you won't help?'

  Well done, Julia, you're catching on at last!

  A mental picture formed in Claudia's mind. Her brother-inlaw's lizard smile. Complexion like an unripe mulberry. How often over the past ten months had he 'just happened' to be passing, or (surprise, surprise) found himself seated beside her in the theatre? Of course, if she could just see her way clear to advancing a couple of hundred to tide him over until the next contract. Handing Marcellus money was akin to tipping water over sand, you never saw a drop of it again.