by Marilyn Todd
‘Please, Balbus…’ It was barely audible. ‘Please don’t hurt me.’
She didn’t mean to say it. In a moment of weakness, it slipped out, the worst possible thing she could have done. To plead. To fuel his power by showing her naked fear. Already her body was quaking like an aspen in a high wind while her teeth chattered uncontrollably. This pathetic whimper should just about seal it. To her astonishment, his eyes widened.
‘Hurt you? Claudia, how could you think such a thing? I love you.’
Her mind was reeling. What was going on? What did he mean? Why this sudden change of attitude? One minute he was making Otho look like a playful cub, the next the knife had vanished and he’s stroking her forehead, pouring out words of endearment. How he’d loved her since Genoa, when she danced those sinuous dances, how he’d divorced his wife just so he could be with her… For the first time since Balbus arrived in this stinking cellar, Claudia found a faint glimmer of encouragement. She resisted the urge to struggle free of her bonds. He wasn’t the headcase she thought, because it was clear from his ramblings—the glowing tributes and gushing compliments—that he didn’t make a practice of bringing women down here. He was genuinely (if somewhat misguidedly) in love with her.
Damn funny way of showing it. The old Claudia began to claw her way to the surface. Sadistic bullies she could handle (more or less), but the revelation that Balbus wasn’t the twisted psychopath she’d imagined brought both strength and reason. Not to mention a whole bucketload of relief. Tension drained away. Calm was restored. Thank heaven, she’d be able to reason with him after all. The reaction that set in threatened to become almost as physical as the terror. Projecting her senses above pain and blood and terror, Claudia forced herself to listen to him droning on about how she would learn to love him in time, of the things he had planned for them and the sublime joys the future would hold. Yes, and I expect you’ll want to repeat this performance every bloody night and all! Fat chance, Balbus. You really are the most unpleasant specimen of mankind I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet, so—
What’s that? Her ears pricked up. What did he say? A pity she’d never be able to attend the games and races, but he’d report back as faithfully as he could?
‘Just what do you mean, Ventidius?’ She tried to quell the resurgence of panic in her voice. ‘I…won’t be able to visit my friends or the theatre again?’
‘Well, you do see how it is, don’t you, my dear?’ Glints from the candlelight bounced off the metal which was back in his hand. ‘Claudia Seferius is already dead, we can’t allow any stirring of the waters.’
Claudia’s skin began to crawl. From the elbows and knees, upwards and outwards, until her whole body prickled with fear of his reply. She closed her eyes. She didn’t want to hear. She didn’t want to know.
‘Why do you think I took your clothes? Do you think me some barbarous beast who cannot control his sexual impulses?’
Numbly she shook her head.
‘I needed them for the whore. Same height, same build, same colour hair.’ A high-pitched giggle slipped out. ‘Any time now her body should be discovered wearing your clothes, your jewellery, your pins in her hair and Claudia Seferius will be found dead, her face beaten to a pulp in a frenzied attack by an unknown assailant.’
She tasted bile in her mouth and fought the uprush of hysteria. Her heart was beating faster and faster, her breath quick and shallow. She was wrong. Unbelievably wrong. Balbus wasn’t a clown turned sadist. He was as twisted as a gnarled vine. Twisted—and therefore utterly unpredictable. One tiny flame of consolation sprang up and Claudia began to fan it. You’re wrong, Balbus. There’s one man who’ll know the body doesn’t belong to Claudia Seferius. A man with the tenacity of a terrier who will come looking for me.
‘I have to leave now.’ He might have been excusing himself from a banquet. ‘When I return you will sign the marriage contract?’
Twice the word lodged in her throat. ‘Yes.’
He stared hard at her for several moments then suddenly his face took on a malevolent appearance, accentuated by the flaring of his nostrils.
‘Tell me again you won’t take lovers when we’re married.’
‘I…won’t.’ It was little more than a whisper. ‘I promise.’ At that moment she’d have promised him the world.
His lip curled. ‘I can understand you taking them when you were stuck with that rich old faggot Seferius, but you must understand I can’t go round mopping up after you for ever. I demand fidelity.’
Claudia’s body began to convulse. Oh no. Please. Oh, please. Anything but this. Mighty Juno, tell me I’m dead, tell me I’m dreaming. Tell me anything—but this! In the far distance she heard a tremulous voice ask:
‘You killed those men?’ Faces thrust themselves in front of her. Tigellinus, Fabianus, Horatius and the others, vying for position at the forefront of her memory. Tears stung her eyes. ‘For gods’ sakes, why?’
The boiled gooseberries were staring past her, trancelike. ‘They’d seen you. Seen your nakedness. Couldn’t allow that. Had to teach them a lesson. But then Paternus—oh, that Paternus. One dare not repeat his vile insinuations about you, suffice to say he paid a very special price.’
Claudia felt the blood freeze in her arteries. You gouged his eyes out while he was still alive, she wanted to scream, simply because he called me a whore? Is that what you’re saying, Balbus? But the words wouldn’t come. And amid the horror and the terror and the revulsion, suddenly all she could think was that her nose was running and she was ashamed…
The faraway look was replaced by a maniacal glint. ‘There’s still one more.’ It was like the hiss of a snake.
He began to wade towards the candles, snuffing them one by one and sending wavering shadows of smoke round the shrine. Despite the heat, Claudia shivered.
‘Once I’ve disposed of the man you left so recently, we can start our lives afresh.’
Somewhere in a distant recess of her mind, Claudia was conscious of the absurdity of the situation. Scaevola, poor bugger, would be found poisoned, stabbed, the whole bloody lot.
‘They’ll find the body.’ Was that croak hers? ‘The authorities will twig that Gaius wasn’t responsible for the murders.’ Idiot! What made you blurt that out? Scaevola is dead by now, you might have had a chance to escape when Balbus goes off.
‘So?’ His tone was contemptuous. ‘Callisunus is a fool, he’ll never work it out, and, since the killings will have stopped, this will remain one of the great unsolved mysteries of our time.’
‘You’re wrong, Balbus. One man will work it out, even if it kills him. He’s as stubborn as a mule.’
‘Oh, really? And just who might this superior character be?’
‘Marcus Cornelius Orbilio. He’ll—’
Contempt became impatience. ‘He’s the very least of my worries.’ Claudia heard the door grind open. ‘That’s my mission now, to dispose of that idle braggart.’
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.’
XXVIII
So that was it? You escape from hell, race halfway across the city to save a man’s life—only to find you’re too late? That it’s all been for nothing? She was cold. So very, very cold. Her whole body was in spasm. Around her the crush of carts, street-sweepers, drunks and vagrants went about their business unaw
are and untouched by the tragedy.
Hold on. Why not a genuine ambassador?
‘Did you examine the seal yourself?’
Yes, he said, it was definitely the sphinx of the Emperor, and when asked to describe the envoy, the manservant’s description was so vague there was only one man in the whole of Rome whose features were so forgettable. This was surely a contributing factor when it came to witnesses, for Ventidius Balbus might as well be invisible for all the impression he left behind. It explained, too, how he’d entered the tenement to kill Crassus. Few people would think of their landlord as a visitor. And only an arrogant egotist like Balbus would consider forging Augustus’s seal!
Claudia slithered down the door jamb to slump on the threshold, not bothered whether the gods which inhabited it were offended or delighted by the sight of her bare bottom on top of them. First, she had threatened the manservant. Then she bribed, wheedled, cajoled and cursed him, in case he harboured the mistaken belief he was protecting his master until finally, convinced the poor wretch spoke the truth, her knees could support her no longer.
Defeat wasn’t a word generally attributed to Claudia Seferius, but even she had to admit the chances of guessing where Balbus might have taken Orbilio were remote in the extreme. Conscious suddenly of her throbbing face, the tightness of the swellings, the tenderness of the bruises and the raw wheals round her wrists, she stared at the red woollen bootees. They’d served her well, up and down the hills. The rose petals had made a perfect cushion for her feet. And when she caught up with Balbus, she’d force them down his puny throat, he’d choke to death on bloody rose petals, so help her. You might have won this round, you perverted little scumbag, but by heaven you’ll regret it. However long it took poor Marcus to die, I’ll double it for you. Treble it. I’ll slice the skin off your feet and burn them with coals. I’ll pour oil down your gullet and set it alight. I’ll rub nettles on your skin and stick pins in your balls. I’ll seal ants in your ears and—