by Mike Ashley
“It is! It’s a betrothal ring! Claudia, you can’t marry that man, he’s worn out five wives already.”
“Six has always been my lucky number.”
“Fine!” He threw his hands in the air. “Fine. Do what you like, only for gods’ sake, let’s discuss this back in Rome. I have horses outside, we—”
Claudia spun round to face him. “Who the bloody hell do you think you are? My guardian? My husband? I’m not one of your flunkies.”
“You’ve got me wrong—”
“I haven’t got you at all, and that’s the root of it. You’re jealous as hell that I’m here with Max, and moreover, I intend to stay here, Orbilio. I have Great Plans for my future—”
“As Soni had Great Plans for his!”
Claudia felt the ground shift underfoot. “Soni?”
“Dammit, he was one of our best undercover agents.” Orbilio slammed a fist into the palm of his hand. “When he failed to report back, I came looking – only I can’t find him anywhere.”
The floorboards became marsh, and Claudia slumped down on Junius’ narrow pallet bed. “Soni’s a policeman?”
“Of sorts,” Marcus said. “Why?” She saw him stiffen. “Do you know anything about his disappearance?”
Claudia rubbed at her forehead. “Yes . . . No . . .” The room was spinning around her. Umbrian idylls crumbled to dust as she explained how Soni hadn’t come home from the hunt.
“Shit.” Orbilio sank on to the bed beside her, and buried his head in his hands. “That means someone rumbled his cover and took the opportunity of this morning’s excitement to kill him.”
But how? When? Obviously suspicious, Soni’s idea of life insurance was to keep himself in full view of the hunt. How could he possibly have been eliminated without witnesses? What was it the head bearer had said? Now you see him, now you don’t—
“What—” Claudia could not bring herself to say “who”. “What are you investigating?”
Orbilio spiked his hands through his hair, and when he spoke, his voice was weary. “Max,” he said slowly, “makes too much money for my liking. I mean, look at this place, Claudia. A man doesn’t make legitimate millions from stag hunts and bears! So I started making some enquiries and . . . ”
“And what?”
For a long time, the only sound in the room was the shallow breath of the unconscious bodyguard. Then: “I couldn’t be certain – after all, the top echelon of Rome are visitors here. I had to tread softly. So I set up that business at the slave auction—”
Soni was a plant?
“Goddammit, Orbilio, you set me up, too!”
That was no accidental meeting, that day in the Forum –Supersnoop had been waiting for her! He knew where she’d been, she knew where she was going, and on top of it all, he damn well knew Max would be there. Both of them, plums for the picking!
“I needed you to add authenticity,” Marcus said. “That way, Max would suspect nothing and I’d have an undercover agent to sound out my theory.” He scrubbed his eyeballs with his thumbs. “What the hell am I supposed to say to his mother?”
Several more minutes ticked past, and the candle guttered and spat.
“I think it’s fair to say that, having rumbled Soni,” Marcus said quietly, “they feared Junius was also a spy.”
Nausea clogged Claudia’s throat as she studied the comatose form on the bed. “His injuries aren’t accidental?”
“Don’t you think it’s strange he has only head wounds? For a chap who supposedly tumbled down a ravine, it seems odd no bones were broken.” He paused, before adding, “I’m sure they believed they were bringing his corpse home to you.”
Tears scalded Claudia’s eyes. Sweet Jupiter, that might yet be the case . . .
“What hunch were you working on?” Claudia asked, but her words were cut short as the door to the sickroom burst open, spilling bright orange light on to the floor.
“Seize him!”
Half a dozen men rushed into the room, grabbing a kicking, struggling, protesting Marcus and hauling him in to the corridor. Claudia shot after them, but there were too many and Orbilio was quickly bundled down the slave wing, watched by a blond huntsman with Aegean blue eyes.
“Where are you taking him?” Claudia demanded, but a strong arm shot out to restrain her.
“Stay out of this,” Max growled. He needed both hands to contain his struggling fireball. “This is between Orbilio and me.” To his men, he said, “Get a horse, tie him to it, then escort this gentleman to Rome.”
“This is outrageous,” Claudia hissed.
“I know,” Max admitted. By the gods, she could squirm! “But I can’t allow people to go around slandering me, particularly well-connected patrician policemen.”
“He says—”
“I know what he says, and perhaps he genuinely believes I’m up to my ears in extortion or blackmail, but Jupiter’s balls, I’m no gangster. I won’t have the slur bandied about. Now, Orbilio’s pride might be hurt, riding home hogtied, but it will only be pride.”
He released her at last, leaving them both panting and red from exertion.
“What of his claim that Junius’ injuries aren’t consistent with a fall?” she spat, and to her astonishment, Max burst out laughing.
“Have you seen the bruises on that poor bugger’s body? Junius hit his head on a rock, Claudia. Knocked himself out – and you know yourself what happens when drunks roll about. The body goes limp.”
Actually, that was true . . .
“Orbilio’s problem,” Max chuckled, “is not that I might be a gangster, not even that I make more money than Midas by ripping off rich bastards hand over fist. His problem is, I have you!”
Claudia slipped off the armband, the one set with carnelians and pearls, and ran it round and round in her hand. “Like you have Soni, you mean?”
Aegean blue eyes flickered briefly. “Soni,” he said, “is a slave. Yes, I own slaves. Yes, unlike you, I don’t treat them as equals. And yes, I’ve been married five times, if that’s what you’re driving at, but I never think of women as chattels.” He drew a deep breath. “Whether you believe me or not is another matter,” he added.
“Whether I believe you,” she said slowly, “rests on my seeing Soni, face to face, right this minute.”
An astonished expression crossed Max’s face. “Are you serious?”
“Is there a problem?”
“No. No, of course not,” he stuttered. “It’s just that . . . It’s just that I’m jealous, my love. I know I can’t compete with a stripling half my age and whose pecs are solid steel, but . . . well, I’m not in bad shape and, unlike a slave, I can give you wealth unimaginable—”
Not unimaginable, Max. I’ve imagined it many times.
“I want to buy Soni,” she snapped, “not sleep with the boy.” If everything was above board, then there would be no obstacle. Max had denied her nothing so far.
“Ah.” For a moment, he faltered, then the old seductive laugh returned as he led her back through the lofty atrium, rich with its cedarwood oils. “In that case, darling, you must accept him as a gift, with my compliments. May he serve you as well as he’s served me.”
Claudia felt a tidal wave of relief wash over her. For once, Supersnoop was wide of the mark. Junius had simply cracked his head on a rock before falling down that ravine! But what of Soni?
Suppose, she thought, trailing her hand in the fountain as she passed, Max had decided to satisfy himself that Soni was all that he’d seemed? Soni’s refusal to comply with a criminal act would have blown his cover right out of the water, and suddenly Claudia was extremely keen to meet the man who had staged his own disappearance in broad daylight without arousing suspicion and yet had returned with a convincing explanation!
Glancing at Max, suave and easy, Claudia found no problem in picturing him up to his ears in racketeering, using the hunts as a front, both to make deals at the highest of levels and also to enforce any threats. He led her in to his
office and clapped his hands. Immediately, a negro slave answered the call.
“Fetch Soni here, will you?”
“Master?” the old man’s face creased in a frown.
“Stop dithering, man. Just fetch him. Shoo!”
Strong hands poured two goblets of rich honey mead, hesitating a fraction before handing Claudia hers. “You— You aren’t going to marry me, are you?” Max asked quietly.
“No,” she admitted. “I’m not.”
His gifts were welcome, of course – the tiaras, the earstuds. But the Great Plan had been to ingratiate herself with his wealthy clientele and sign them up for hefty consignments of Seferius wine. Well-oiled (thanks to Max) they’d be pushovers for good, vintage wine and would be in no mood to worry about loaded prices. Especially when the alternative was this sickly concoction. Yuk. Two parts thunderbolt, one part bile, it was watered down with three ladlefuls of the River Styx. No wonder they had to add honey!
“Claudia –”
His voice came from down a dark tunnel, and the tunnel was closing in all around.
“Claudia?”
The voice echoed like stones in a barrel and her vision grew cloudy. Bloody mead! Filthy stuff.
“Is everything all right, darling?”
“Perfectly.”
But everything was not all right.
Jellified knees gave way. Lights went dim. And Claudia collapsed in a heap on the floor.
V
Was she dead? Was this blackness Stygian gloom? There were no three-headed dogs about, but there was barking. Claudia tried to lift her head, and found it had been glued to the floor. When she finally raised it, she wanted to hold it with both hands to prevent it rolling into the corner.
Except . . . Except her hands had been glued down, as well. She couldn’t lift them. Ignoring the hammering inside her head, she tried harder. And found not hangover lethargy, but ropes binding her tight.
“I’m sorry it ended like this,” said a familiar voice from the corner. The chair creaked when he stood up. “But you would keep pressing the subject of Soni. Oh, Claudia. If only you’d let it go.”
Primeval creatures slithered down Claudia’s spine. And how strange. High summer, yet her teeth were chattering . . . She struggled, but the knots were professional and her skin chafed itself raw.
“You know.” When he knelt down, she could smell the leather of his boots. “You really are very lovely.” He ran a hand gently down the length of her cheek. “Had your brain been full of feathers, we could have had a wonderful marriage and raised some damned good looking kids.” He sighed at what was not to be. “Unfortunately, though, dawn is breaking. Time to leave.”
Cold. So very cold. “People will come looking for me,” she gabbled. “Marcus, for one, won’t let it drop—”
“Ah, but this is terrible country for bandits. So many tragic accidents can befall a beautiful woman.” Either Max had thought it out carefully during the night, or else he’d done this before. “Oh, don’t look like that.” He dragged her to her feet and propelled her to the door. “I’m not so hard-hearted that I won’t pay for a lavish funeral tribute and endow the most magnificent of marble tombs you could imagine in a prominent position along the Appian Way.”
“You spoil me.”
The door cranked open and two hefty bearers pushed her into the pale pink dawn light. The barking escalated, and some of the dogs started baying. The sound, she realized with a chill, was caused by impatience. Their desire to get underway.
“Max?” Surely he wouldn’t kill her? Not Max.
But Max clicked his fingers, and the bearers manhandled her into the courtyard, where eight fat city men in short tunics milled around. None looked in Claudia’s direction. Terror gripped at her throat.
“Please—” She could hardly breathe. “Help me. For gods’ sake, one of you, help me!”
Last night, these men were her friends. Business colleagues. They’d laughed at her jokes, given her contracts for rich, vintage wine.
A vice tightened round her ribcage. Oh, sweet Juno in heaven. It’s not that they can’t hear me. It’s not that they imagine I’m drunk. They’re not helping, for the simple reason they’re busy. Checking spears and arrows and slings . . . And when they do glance around, it’s not a terrified girl that they’re seeing. They’re simply assessing the strength of their prey.
The true horror of Max’s hunting parties slammed into her, filleting every bone from her body. Finally she understood what had happened to Soni.
Why he was way out in front of the others.
The slave, goddammit, was the quarry.
That’s why Max only wanted the one. Only ever the one . . .
“You’ll never get away with it,” she cried, as the cart bumped over the lawns. Past the peacocks. Past the watercourses. Past the shimmering man-made lakes rimmed with reeds.
“Wrong,” Max replied, as they approached the wooded hunting grounds. Behind, the bearers loped along at a steady rhythm, their dogs straining at the leash. “All over the Empire, you’ll find men bored with a quarter century’s peace. Sons of warriors who’ve only ever heard about the clash of weapons, the bittersweet fear of hand-to-hand combat. And since they’ve never ridden into battle themselves, they hunt boar, they hunt stag, they hunt bear for their thrills and to affirm their manhood. Unfortunately, with some, that’s not enough.” Slowly, he reined in the horses. “Some seek a further dimension.”
Aegean blue eyes scanned her face.
“Can you imagine how much these men are prepared to pay to hunt humans? Thousands, Claudia. Thousands upon thousands, and you know the best part? There’s an unlimited market out there. Oh, I know you’re going to tell me your clever friend, Marcus is on to me. He’s suspected me for some time, but what can he prove? Nothing! Not one bloody thing.”
Drawing a broad hunting knife, he cut through her bonds in a businesslike fashion. For how many others, she wondered, had he done this?
“You have intelligence, cunning and resilience, Claudia Seferius, you will be a worthy adversary.” Max took her trembling chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Your tomb will do you credit, I promise.”
Claudia spat in his face. “Go to hell.”
“I probably shall,” he agreed. “Now then. We always give the quarry a chance. Here’s a slingshot, a javelin and a short stabbing dagger. Try,” he whispered, glancing at the businessmen, “to take at least one of them with you.”
Breath was too precious to waste on this son-of-a-bitch, her mind whirled like a cap in the wind. The estate was fenced in; the gates closed behind them; guards were posted; and ferocious spikes topped the perimeter fence. What the hell chance did she have?
“We normally give a count of a hundred,” he said, “but seeing as how you’re a woman, I think two hundred is fair—”
Though she had weapons in her hands Claudia made no effort to kill him. He’d be prepared, would only injure her, consigning her to a lingering death. She had no choice. She set off- a victim of the very men on whom, only last night, she had wished this particular fate.
Behind her, she could hear Max counting aloud. “Sixteen. Seventeen.”
Father Mars. Mighty Jupiter. Can you hear me up on Olympus? Can you help?
“Twenty-two. Twenty-three.”
“Nobody move, you’re surrounded.”
For a second, Claudia’s heart stopped beating.
“Drop your weapons, put your hands in the air.”
Then the breath shot out of her lungs. That was no Olympian deity. That baritone was quite unmistakable, even through the shell he used as his loudspeaker—
As one, fifty archers stepped out from the bushes, their arrowtips aimed at the group. Almost before the daggers and javelins had crashed to the ground, eight men began babbling. Explaining. Exonerating. Bribing.
“You all right?”
Claudia hadn’t realized she had collapsed, until a strong hand pulled her up. Even then, her knees were so weak, the o
nly way to stay upright was with his arm tight round her waist.
“Nothing better than a run in the country,” she said, and it was odd, but her teeth were still chattering.
Orbilio grinned, and brushed the hair from her eyes with his thumb.
“I thought they’d run you out of town,” she said.
“I was expecting some form of trouble,” he replied. “Which is why I brought back-up.” He paused. “It took a little persuading, but eventually one of Max’s heavies told us of Max’s plans for you. Hence the trap we were able to lay overnight.”
Behind him, pleading, protesting, terrified merchants were rounded up – men of substance, yet men of no substance at all – while the bearers tried to explain how they were under duress to obey, that they got drunk to blot out the horror, that if they didn’t participate, they would become the next quarry. For many years afterwards Claudia was able to recall, with bloodcurdling clarity, everyone’s clamouring at once. While not one word of remorse fell from their lips.
“You know this won’t come to trial?” Orbilio said, steadying her with his grip. “Senior politicians and influential businessmen on slave hunts? The scandal would de-stabilize the Empire in no time, Augustus wouldn’t risk it.”
“They’ll get off?” The prospect of these scum swaggering free was almost too much to bear.
“No, no!” Orbilio was certain of that. “It’s suicide for these boys,” he said, leaving unspoken the fact that, in at least two cases, the exit would require a certain assistance.
The soldiers, meanwhile, were being none too gentle with their captives, yet throughout the whole ignominious defeat, one man had said nothing. Outmanned and outnumbered, Max surrendered at once, quietly and without fuss, and stood, hands bound in front of him, as his rich clientele and his poor bullied bearers were kicked in to the cart.
His passive acceptance alone should have alerted them.
“Shit!” shouted the captain of the archers. “After him!”
Sprinting through territory as familiar as his own back terrace, Max hurdled tree roots and obstacles with the grace and ease of a gazelle, heading deeper and deeper into the woods.