I, Claudia

by Marilyn Todd

  ‘I clocked ’em.’

  Damn you, Ventidius Balbus. Damn you to eternal hell. Claudia looked up. The sky was turning pink now, and already the temperature of sultry air was rising. The last of the delivery wagons were weaving their way towards the gates. Bakers were baking, millers were milling, street lighters were extinguishing their torches and heading for their beds.

  A small finger prodded her on the collarbone. ‘Didja hear? I said, I know where they went.’

  She didn’t see where he’d sprung from, only that he was annoying her. Then his words filtered through. Rufus? Rufus knew where they’d gone? Claudia was on her feet in an instant.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Don’t snap me head off, I’m only—’

  ‘I’ll snap you limb from scrawny limb if you don’t squawk, you horrible little oik.’

  He pulled a face. ‘Well, seeing as how you’ve got the hump, like, suppose I’d best not ask what it’s worth, eh? Ooh, ouch! All right, climb off yer high horse, they went to an old warehouse on the far side of the Aemilius bridge.’ Bugger! Balbus had me incarcerated by the Capitol, I was practically there. She glanced up at the brightening sky. What a waste of bloody time. Had I but known, I could have been there an hour ago.

  Despatching Rufus for the soldiers and the Libyan for Callisunus, Claudia hared back down the hill. That manservant, the fool, was more concerned with cleaning her up, tending her wounds and finding decent clothes. She supposed he meant well, but he couldn’t seem to understand it was a matter of life and death. Vaguely, she wondered whether he thought she was drunk.

  The streets were clearer now, less traffic, fewer pedestrians, and the early morning light meant she could see her way more clearly. Which brought different hazards to dodge. Bruised fruit, donkey droppings, spilled oil. One careless footstep could mean a trip and a sprain—hammering home the message that a man’s life might yet hang in the balance. Any incapacity on her part might well sever the slender thread from which it dangled.

  Apart from a few eager pigeons grubbing around in the cracks of the flagstones, the Forum was largely deserted and as she raced past the Rostra she was grateful it wasn’t thronging with the usual bankers and advocates, soothsayers and whores. By the time she reached the bridge, she was wheezing pitifully and the cushioning effect of the rose petals had worn off, but Claudia was barely aware of the pain in her lungs or the rawness of her feet. She was cursing herself for tearing headlong down here without thought to how she could stop Balbus single-handed. If only she’d thought to grab a knife from Orbilio’s house!

  Below the stone arches the winding Tiber swirled and eddied, and she forced herself not to think about Marcus’s broken and bloodied body which might, at this very moment, be sucked into its murky depths. Across the bridge she hesitated. A grey stone building, Rufus said, but in this light they all look grey! Wait. The boy said it was next to a grain silo…and there’s only one grain silo. Claudia weighed Sospita’s spear. It mightn’t be much, but so intent was she on catching Balbus that she hadn’t been aware of it clutched in her hand. Until now. She pursed her lips and nodded with satisfaction. Gotcha, you little pervert. I’ve gotcha! She was no longer afraid of him. And the instant you cease to fear the oppressor, he’s rendered powerless. Dust to blow through your fingers.

  Nevertheless, sweat was pouring down her back and her heart pounded louder than a blacksmith’s hammer as she circled the building. She had to believe Marcus was still alive.

  Slowly does it, Claudia, slowly does it. She could not afford to risk failure at this stage. Easing the door open a fraction, she wriggled inside. It was pitch black, though from the dry, dusty air quarried marble had probably been stored here at one time. Right now it looked—and sounded—as though it was empty. Then her ears picked up a sound. A scuffle. It came from overhead. A series of grunts. Ach, it could be anything. Rats, vagabonds, you name it. Then she heard a groan. Not a groan of discomfort, not a groan of pity, this was a groan of abject misery.

  In the gloom her eyes picked out an upper storey, rather like a hayloft in a stables, at the far end of the storehouse. There was a ladder leaning against it. Keeping close to the wall, Claudia inched her way forward, her padded bootees silent on the boarded floor. She was clutching the shield and spear so tightly that her knuckles shone white in the darkness. Her ears caught a second, more urgent scuffle, a gurgle and another groan followed by a high-pitched giggle, and suddenly Claudia realized she’d not only found her man, but that his victim was at least strong enough to fight for his life. She tested the ladder and crept up, rung by rung.

  No wonder you couldn’t see anything from below. A huge black curtain partitioned off this upper storey. Claudia lifted the hem and peeped underneath. A circle of oil lamps, each no further than a cubit apart, surrounded Orbilio. He had been stripped naked and tied to a chair, his arms to its arms, his legs to its legs. Beside him, a small table displayed a precise arrangement of surgical implements. Now Claudia wasn’t too hot on surgical instruments, but she could identify saws, scissors, forceps and knives, as well as several she’d never seen before, many of them with a sinister screw mechanism. She felt her blood turn to ice. Balbus, too, was stark naked, his legs blue-white from lack of sunshine, ribs poking through the skin on his chest. He was leaning over his victim, holding a jug in his hand.

  ‘More vinegar, my friend?’

  He tipped Orbilio’s head back, pinched his nose while Orbilio squirmed and pursed his lips until the need for air overtook him, then Balbus tipped the liquid down his throat. At the same time he twisted Orbilio’s nipple with his free hand, making him jerk and swallow. Carefully he set down the jug, balled his fist and rammed it into Orbilio’s stomach to produce another groan.

  Claudia dropped the hem of the curtain. It was obvious what was happening. The bloodlust had overtaken Balbus to such a degree that he intended to prolong it as long as he could. To that end, he’d selected a site where he could torture his victim slowly and in complete privacy. Screams would go unheard, he could take all the time in the world, cutting Orbilio into a thousand pieces if he so desired. Well, maybe this wasn’t the way Marcus would have chosen to start a Thursday, but at least he was alive and with all his organs intact. Trouble was, although she’d sent for help, chances were that Balbus would kill him the moment he heard legionaries clanking towards the building, and there was precious little she could do to prevent it. If she burst in, brandishing her spear, he could easily kill Orbilio before she reached him and there was no way she could spit him with the bloody thing, she’d never thrown one in her life. Think, girl, think. Create a diversion! That’s it, you could…what? Saunter in and say, Hello, Ventidius, having fun? and trust he’s so overcome with surprise he drops his weapons? Start a fire? Rush in, kick the lamps over—then by the time Balbus and you have finished wrestling, Marcus’ll be burned to a frazzle. For pity’s sake, use your noodle, Claudia.

  She lifted up the curtain again. What the hell was that two-pronged fork doing in his hand? Oh no! Sweet Jupiter no! The implement he was flourishing seemed purpose- made for Ventidius Balbus, and perhaps it was—two arched prongs three inches apart. She stared, mesmerized. Balbus was lunging first at Orbilio’s eyes, then at his testicles. Orbilio’s face was bleached as he flinched and ducked. With each lunge, the prongs came that little bit closer…

  ‘I have something of a problem, my friend.’ He might have been talking politics or ordering a chicken. ‘One is torn between plucking your eyeballs out in the knowledge that afterwards you’ll never know where the next strike’s coming from. Or, and this is the difficulty, whether to let you watch so you can anticipate my next move.’

  He bridged his fingers and frowned. Head back, Orbilio stared at the pronged instrument wavering in front of him.

  ‘Something of a conundrum, but one thinks, on balance, the latter takes precedence and I’m sure you will agree—it would be very remiss of me not to allow you to watch the proceedings. Now, where should one begi
n? I still think the emasculation, don’t you? Yes, of course you do. You want me to teach you a lesson for fucking my wife.’

  The adam’s apple in Orbilio’s throat moved up and down. ‘I don’t know your wife,’ he said hoarsely.

  ‘Liar!’

  The fork in Balbus’s hand slashed down Orbilio’s chest, leaving two parallel red streaks in its wake.

  Soldiers, where are you? Callisunus, you foul-mouthed, feckless son of a bitch, get your carcass down here before it’s too late!

  It was already too late. Balbus slowly laid down the bloody fork and selected a vicious-looking saw. His other hand picked out a pair of tweezers.

  Oh shit.

  There was only one strategy Claudia could think of. Wild, feckless, maybe even hopeless. But she had to try. A frontal attack would be suicide. Balbus had orchestrated his sadistic operation like a theatrical performance, with him and his victim centre-stage. For Claudia to make a dash towards him was impossible, there was a distance of at least forty paces. Assuming Marcus wasn’t killed, she would be. However if she could pass herself off as the personification of the goddess Sospita…? Most Romans feared offending their gods, believing they would receive personal retribution. Mighty Juno, let Balbus be one of them! As Sospita she would denounce him, he would prostrate himself before her, she would bring this bloody great shield down on his head—

  Trembling fingers untied the goatskin and slipped out the bone pin. The woollen wrap drifted silently down to the floor thirty cubits below. She pulled the ranksmelling skin over her head like a helmet and slipped under the curtain. Silently in her bootees she crossed to the back of the platform, advancing with shield and spear outstretched from the blackness. Balbus’s jaw dropped. ‘Hear me, for I am Sospita, you defiler of my temple.’ The words boomed out in the silent warehouse, her voice disguised by dropping several octaves. The colour had drained from his face, the boiled gooseberries stood out on stalks.

  ‘Only virgins may seek blessings at my feet for fecundity, yet you bring a harlot, experienced in the ways of men, to mock me.’

  She brought the spear down hard on the boards, sending reverberations over the upper storey. The shaft, already broken, threatened to break completely. She couldn’t use that dodge again.

  ‘On your belly, you transgressor and make obeisance to Sospita.’

  ‘You!’ It sounded like a strong wind in a long tunnel.

  Oh shit! He wasn’t staring because he saw Sospita. He was staring because he saw Claudia. Anger suffused his pallid cheeks. Anger not so much at her as at himself. For allowing her to escape. Claudia saw in his face that he would kill her for this omission.

  ‘Bitch!’ He flung the tweezers across the room and grabbed a knife. ‘Faithless, whoring bitch!’

  The glint on the blade was nothing compared to the insane glint in his eye. With a manic cry he lunged towards her, the amputation saw flashing in his other hand. Claudia parried the knife with the shield, twisting to the left. He spun round, hacking downwards. Again she raised the shield, but Balbus was too fast. It spun out of her hand, wrenching her fingers, and she felt herself falling. The bootees had no grip, her feet were sliding, kicking air. Balbus lunged, but his foot caught in the goatskin. There was a crack as he landed on his knees and Claudia felt the rasp of the saw as it grazed her naked shoulder. She heard it clatter out of his hands and skid across the boards. Using the spear for leverage, she sprang to her feet just as the knife whizzed past. A bony hand fastened itself round her wrist and twisted. The spear fell out of her grasp as Claudia gasped with the pain from her raw, bleeding wrist. She was losing, she knew that. Her strength had been sapped from her ordeal in Sospita’s shrine, from the two fast runs across the city. His, meanwhile, was growing stronger, fed by insanity and bloodlust. Her foot caught Balbus in the groin, but there was no weight behind it. The knife flashed in the semi-darkness. She could hear a string of bitter obscenities under his breath.

  Wildly Claudia’s eyes searched for the table of instruments. Circling and fighting for her life, she’d lost track of direction. Dear Diana, where was the bloody thing? Then she saw it. Faking a dive, she took advantage in the split second Balbus was diverted to dart towards the ring of oil lamps. From nowhere a hand clamped round her ankle and she pitched forward, the breath knocked out of her. Behind her she could hear Ventidius Balbus in the blackness.

  ‘Now you will die, you treacherous whore.’

  The hand fell away from her ankle. Gasping for air Claudia scrabbled to her feet, but found herself stumbling over the shaft of the spear. Her hands clamped over it, but before she could regain her balance, Balbus was upon her, his blade raised.

  She heard a man’s voice shout ‘The spear!’ and instinctively brought it up to protect herself, but it was too late. Claudia closed her eyes and waited for death. Her whole body jolted, she heard a sickening squelch, but surprisingly felt no pain. Confused, she opened her eyes to see Balbus floundering on the spear he’d run into. Suddenly the shaft snapped in her hand and she jumped backwards as though it were burning. She waited for him to fall, but instead he calmly pulled out the spear-tip, grinning horribly. Blood spurted everywhere. Vast red pools began to form.

  ‘Die, bitch!’

  Balbus lurched forward, clutching his knife, but she was transfixed now. Like a rabbit in torchlight, she was his for the taking. She could see every pulse in his throat, every blink of his eye. Then, on the second pace, he slipped in the sticky puddle. Suddenly he was slithering and sliding, his palms thrashing on the boards. A hoarse rattle sounded in his throat, his eyes rolled, and he pitched forward. Four times he twitched then lay still. For an eternity Claudia waited, then—slowly and carefully—she approached his motionless form. With trembling hands she lifted his head by the hair. Ventidius Balbus was as dead as they come.

  She glanced over at Marcus, who was white as birch bark, his face drawn with horror. Daresay mine’s no better. She drew a deep breath, counted to three, then let it out, wiping the greasy blood on the wooden floor.

  ‘Orbilio—’ She cleared her throat and started again. ‘Orbilio, are you going to sit there all night gawping just because I’m buck naked?’

  He shook his head slowly from side to side in wonderment. ‘Claudia Seferius, you are incredible. You are absolutely incredible.’ His voice was as shaky as she felt.

  ‘Oh, come on, Orbilio. I’m better than that and you know it.’

  Unexpectedly self-conscious under his scrutiny, Claudia snatched at Orbilio’s tunic. It was far too long, but it was a damned sight better than that skimpy woollen wrap and it smelled sweet. Besides, it was cold. She was shivering, so it must be cold, mustn’t it?

  ‘One clean stroke. Have you been practising?’

  She grinned back at him. ‘All the way down here, Orbilio. I needed to find a better way to keep fit than running up and down these bloody hills all night long.’

  She pulled the tunic over her head and ruffled her hair. It stank from being stuffed inside that rancid carcass.

  ‘Hey, where are you going?’

  She paused at the top of the ladder to belt the tunic. ‘Home,’ she replied. ‘For a bath.’

  ‘You can’t leave me stranded! Claudia, for heaven’s sake, I’m tied up and stark naked. This is embarrassing.’ She put her foot on the top rung of the ladder. ‘I assure you, Orbilio, you have nothing to be ashamed of on that score. Believe me.’

  She began her descent. Callisunus and the soldiers would be along soon. They could sort it out between them. It was what they were paid for, for gods’ sakes.

  ‘Untie me, Claudia. CLAUDIA!’

  She took two steps upwards and popped her head over the top of the boards. ‘Orbilio, do you mind? This is Thursday already and I really do have a lot on my plate at the moment. A business empire to run, two households to manage, a husband to bury, a cat to feed and a farm that needs urgent attention.’

  ‘Mother of Tarquin, woman—’

  ‘The farm’s a priorit
y. We’re still waiting for the augur to pronounce the vintage, but there’s straw to cut, land to plough and didn’t Rollo mention something tedious about irrigation? Now if I’m to catch the games in two weeks’ time, I’ve really got to get cracking.’

  I still don’t know who paid off Lucan, but while I’m on a roll it’d be a shame to miss the fun. Claudia planted a kiss on her fingertips and blew it across to him.

  ‘So you see, Orbilio, I really can’t afford to waste time running around after you.’

  With a toss of her curls, she flounced down the ladder and across the dusty boards of the warehouse. What sort of alleycat had Drusilla been consorting with? she wondered. As long as there aren’t more than four kittens, it would be all right, because she’d have to keep them, of course. Maybe two here and two up at the villa?

  Marcus’s plaintive cries for freedom floated down to her and she smiled. You’re all right, Orbilio, do you know that? You’re all right.

  Pausing on the bridge, watching a fisherman come home with his catch, Claudia breathed in the early morning air and looked at the city waking above her. Yes indeed, there was something exceedingly satisfying about Thursdays.

  Hadn’t she always said so?

  About the Author

  Marilyn Todd was born in Harrow, Middlesex, but now lives with her husband on a French hilltop, surrounded by woodlands and vines. Apart from sixteen historical thrillers, Marilyn also writes short stories, which are mostly crime-based. When she isn’t killing people, Marilyn enjoys cooking. Which is pretty much the same thing.