Jail Bait

XXXVIII

There is no such thing as total silence. Indeed, a hundred paces deep in the rock face, where even the wrath of Jupiter’s storm failed to penetrate, certain sounds still crept in to fill the void.

The throbbing heat of the night.

The blood, thundering past Claudia’s ears.

The frantic flaps of her heart, as it tried to burst free of her breast.

But they were flimsy, whimsy, personal sounds and, like snowflakes gliding down in midwinter, they did not ruffle the dreams of the dead. Secure in their solid sarcophagi, the Etruscan nobility reposed for eternity, surrounded by their painted friends and relatives, their servants, their pets, their boats, their painted jewels and banquets.

Claudia was not prepared to wait for eternity.

Alabaster images of these ancient peoples, which once reclined upon the coffin tops, now lay smashed and scattered far across the tamped earth floor, swept aside in the grave robbers’ impatience, and whilst the sarcophagi had been ransacked-every gold torque, every ring, every last ivory ornament gone, even the bones tossed aside-it was the thieves’ very haste which gave Claudia inspiration as she scratched among the shattered shards for some means of escape.

In a corner of a chamber where the walls were covered with twirling dancers and musicians blowing on traditional double flutes, underneath the piles of debris, she had found a scrap of azure fabric. The colour was so vivid, so dazzling in the flickering candlelight, that it had given her an idea…

From the outset, Claudia knew she’d need a lever to dislodge that rock across the entrance, and not only was nothing remotely suitable inside this maze of chambers, with the tunnel heading downhill at such a sharp angle, how would she ever get leverage? That, therefore, was out of the question.

But suppose she inched the slab up? Just a fraction? And wedged a strip of her tunic in the slot?

Such was human nature that it would be unnatural for Pul not to be curious. Along he’d come, down this twisting stone path towards the tomb. He’d cast a professional glance at this circular, earth-covered mushroom, would check the granite slab as a matter of course. Then his slanted, almond eye would alight on the scrap of torn cotton. He would recognize the startling shade of yellow. Know it was Claudia’s gown and that it was not there, definitely not there, when he rolled the rock into place. Her? Escape? No way. Not possible. Of course not. But the professional in him would force him to check.

As the bobbing flame of the tallow moved inexorably south, Claudia swung herself up on to the lintel of the principal chamber. There was a niche here, large enough, if she curled into a ball.

All she had to do was to wait. To one side of her, wine was poured at a banquet. On the other, painted cheeses, grapes, sardines and pears were being guzzled at this family feast. Her skin was grazed and bleeding from shouldering the massive lump of rock, and it had been the tenth exhausting uphill push before she’d finally succeeded in holding that quarter-inch of space open long enough to push her skirt through the gap with the blade of her knife. Miraculously, the knife hadn’t snapped. Claudia’s lips were dry, her back raw as she contemplated Pul heaving aside the granite slab. So narrow, so low was the passageway in this subterranean world, he would be forced to hunch over as he made his way down, ducking further to avoid this low-hanging lintel.

One fist would clutch his wicked, curved blade, the other a torch to see by. His back would be bowed as he passed beneath the lintel, his movements slow. Suspicious. While his eyes searched forward, Claudia would spring. Land on his back. Her knife would slice through the top of his spine.

He’d be dead. She’d be free. Cal would be avenged, as she’d promised.

But! Her pulse raced with the tension. How long before Pul became curious? How long before he decided to check?

With a splutter, the candle in the tomb flickered and died.