I, Claudia

XXVII

How long she lay there, numb with horror, was anybody’s guess. A minute? An hour? At one stage, what might have been a cockroach scuttled over her thigh, yet she remained motionless-too shocked to react. The feeling in her hands and feet had long gone, and now her whole body was rigid. The heat, the humidity, the overwhelming stench of rose petals all served to embody Balbus’s insanity. Oh, she would stop him. Sooner or later he would have to untie her, sooner or later she would kill him. But not before Marcus Cornelius Orbilio had been tortured to death.

She stared at the peeling plaster on the ceiling as the one remaining candle smoked and gutted. How long before he begged for mercy? He would be brave. He would be tough. At first. How long, though, before he prayed for death? Balbus’s stability was spiralling further and further out of control. Paternus had put up a fight, an error which would quickly be corrected. This time the victim would, like her, be strapped tight, the screams (and however hard you try, Marcus, there will be screams) exciting Balbus to who-knows-what sadistic heights?

Rubbish, she told herself. He’ll be out wenching, Balbus will be thwarted. Yes, a small voice replied, same as that little quail you ate for supper is going to sprout feathers and lay eggs! Stretched out on the couch, Claudia felt she was suffocating. Suffocating in heat and darkness and fear and hopelessness. A man was going to die and there was absolutely nothing she could do. She ran a dry tongue over dry lips. The blood had crusted. She could well carry a scar on her face from his ring and her cheekbone might yet prove to be broken. It was swollen and throbbing and the pain was swamping her spirit. Spirit? You flatter yourself, my girl. Terror has crept into every corner of your mind and you’ve done nothing-nothing-to fight back. You should be ashamed of yourself, letting him win like this. A small spark of anger flared within her. How dare he! Just how dare this psychotic worm with his arrogant disregard for life be allowed to get away with it? Boast about beating the authorities, would you? I’ll give you boasts, you miserable little weed. Oh yes, you can be strong and masterful when your victim is helpless, let’s see what you’re made of when it comes to a fair fight. Claudia jerked to free her hands. Man to man, let’s see your real potential, you abject little turd.

Resonant hammers continued to mark time in her struggles. Time! Impossible to judge how much of it had passed since Balbus drugged her. Impossible to predict how much of it Orbilio had left. Was it still night? Assuming her calculations were on course and she was under the old vegetable market, men could easily be working nightshift on the city’s massive restoration programme, especially if progress had been lagging behind of late. Claudia stopped squirming. Think for a minute. Don’t you remember when Balbus lit the candles and you first saw your bonds? Ever the romantic, he’d tied her up with strips of pink linen. Tugging merely tightened the knots, but linen, Claudia…linen stretches. Except- Dammit, she’d need assistance from that little hairpin. Cautiously twisting her head from side to side, she wriggled it free, taking great care lest it slip into the sea of rose petals, then eased it slowly upwards using her forehead until her hands could take over. It wasn’t easy. They felt five times their normal size, clumsy hams which couldn’t grip a loft beam much less a delicate three-inch pin, but eventually she wedged it under one of the linen strips and using the heel of her hand for leverage, began the interminable process of stretching. At least two lifetimes drifted past before the fabric finally surrendered and her left wrist worked its way free. Silent prayers wafted up to the gods and Claudia’s eyes closed in relief. Now let’s get the hell out of this rathole.

Jumping off the couch, she pitched straight into the statue of Sospita. Serves you right, you silly cow, she thought, massaging the tender lump forming on her temple. More haste, less speed, and for heaven’s sake, wait till your limbs function before you start into the heroics. Spitting out rose petals and struggling to stand, one hand encountered a hard, metallic object. Sospita’s shield! Decorative use only, but she’d be able to crown Balbus with it, that’s for sure. She scrabbled around in the half-light, feeling her way over the uneven floor until she found what she was hoping for. Bless you, Sospita. That’s a mighty fine spear. Pity it’s broken. Still-she tested the tip-it was sharp enough for the job. Now for pity’s sake, shift your arse, and I mean now, do you hear me? Now!

Gritting her teeth, Claudia inserted the bone pin in the vertical slot of the lock until she made contact with the peg. Lift, damn you, lift. After several ineffective attempts she withdrew the pin, clamped it between her teeth for safekeeping, then wiped the sweat from her palms on the wool couch. Deep breaths. One, two, three. Thatta girl. Now-in. Make contact. Lift and…click! Quickly she pulled the leather strap and heard the bolt scrape back. Cool night air blasted into her face and Claudia punched the air.

‘Yes!’

No. She’d not get halfway up the Capitol clad only in shield and spear. She pulled the pin from the open lock and stabbed it into the couch, cutting the soft wool away from the wadding until there was sufficient to wrap round her body. It covered her breasts, it covered her hips, but if she bent over…

By the time Claudia Seferius walked up the steps from the ruined shrine of Sospita, she hardly recognized herself. Apart from the wrap, held together only by willpower and her faithful friend the hairpin, she wore red woollen bootees stuffed with rose petals and the goddess’s goatskin flung over as a cloak. Dear Diana, the sickly smell of the rose petals was nothing compared to the stench of this hide. Talk about badly cured! I ought to head straight home. Call the police, have a bath, go to bed and leave it to the experts. Orbilio can look after himself. This sentimental claptrap is merely reaction to the horrors in that stinking little chamber. Unreal. Go home. Forget tonight. She raced across the Forum towards the Esquiline, cursing under her breath. I don’t know why I’m bothering. He’s smart enough to sniff out trouble. He won’t be fooled by that lunatic Balbus. No way. And it’s not as if he’ll appreciate the trouble I’m going to, either.

‘’Allo, darlin’. A centurion with his swagger stick blocked her path. ‘Goin’ my way, is yer?’

‘I’m in a hurry.’ The centurion made a chuckling sound in the back of his throat. ‘So am I, darlin’,’ he said, rubbing his crotch. ‘So am I.’

Claudia smiled and brought her knee up hard in his groin. The centurion retched and pitched forward. She frowned. Only when she was satisfied the soldier was spewing his guts up did she stride out again.

Thought for a minute I’d lost my touch.

Would Orbilio appreciate all this? Would he hell. I’ll bet he gets into scrapes like this every other week without blinking. Besides, what’s he to me? Nothing. Nothing at all. A good looking bastard with a mop of curly hair and a boyish smile. They’re ten a quadran in Rome. And as for that dreadful habit of covering his mouth with the back of his hand when he thinks something’s funny-huh! As if his eyes don’t give the game away! And did he think I actually enjoyed those verbal duels? He was a pain in the backside was that Marcus Cornelius Orbilio, turning up wherever you looked. Oh, he had a fine body, she’d give him that. Good muscles, firm thighs. She’d seen his thighs when they tussled in the garden. (Childhood wrestling games, indeed!) By the time Leonides came running his tunic was barely covering his dignity and you’d think it was Marcus accusing her of rape, not the other way round…

Dawn was beginning to break. A faint phosphorescence in the sky over the Temple of Vesta. There’s something particularly special about the break of day. No matter how many times you see it, your arms break out in goosepimples, your breath catches in your throat. It has a unique smell, a sharpness, a whiff of infinity about it that makes you stop for a moment, whatever you’re doing, and thank the gods for this magical new beginning. Claudia’s pace faltered. And Marcus? Does he have a new beginning? Does he? To her amazement, fat tears were rolling down her cheeks. Can’t imagine why. Defiantly she scrubbed them away. Never liked him. Right from the start I said this man was trouble. Don’t like the way he looks at me-straight through to the soul-and his jokes aren’t remotely funny. So what’s he to me when it all boils down? Nothing. Some stupid investigator who comes to all the wrong conclusions, that’s all.

The mournful Libyan opened the door and blinked. ‘Mistress…Seferius?’ His jaw dropped at the bedraggled spectacle in front of him.

‘Who did you think it was, the Emperor’s wife?’ Hadn’t he been in a fight before? Seen bumps and bruises and cuts and blood? ‘Fetch Orbilio.’

‘The master? I’m afraid he’s out, milady.’

‘What! Dammit, where?’

‘I’ve no idea. I’m sorry. The Emperor’s envoy called him away on a secret mission about an hour ago.’