by Marilyn Todd
‘He was your friend.’
‘He was your husband, so don’t start moralizing! This whole thing was your idea, remember. I’ll never make it through the ranks, you said, but by heaven I’ll bear sons who will. This was shortly after you realized Gaius’s interests lay elsewhere and you approached me, Claudia, so don’t you forget that.’
Claudia leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. How could she forget? The betrayal had tormented her from the moment she first looked down on Gaius’s corpse.
‘You think that because Gaius left you a million, I’m trying to claw into that?’ The look on her face told him he guessed right. ‘Don’t be silly. The plan was we’d cobble together the requisite million by me marrying that whingeing cow downstairs, then divorcing her on trumped-up charges of adultery. I would then denounce the child I was so eager for as another man’s—hell, Claudia, we’d already earmarked the patsy—because that way I’d hang on to Flavia’s dowry and put in a hefty claim for compensation. By this time you’d have a not inconsiderable settlement of your own, since Gaius Seferius—overweight and unhealthy would have shuffled off his mortal coil.’
At least he’d have died from natural causes.
‘Now since I was prepared to do all the dirty work, it doesn’t stand to reason I’d change the rules simply because Gaius left you all his dough.’
‘Gaius changed his will in the firm conviction that Flavia killed her siblings out of bitter rivalry. He made the new will, he said, in case she tried to kill him, too. He left me a letter explaining it all.’
‘Flavia?’ Scaevola blew out his breath in a whistle. ‘Well, I’ll be damned.’
‘I daresay we both shall, but that’s not the point. The point, Tony, is that Flavia didn’t kill them, you did.’
His arm fell away. ‘You’re not serious…’
‘Never more so.’ She opened her eyes and looked at him. He looked terrible. ‘You were engaged to Calpurnia when she died of a fever, and it gave you an idea. Gaius’s fortune was divided three ways instead of four, so you asked to marry Flavia. I thought it was my idea, but it wasn’t, you already had your plans in motion. You were with Secundus the night he died. You took him on a tour of the taverns. You got him pissed. Then you pushed him under a wagon.’
‘He fell. When I realized he was dead, I panicked.’
‘You pushed him, Tony. You waited for a wagon piled with grain and you pushed him. You poisoned Lucius, and you paid the midwife to lie about Valeria’s perfectly healthy baby.’
And no doubt grizzly little Flavia would come to a sticky end along the way, poor cow. Claudia could feel, rather than see, that he was shaking. Perhaps he was crying, she didn’t particularly care. He’d murdered four people, she hoped he fried in hell. And for what? Greed, pure and simple.
‘It’s over, Tony. Go home and take that bottle with you.’
‘You don’t mean you’ve told the authorities?’
‘There’s a letter, yes, and should anything happen to me, it’ll be handed over.’ She was bluffing, of course, but he wouldn’t know that. ‘This way, they’ll be none the wiser.’
‘Claudia, please—’
She turned her head and covered her ears. She didn’t want to see him, she didn’t want to hear him. She just wanted him gone.
A century must have passed before she found the courage to turn round. The room was empty, apart from herself.
Feeling like an old woman, she crawled off the bed and opened the shutters to let in the fresh night air. Drusilla, miffed at being thrown out, was nowhere in sight and it was quite possible that, knowing her she’d stay out until dawn to teach Claudia a lesson. She yawned. The night was still young, but her bones ached, her head was pounding, there was a filthy taste in her mouth.
‘Good evening, m’dear. Received your message.’
She spun round. There was a figure in the room, the figure of a man. He wore a toga, which didn’t disguise the fact that he was small in all directions.
‘Jupiter!’
She turned up the light to find herself staring into the blank features of Ventidius Balbus, a flagon of wine under one arm.
‘I think there’s been a mistake in communications, Ventidius, I didn’t send any message.’
‘Oh.’ His face fell. ‘Um. Sent you a letter…’
‘Yes, I know.’
She was too damned weary to bawl him out and he looked so pathetic standing there. Besides she could use that drink.
‘Plus proposal of marriage. Wondered, er, whether this has been considered?’
‘Ventidius, could we discuss this another time? I’m very tired.’
‘Ah! One didn’t mean to, um… Although this matter is of some urgency to one’s self.’
One’s self? Or was that, one’s elf? Really, it was quite impossible to take this twit seriously! However, since he was the one who might still make that Genoa connection, it wouldn’t hurt to be tolerant. He had, after all, recently divorced a wife who, he told her endlessly at the banquet, had been bonking every man in sight. His ego was probably fragile.
‘The thing is, Ventidius, I’ve decided against remarriage.’
‘Somewhat hasty, don’t you think? Early days, and all that.’
‘Possibly, but you know Roman law. I’d be putting myself under the rule of another man, and somehow the concept of subordination doesn’t appeal.’
His eyes, those ghastly boiled gooseberries, widened in shock. ‘Oh, but you must. What would people think?’
‘Convention, Ventidius, is not something that interests me.’
Neither was the prospect of bonking this insipid little worm.
‘So if you’d excuse me…’
‘Quite. Quite.’
He looked so crestfallen, she had to shield the smile on her face.
‘One is, um, not without funds, y’know.’
‘Ventidius, I didn’t think for one moment you wanted to marry me for my money.’ This one would want to get inside a different sort of treasure chest. ‘But,’ she feigned a yawn, ‘it’s late, and this girl does need her beauty sleep.’
‘Apologies. One didn’t mean to… Um, perhaps one could persuade you to accept this small token of my esteem. A delicacy of mine, sweet violet wine.’
Oh. She handed him the glass Scaevola had been using. ‘Well, here’s to sweet violets.’ Claudia dredged up her best professional smile. ‘And to you, Ventidius.’
Good grief, it was ghastly. Rich, sweet, sickly. Claudia began to blink rapidly. Was the room swaying or was she? She put a hand to her forehead.
‘I think—I’m feeling—a little dizzy,’ she began.
But before she could finish the sentence, the floor had risen up to meet her.
XXVI
The ship was rolling and wallowing, pitching and tossing. Hammers pounded incessantly. Slow, heavy hammers which shook your bones. Rapid, tinny hammers which shook your nerves. Not to mention every hammer known to man in between.
Claudia groaned. She lifted one eyelid, closed it immediately. No ship. Wherever she was, this was no ship. Too dark to make out the ceiling, but the walls move, there’s no floor. I’m drifting on a pink sea. A bare-breasted woman with the head of a goat wades up to her thighs, her arms outstretched and beckoning…
I’m dead. The bastard’s killed me!
What else explains the heat. The heat and humidity and that thick, cloying scent. Heavy. Choking. Nauseous. And limbs weighted with iron. When she tried to swallow, it was to discover a small, furry rodent had been wedged inside her mouth. After three attempts to spit it out, she realized something. It was her own tongue.
Not dead, then. Hallucinating.
Her eyes swivelled round. Slowly—very, very slowly—quaking walls solidified in the simple flicker of a candle and, as her vision adjusted, the naked woman became a humble statue, the goat’s horns nothing more sinister than its skin drawn up to form a helmet. The pink sea, however refused to go away and as Claudia struggled to sit up, another fact beca
me plain. Her wrists and ankles had indeed been bound. She was strapped naked save for her breast band and thong to a couch in the middle of this wretched hell-hole. Even the pins from her hair had been taken.
Dear Diana, save me from sweet violet wine and worms that turn!
She slumped against the soft wool. What on earth could that idiot be thinking of, kidnapping her? And where was she, for heaven’s sake? Not his own house, it was too dark, too damp, too neglected for habitation. The plaster had crumbled, the frescoes all but disappeared. A tomb? She wriggled her wrists until the bindings chafed. Give him credit, Ventidius Balbus could tie a mean knot, she’d say that for him.
‘Balbus, you raving lunatic, let me loose!’ Her voice echoed round the empty stone chamber. ‘Balbus, can you hear me?’
Futile, but it made her feel better shouting and screaming. You can almost forget how helpless you really are…
It was the intermittency of the hammering which made her realize the pounding came from outside her head, yet no matter how hard she yelled she wasn’t making herself heard. At least there was consolation in that she was still in Rome, because these reverberations and rumbles meant it was another temple in the process of restoration. Temple! Of course. What if this was once the home of a long-forgotten cult which, like Consus, was also revered underground. She could feel her pulse racing. Where, though, where? Juno, it could be anywhere! No. No, it couldn’t. The clues are here. Goddess. Wears goatskin. Arms out, left one bent at the elbow. Got it! The old shrine of Sospita. That left hand would have clutched a shield, the right a spear. I’ll bet if I could see her feet she’d be wearing shoes with turny-up toes! Claudia winked at the statue. The old vegetable market, am I right, Sospita?
Her hands, being over her head, were beginning to tingle and she wriggled her fingers to chivvy the circulation back. Balbus had chosen his spot with care. Apparently he wanted to play sex games, but—a rash of goosepimples broke out on her skin—suppose he’s the type who likes to torture his victims? It would be naive to imagine she was the first woman pinned to this altar. Her eyes squinted in their search for bloodstains, but with only that one small flame burning in the corner it was impossible to differentiate shadow from stain. Bugger! Frantically she clawed at the bonds. Bugger, bugger, bugger! Panting from the exertion, her wrists and ankles raw, Claudia slumped back and forced herself to stay calm. Emotion could only be her undoing. Men like him feed on fear. Fear and power. Balbus was a worm who had acquired himself a victim, relying on his power and her fear to get his kicks. Or so the poor misguided bastard thought! So if you plan to escape from this rathole, you’ll need a cool head and a clear brain. Deep breaths, Claudia. One, two, three, four—
Her ears picked up measured footsteps, yet even as she braced herself to scream, instinct held her back. The footsteps grew louder. Clomp, clomp, clomp down the stairs. Eight of them. No, nine. He’d hesitated at the last. There was a grinding of a key in a lock, a draught, the grating of a badly fitting door over stone. Once inside the chamber the footsteps were instantly muffled but she could hear him wade through the pink froth and suddenly the room was filled with light.
‘The effects have worn off faster than one calculated.’
The clinical assessment sent a shiver down Claudia’s spine. She composed her features into a show of nonchalance as though this were normal behaviour something she did every Wednesday and occasionally on a Friday if the moon was full.
‘I’m a quick healer. Why’s the floor two cubits deep with rose petals?’
Once he’d got all five candles burning, Balbus wove his way towards the couch. Difficult to believe this creep was still in his early thirties. Or that he won’t be as weak as he looks.
‘Cleopatra would seduce her men knee deep in them.’
Vulgar little trollop.
‘Thus I decided to honour you in the same tradition and then tomorrow, when one’s work is fully complete, we can repair to Asculum. I have purchased the most delightful villa not far from the town which I believe you will find perfectly amenable. Privacy is naturally guaranteed and—’
‘Are you off your chump? I’m not going with you to any poxy villa, Balbus, not now, not ever.’
He looked like a puppy who’d been kicked for chewing a shoe. ‘A wife is duty-bound to obey her husband, Claudia. I protect you and in return you obey me. It is the law,’ he added without the slightest hint of deprecation in his voice.
‘Bugger the law. Let me go.’
The bland features looked affronted. ‘Your place is with me now. We shall consummate our marriage in the privacy of this shrine, although, alas,’ the boiled gooseberries lit up as they skimmed over her body, ‘one’s commitments prevent one from doing justice at present. We shall need to savour the moment, Claudia, but I do not think you shall find me wanting in that respect.’
‘Balbus, I find you wanting in every respect, and I’d sooner chain myself to a rotting corpse than marry you.’ It was a mistake. She realized the instant she’d spat the words out. The colour drained from his face, there was a tautness around the mouth, a fanatical glint in his eye which was mesmerizing.
‘You will marry me, Claudia.’ He leaned closer. ‘Say it.’
She felt a surge of defiance. ‘Don’t be absurd.’
The blow to her cheekbone came out of nowhere, slamming her head round as far as it would go and sending pain soaring through her left eye.
‘I proposed to you in your room and you turned me down. Are you refusing me again?’
There was a roaring in her skull, a throbbing down the left side of her face and Claudia could taste blood in her mouth. Probably from where she’d bitten her lip. It should be so easy to say yes to this maniac, she thought. ‘Never.’
She braced herself for a second backhander. Instead, Balbus grabbed a handful of her hair and jerked her off the couch so violently she saw double.
‘One more chance, Claudia.’ There were two high spots of colour in his cheeks. ‘Will you do me the honour of taking my hand in marriage?’
‘Go to hell.’ The second blow knocked her breath away and she felt his ring slice her cheek. As her head fell backwards, blood, warm and runny, dribbled down her jawline. Drip, drip, drip down her neck, slithering over her shoulderblade to form a damp patch on the wool. The wool was red, the same colour as her blood, and the blood didn’t show. It just spread and spread. How many others’ blood had spilled on to this couch? And what happened to them? She fought back the panic and in doing so made one small triumphant discovery. Ventidius Balbus hadn’t taken every pin out of her hair. Right now, that jab of pain behind her right ear was as welcome as a cold bath on a hot day.
She thought of Otho. A brute of a man, yet even Otho could be reasoned with. It was difficult to see what logic you could use with a man like Balbus, other than to keep on agreeing with him. With one cheek throbbing and the other puffing up like a dead fish, Claudia wondered how many ‘wives’ he’d brought down here.
‘Very well, Balbus. I accept your proposal of marriage.’ Nothing. No reaction. Nothing at all.
Maybe he couldn’t understand her through the split lip? She swallowed, ready to try again, then saw he was staring into space with a strange smile on his face. When she realized the source of his pleasure—the blood he was licking off his knuckles—the hairs on the back of her neck began to rise. As assiduously as any cat he followed the trails with his tongue. Down the back of his hand, in between his fingers. Slowly, sensuously, careful not to miss any. She dared not break the spell by speaking. When he was sure he’d licked away every drop of blood, he drew a small knife from his waistband. Claudia sucked in her breath. Expertly he slit through the thin cotton of her breast band and pulled it away. She heard his breath come out in a hiss.
‘You have publicly given your body to me, Claudia.’
‘I…have?’ Bats squeak louder than that.
‘At the races on Monday, after the Festival of Consus, I sent you a letter. Unsigned, yet you knew it
was from me, didn’t you, Claudia? And in front of thousands, you surrendered your body to me in a supreme gesture of sensuality.’
Never mind I tore the letter up. In front of thousands. ‘Yes.’
‘Because you love me.’ Balbus leaned over and ran one clammy hand over the flat of her stomach.
‘Yes.’ She could barely form the word.
The hand moved upwards to circle her breast. Dead meat on her flesh.
In the wavering candlelight. Claudia found herself staring at the menace of the blade in his other hand. Balbus seemed to have forgotten about it, but the knife lay only inches from Claudia’s throat. She tried to remind herself of what she’d said earlier, that it was only her fear which fed his power, yet she couldn’t break the barrier. He had tied her hand and foot, she was as helpless—and powerless—as a kitten. Resistance had resulted in violence. Further resistance would only result in more violence, and who could imagine the boundaries of this man’s brutality? He stopped kneading her breast and the knife disappeared from view. Wide-eyed, she watched him, with one swift flick of the wrist, slice through her thong and press it to his lips. Claudia couldn’t quell the shudder of revulsion that shook her body. Half of her wanted him to take her and get it over with. The other half, the logical half, told her that would only be the start…
Suddenly the knife came flying through the air towards her. Her eyes snapped shut. Every muscle tensed. The blade cracked into the couch’s frame. When she dared to open her eyes, Balbus’s face was a finger’s width from hers. Contorted with hatred.
‘You won’t take lovers when we’re married.’
She was shaking from head to foot, she couldn’t help it, and her teeth were chattering. The blade was wrested from the wood.
His lip curled. ‘I said, you won’t take lovers when we’re married, do you understand?’
‘Yes. No.’ She was confused by the ambiguity of the statement. ‘I…I won’t take lovers.’ Sweat poured off her body and, heaven help her she was this close to the ultimate humiliation of wetting herself.
He laid the flat of the blade against her cheek, the one which absorbed the first blow, and Claudia couldn’t prevent herself flinching. Slowly it traced the arch of her neck, the cold metal skimming unhurriedly over the ridge of her collarbone and down her breast. When it hesitated over her nipple, Claudia stopped breathing. Jaws clamped tight, she felt the blade glide over her stomach to follow the gentle contours until finally it came to rest between her legs. He didn’t intend to kill her. At least not yet. But—
