by Marilyn Todd
The Claudia Series by Marilyn Todd
I, CLAUDIA
VIRGIN TERRITORY
MAN EATER
WOLF WHISTLE
JAIL BAIT
BLACK SALAMANDER
DREAM BOAT *
DARK HORSE *
SECOND ACT *
WIDOW'S PIQUE *
STONE COLD *
SOUR GRAPES *
SCORPION RISING *
* available from Severn House
SCORPION RISING
Marilyn Todd
This first world edition published in Great Britain 2006 by SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of 9-15 High Street, Sutton, Surrey SM1 1DF.
This first world edition published in the USA 2006 by SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS INC of 595 Madison Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10022.
Copyright © 2006 by Marilyn Todd.
All rights reserved.
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
Todd, Marilyn
Scorpion rising
1. Claudia Seferius (Fictitious character) - Fiction
2. Rome - History - Empire, 30 B.C. - 284 A.D. - Fiction
3. Detective and mystery stories I. Title
823.9'14 [F]
ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-6375-1 (cased)
ISBN-10: 0-7278-6375-4 (cased)
ISBN-10: 0-7278-9169-3 (trade paper)
Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.
This title, as with all others from Severn House, is printed on acid-free paper.
Typeset by Palimpsest Book Production Ltd., Polmont, Stirlingshire, Scotland.
Printed and bound in Great Britain by MPG Books Ltd., Bodmin, Cornwall.
Table of Contents
Copyright
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
This is where I live. So this book is dedicated to everyone who lived here before me, from Neolithic man to the Gauls, the Romans who bridged the river, the Crusaders who built the fortress, the Knights Templar, the priests who turned the castle into a seminary, even the Germans who occupied it during the War. But most especially to my gorgeous little tortoiseshell, Tuppence.
In the centre of the world, between earth, sky and sea, at the point where the realms of the universe meet, is a place from which everything the world over can be seen. There Rumour lives, in a home she has chosen for herself on a hilltop. Night and day the house lies open, for she has given it a thousand apertures and incalculable entrances, with never a door to barricade her thresholds. The whole structure is of echoing brass and there is no quiet within, no silence in any part, and yet there is no din. Only murmured whisperings, like the sound of the sea's waves heard at a distance, or the last rumbles of Jupiter's thunder. A host inhabits these halls. They come, they go, a shadowy throng. And a thousand rumours, false mixed with true, stray this way and that, while confused words flit about, pouring their stories into idle ears, while others carry off the tales they have heard. And the story grows, each teller adding to what he has heard - and Rumour sees everything that goes on in heaven, in earth and on the sea ...
Ovid
(43BC-AD17)
One
Good morning, madam.' Claudia's lanky Macedonian steward bowed dutifully. 'I trust you slept well.' Claudia's eyes swivelled round the atrium, taking in every marble column and each exquisite fresco, noting every detail from the gold that rimmed the fountain to the elaborate mosaic it was set in, and quite frankly couldn't imagine anyone not sleeping well when all this was theirs.
'Like a baby, Leonides, like a baby, except I didn't need burping.' Dear me, was that a smile that almost escaped from his mouth? 'Now then, are the litter bearers outside?'
That was the trouble with these big town houses. No windows faced onto the street, making a perfect buffer from noise, smell and burglars, but of course it meant one had no idea what was happening on the outside.
'Ready and waiting, my lady.'
'Excellent! Then I shall—'
'Before you go.' He leaned down and spoke quietly. 'There's a gentleman to see you.'
'At this ungodly hour of the morning?'
'He's been here since cock-crow, madam.'
'This is June, Leonides. The cocks crow exceedingly early.' 'So I'm told.'
Yes. Definitely a twitch of a smile. 'Did this early bird give a name?'
'He made no conversation at all, other than to state his appointment with the Merchant Seferius, though I detected a slight Spanish accent, if that helps. Shall I show him into your office?'
'No. You can show him the door.'
For one thing, Claudia had no outstanding appointments with Spaniards or otherwise, and for another, the Ides was
a public holiday. No one in the Empire was conducting business today, especially - what did Leonides say he'd called her? the Merchant Seferius. As the bearers set her litter down on the Capitol, she decided she wouldn't give the vulgar little upstart the time of day after an insult like that. Dear Diana, business might not be booming, but there were enough chauvinistic pigs around Rome without adding to her burden.
Outside the Temple of Jupiter, the Guild of Flute Players were gathering for their annual festival. Theirs was an important role in society, and whether at public sacrifice or private funeral, their melodies drowned out any sound which might carry bad omens, and when it came to marriage rites, birthdays and triumphal marches their playing enlivened the day. It was only fair they be honoured with their own banquet.
Shaking knife-sharp pleats into place, Claudia thought back to the Vinalia, when the Guild of Wine Merchants celebrated at their festival with wine tastings, feasting and dance. Being a woman, of course, she wasn't invited, though it hadn't stopped her from turning up. Dammit, Seferius wine was good stuff. Those bastards had no right to demand she relinquish the business.
Dressed in long festive robes and colourful headbands, the cream of flute-playing society prepared to stage their spectacular on the steps of the temple. Here, at least, as the widow of an eminent wine merchant, Claudia was entitled to a good seat - though with her dark flashing eyes and even darker glossy hair, she invariably secured a better one. Today was no exception and thanking the little bald man who hoped to make her his mistress but would have better luck building a snow-horse in August, she reflected that she'd inherited the enterprise perfectly legally and for heaven's sake, there was no law to prevent women from being in trade. At least. She ran her fingers down the pleats of her gown. Not yet ...
Having tried persuading her to sell up and then failing, the Guild turned to dirtier tactics - and still failed. Currently they were lobbying the Senate for a change in the law, but if that didn't get passed, they wouldn't give up. It stuck in their craw that some flibbertigibbet was making a success
of her late husband's business, and whether out of pride, greed or envy
, they would not be denied. Claudia sighed. What the Guild didn't know was that they had in fact succeeded. It was true, she mused, as the flautists produced one haunting tune after another. The best way to make a small fortune is to start with a large one. Her affluence was no more than an illusion held together by implication and swagger. Claudia Seferius was broke.
It was midnight by the time the festival finally wound down, and as she closed the door on the rumble of nighttime delivery carts, the silence in the house came as a relief. The slaves were tucked up, even the birds in the aviary had tucked their heads under their jewel-coloured wings. The only sounds came from the occasional spitting of the oil lamps that hung from the candelabra, the gurgle of the fountain and Leonides snoring softly as he lay sprawled over a couch in the atrium, where he'd fallen asleep waiting for his mistress to return.
'As a guard dog I'd want my money back,' she tutted, stepping over his feet. 'But at least you got rid of that odd-bod Spaniard.'
'He did not,' an accented voice swirled out of the shadows. 'That odd-bod Spaniard is still waiting.'
Claudia spun round. 'Well, it's a fine night and the honeysuckle's sweet,' she retorted, and look, not a hint of quiver in her voice. 'I'm sure he won't mind waiting a bit longer. In the street.'
'That, I am afraid, is out of the question. My name is Gabali, and I still have the outstanding matter of our appointment to deal with.'
Had she thought about it, she would have imagined him to be typically Iberian - stocky, with long hair, beard, and his long tunic looped up into what could only be called drawers - and, since he'd dismissively referred to her as the 'merchant' Seferius, she would also have expected him to be oily and slick, with a medallion or three to attest to his manhood. Instead, her visitor was lean, modest, with penetrating brown eyes set in a thin pointed face and hair which she could only describe as longer than a Roman's but shorter than a Gaul's, with a shine you could kohl your eyes in.
She smiled prettily. 'Which I would be only too happy to deal with as well, Gabali, were it not for the fact that I have no appointments outstanding.'
'No,' he agreed, 'but I have.' He moved towards her. 'As you say, the night is warm, the honeysuckle sweet. Shall we take a walk in the garden?'
Claudia glanced at her sleeping steward.
'I wouldn't, if I were you,' the Spaniard said mildly.
'Are you threatening me?'
'More than thirty people sleep in this house, including your own private bodyguard.' He smiled. 'I would have to be mad.'
A ripple of ice fluttered the length of her spine. How long had he been watching? she wondered. How long had it taken him to acquire such intimate details of a world that was not visible from the street?
'It's late, I'm tired and you're leaving,' she snapped. As with the Guild, it was all about bluster.
'You might want to hear me out before you throw me out,' he said, and how come that sounded like an order? Either way, Claudia realized that this man would not simply melt away.
'You have three minutes to satisfy my curiosity, Gabali.'
A flicker of amusement kindled in his eyes. 'Three minutes to satisfy a woman? Personally, I do not think that is enough, but you Romans. Tch, tch. Always in such a rush.' The light died. 'Do you know a warehouse in Santonum in Aquitanian Gaul?'
'I know several.'
Now that the new province was becoming established, trade and peace flourished, as did as a taste for luxury goods. Thanks to the Emperor's ban on viticulture, the tribes were unable to manufacture wine of their own, but were forced to rely (as the wily Augustus intended) on imports. For that reason, Claudia reasoned that it might as well be her wine they swilled as anyone else's.
'During my visit to Aquitania last autumn, I made quite a few contacts in the province's capital,' she told him.
'Let's talk about one by the name of Sualinos,' Gabali murmured, dabbling the fingers of his left hand in the fountain.
Oh dear.
'Like I said. Several contacts. I would need to consult my records on that one, so if you'd care to make an appointment—'
'Suppose I save you the trouble?' The Spaniard cracked his knuckles, and for a man who claimed it would be madness to make threats, he was doing a bloody good job. 'You contracted to ship Sualinos one hundred and thirty-four amphorae of wine, each containing eight gallons, for a total cost of two thousand seven hundred sesterces, including shipping, at fifty per cent in advance and the balance upon delivery.'
Credit where it was due. This Gabali was a stickler for detail.
'Standard terms,' she said lightly.
'Hm.' He steepled his fingers against his lip and smiled at her through hooded eyelids. 'But what is not standard, I think, is that Sualinos received a message, telling him that the ship had been raided by pirates.'
Claudia forced her lips into a reciprocal smile. 'Sadly, Aquitania is not considered a primary destination for exports, and though I believe it's the Emperor's intention to protect supply routes as of next year, one still runs the inevitable risks.'
'You don't seem very concerned about the loss.'
'Insurance, Gabali. That's what insurance is for.'
'Indeed.' He nodded slowly, and why did she have a feeling she'd just walked into his trap? 'Insurance.'
As he paced the atrium, Claudia considered how much dodging the Guild's dirty tactics had cost her. More than she could keep tally of, certainly, which meant offsetting those losses with a number of measures which might not, strictly speaking, be termed legal. She looked upon this as a mere stumbling block, a hurdle to be overcome, but somehow the State viewed tax evasion in a rather different light. In fact, three unsmiling tax officials paid her a visit just last month, she recalled, and left her with a straight choice.
Pay up or be exiled.
With no cash in the coffers, there was only one way to settle the dispute, recompense the State with Seferius wine; it was an arrangement the State was perfectly happy with,
but it left nothing to ship to Suo-what's-his-name in Santonum. Swindling Gauls wasn't intentional, but let's face it, Aquitania was three hundred miles away, that hoary old tale about the ship being raided by pirates hadn't failed her in the past, and just look at the advantages! Suo-what's-his-name's thirteen hundred and fifty sesterces put smiles on the faces of numerous creditors. The threat of exile popped like a bubble. And having her wine served at State banquets wasn't doing Claudia's reputation any harm, either.
'Let me tell you about another man.' Gabali stopped pacing. 'A man known throughout Aquitania as the Scorpion.'
'Funnily enough, his name cropped up several times during the course of my visit last autumn,' she said. 'Some sort of fanatic, as I recall.'
These types were commonplace throughout the Empire. Disgruntled militants who thought they were heroes, or else failures in search of fame and attention, each and every one of them claiming they could single-handedly free the conquered territories by uniting the tribes against Rome. Of course, not one of these deadbeats ever found fame or glory, and usually there was some personal axe to grind at the root of their disaffection. In the Scorpion's case, it was shunning. His very own tribe had voted this loser invisible - meaning that, in their eyes, he didn't exist.
'Spearheading an uprising seems a pretty effective way to make yourself visible again.'
'Do not underestimate this man, Merchant Seferius. The Scorpion, he is dangerous. As cunning as he is ruthless, no one betrays him and lives. Especially,' he added quietly, 'young widows who double-cross him without conscience.'
Shit.
'Are, um - are you saying Sualinos is the Scorpion?'
'It is one of his names, yes.' The Spaniard turned his head sideways and looked at her from the corner of his eye. 'And I, as it happens, am his insurance.'
Shit, shit and double shit. Claudia ran her tongue over her lips. If she sold the gold plate that she used to entertain her richest clients, she might be able to raise a quarter of what she owed, and the co
ntents of her jewel box would probably bring it up to the half. But then word would get out that she
was panic-selling, and what was left of her business would crumble to dust at her feet—
'I will not be intimidated, Gabali.' She clasped her hands firmly behind her back lest he saw that she already was. 'If your scorpioidal boss feels hard done by, he has my sympathy, but it's not incumbent on me to make restitution for piracy. However.' She flashed what she hoped was a generous smile. 'On this occasion, I am prepared to split the insurance settlement.'
The Spaniard walked towards her on the softest feet she'd ever heard. 'Please do not insult my intelligence. There were no pirates, therefore there is no insurance.'
She swallowed. 'He wants the full fifty per cent back ... with interest?'
Thirteen hundred and fifty times twelve per cent divided
by—
'No.' Gabali drew a deep breath and held it. 'He did not send me here for the money, Merchant Seferius. Like I said earlier, and I'm sure you were listening, no one betrays the Scorpion and lives.' He held her gaze with his penetrating brown eyes. 'Now do you understand the nature of this appointment?' He paused. 'The Scorpion sent me to kill you.'
Two
The night was warm, the honeysuckle was sweet and Claudia was oblivious to both. Sinking down on a marble bench in the garden, she was unaware of Hercules striding through the constellations or Bootes the Herdsman prodding his celestial cattle. She did not hear the owl hoot from the oak tree next door, or smell the sweet blossoms of the myrtles in flower, or notice whether the moon was waxing or full.
She sat, rigid and mute, while her mind whirled like a mill race.
'Surely the Scorpion isn't going to kill me for thirteen hundred stupid sesterces?' she asked, though there had been no disguising the quiver that time.
