Widow's Pique (34 page)

'Where is she?' she asked. 'Where's the little Cretan girl, the one with a squint?'

Salome slanted a glance at Tobias. 'Athens, isn't it?'

His springy curls nodded as he tossed the statements into the flames. 'Running a brothel the last we heard.'

'And making more than us, that's for sure,' Salome laughed, pushing her hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand. 'But Lora - dear me, Lora was furious, wasn't she, Tobi? "Another example of the exploitation of women!'" she mimicked.

Tobias, of course, didn't smile.

'I don't know why she was so insistent that I shouldn't go with her this morning,' he muttered. 'It's bound to turn ugly, a bunch of women rising up against the establishment and disrupting the marriage auction. I should have been there for her, Salome. Stepped in and helped her escape.'

'Well, my dear, there are two things,' Salome said. 'Firstly, Lora doesn't want to escape. She intends to meet Mazares head on in this matter, and the other, of course, is that she doesn't want you rotting in jail.'

Her nose was black from smuts.

'Don't you see, Tobi? Don't you understand why Lora refuses to return to Histrian society?'

'She was worried she'd be palmed off with Mazares, just like her mother-in-law. She's said so many times.'

Salome rolled her cat-like green eyes. 'Yes, but
why
do you think she's so passionate about women marrying who they want, not who they're told to? It's because of
you,
you bone-head!'

'Me? Salome, I swear I've never given that girl any encouragement.'

'Then it's about time you bloody well did, because Lora's no fool. She's seen how you look at her - which reminds me.'

She turned to Claudia.

'How did Mazares take the news when you declined his proposal?'

Mazares, Mazares, always Mazares. Claudia felt the world spin. How on earth was she going to tell this poor woman, who had already seen one ideal crushed, that it was Mazares all along . . . ?

But tell her she would have to. How it was Mazares who was looking to create new out of old and eliminate the stale bloodline. No one was better placed to be more Roman than Mazares and no one, as Claudia had said many times, had greater opportunity and motive. Killers like Nosferatu don't have the same thought processes as everyone else, she would have to explain. He'd have viewed the murder of his own wife and kids as nothing more than eliminating obstacles in his path, and how easy - oh how easy - to make these things appear accidents.

The trouble was, Salome was so in love with Mazares that although she could grapple with the imperial stance on her Freedom Trail, hearing monstrous accusations levelled against the man who, in her mind, was purer than pure, meant that Claudia would have to tread carefully. So, as the next batch of incriminating documents were piled on the flames, she outlined the plot that was poised to tip Histria over its finely

balanced edge, and thanked Jupiter that Orbilio was by the King's side, making certain that no more innocent lives could be taken.

When she finished, the silence was almost interminable and, surprisingly, it was Tobias who broke it.

'Funnily enough, Lora suspected as much,' he said. 'She told me that she believed her husband had been murdered, and she never accepted that her mother-in-law committed suicide. That's why she sought refuge here in the first place. She feared she was next.'

'Delmi not take her own life?' Salome tutted, her lovely brows drawn in a frown. 'Lora loved her dearly, I know, so I can see how she might want to believe that, but, dear me, her husband murdered by
dog?
Anyway, our Lora's never been a girl for not speaking her mind. If she feared there was a killer on the loose, she would have broadcast the fact.'

'Not necessarily,' Claudia said. 'She already believed that her presence here was the cause of the farm's rape and pillage, yet she stayed on. Now, Lora doesn't strike me as a coward. If she thought she could stop the destruction, she would have left. There had to be another, more compelling reason to keep her here.'

'Yes. Tobias was one, and her commitment to the Freedom Trail was another.'

'Actually, Salome, there might be a third.' Tobias looked troubled. 'She did say-' he gulped and looked from one woman to the other and back - 'Lora did say that she wondered, well, if Mazares himself wasn't behind it.'

Claudia could have kissed him.

Not so Salome.

'I have never heard such nonsense in my entire life! The King is a good man, Tobias. He is honest and fair and does right by his people, the notion is utterly ridiculous.'

She bundled her loose hair into a bun to calm herself down.

'Now then, Claudia, you never did tell me how he took the news of your refusal.' Green eyes glared daggers at Tobias's betrayal. 'How is he, poor man?'

This was going to be tougher than Claudia thought.

'Don't you worry about Mazares,' she said, forcing a smile. 'If you must know, he got horribly drunk and I left him trying to nail his eyeballs back into focus and stop the tingling in his mouth from spreading any further over his face. Tobias, did Lora voice her suspicions to anyone else?'

'Yes, I think she told Pavan—'

'Tingling?' Salome grabbed hold of both Claudia's wrists and the grip was stronger than steel.
'Did you say he had tingling in his mouth that had spread to his face?'

'Yes,' she winced. 'But he—'

She tried to shake free, but Salome was like a woman possessed.

'It's monkshood, you ninny! The King's being poisoned, and if the symptoms have reached this stage . . .'

She was racing to the treatment room before she'd even finished the sentence.

For the first time, Nosferatu experienced a ripple of unease.

Nothing definite.

Nothing that one could put one's finger on and say,
That's the thing, that's the cause of this unrest, let's get rid of it.

Only a vague fear that something was starting to unravel.

Claudia's footsteps echoed through the maze of marble corridors, and as she ran, the censure of every strange beast sculpted out of bronze or painted on the wall bored into her - dragons, griffons, serpent-tailed giants - and their anger was boundless. In the distance came a rumble of thunder. The storm had been building, yet Claudia could not shake off the notion that Perun's enmity had been stirred and that his wrath was to follow as surely as dusk follows day.

'Long before the tingling that starts in the mouth and spreads up the face', Salome had said, hurriedly packing a basket of remedies, 'Mazares would have experienced a general feeling of fatigue, of not being right.'

Something dropped in Claudia's stomach, as she remembered the pallor, the hollows under his eyes, the deeper than usual lines in his face . . .

'That would have been followed by chills and sweating.' Which, of course, with the island in uproar, he'd have shrugged aside.

'He'd have had vomiting, a crushing feeling of anxiety . . .' Salome blinked, but her voice was calm as she announced that death would result from respiratory failure with the victim fully conscious.

'Weak lungs,' Claudia said bleakly. 'Everyone knows it's hereditary.'

She thought of the wine. Its sour taste. The way he'd pushed his food round his plate.

He was dying and she hadn't noticed.

He was dying and she'd accused him of betraying the one thing he loved above all.

Histria.

Thunder rumbled closer this time. Perun was closing in on his foe. Claudia could not outrun the god's wrath, but she could run like the wind down this hall.

'You must not blame yourself,' Salome had said. 'I knew he was ill. I should have insisted . . .'

It was as close as she came to breaking down. Recriminations could come later. Right now, she had a fight on her hands, but hers wasn't the only one. The streets of Rovin were in chaos, with fist fights and cat fights on every corner, name calling, scuffles, brides in tears, mothers of brides in tears, bridegrooms incandescent, merchants bemoaning too much unsold stock and soldiers caught up in the riot. Because that was the point. Everyone had an opinion and everyone voiced it at once. Master or servant, rich man or poor, this was no time to stand by. History was being challenged this day. History might even be changed. People demanded a say in their future. They were entitled to be part of the change.

Quite what had happened to Lora and her white-robed Amazons, Claudia had no idea. Tobias had accompanied her and Salome, his scowls so transformed by the notion of Lora reciprocating his feelings that Claudia feared he would try to carry them both across the channel on his back, he seemed so confident of walking on water. Love, she tutted ruefully, and wondered why the face of a tall patrician should suddenly intrude on her thoughts. The walking on water bit, she supposed. That was exactly how he'd looked this morning.

As it happened, she hadn't been able to find him in the commotion, even though you'd think his white toga would stand out a mile, but no. Orbilio had vanished into thin air and she only prayed that Mazares was with him. There were other prayers she sent, too. Most were to Apollo, god of light and healing, that he might spread his rays over Mazares. Some were to Fortune, because luck is fickle, and a couple to Carna, who presides over a man's vital organs, but quite a few were

aimed at Minerva. Heaven knows, the bitch had always had it in for Claudia, but can't she let bygones be bygones? And, as goddess of wisdom, give her the nous to look beyond her blinkered vision next time? Mazares shouldn't suffer for Claudia's stupidity, and whether it was too late to reverse the damage, not even Salome could tell. Her last view of the Syrian girl and her horticulturist had been of the two of them pushing their way through the crowd with an urgency that was painful to watch, but Claudia had had no doubt they would find him. The King would be down there somewhere. Among his people. To the end . . .

Guilt ripped at her innards and clawed at her heart. What she wouldn't give now to turn back the clock! First Raspor, then Mazares and now there was no chance to redress the balance. No one to save, no one to protect - oh, but wait. Two attempts had been made on Rosmerta's life. The least she could do was sit by her bedside and, while she waited, pray to Luna, goddess of the moon, to shine her light of truth on this land and bring peace to this kingdom once and for all.

Contrition gave speed to Claudia's heels, but reproach made it seem like the ground was hardly covered. Sweet Janus, would this nightmare never come to an end? At Rosmerta's door, she paused. Calm. Must be calm. Must be calm for the patient. As her hand reached for the door, she heard a soft scuffle. Could the miracle have happened? Could Rosmerta actually have come out of her
koma?
Pushing open the door, she gasped.

Yes, Rosmerta was out of her
koma.
Her hands were pummelling Pavan's massive shoulders and her feet kicked beneath his oaken frame. But the scream that came from her mouth was muffled by the pillow the King's general was pressing over her face.

Nosferatu saw only that a dam was breaking, a dam that must be shored up.

* * *

It could have been a scene from any of the frescoes. Time stood still. Frozen. And as though it was someone else she was watching, Claudia felt completely detached from the setting as she picked up the high-backed chair from beneath the window, hefted it up by its legs and swung it with every ounce of her might.

With a low moan, the spell was broken.

The human oak tree was felled.

'Is he dead?'

Rosmerta was coughing and gasping for breath, but she was strong. She would recover, and though she'd be weak from the combination of pain and painkiller, not to mention a third attempt on her life, thank Jupiter she'd pulled out of her
koma.
One less victim for this pitiless bastard.

'No.' Claudia looked at the bloodied hulk sprawled across the bedroom floor. 'The general will be fit enough to stand trial for treason.'

'Treason?' Rosmerta studied Pavan as though he was an oversized cockroach. 'Did you say treason, my dear?'

Through the pain and fog, Nosferatu saw a chink appearing in the armour of years of meticulous planning. There was no light from this chink, only the blackness that comes from an abyss in which there is a destiny but no control.

This cannot be.

The dam must be shored up.

The dam
must
be shored up.

Pavan groaned, shook his bloodied head and rolled on to his stomach.

'We have to get the hell out of here,' Claudia told Rosmerta.

Janus, this freak was unstoppable. The bastard son of a bastard son, the ghoul couldn't die. Nosferatu was immortal, after all.

'Not at all, Lady Claudia.' Rosmerta patted her shoulder as she heaved herself out of bed and waddled across to her clothes chest. 'I know how to deal with this.'

Claudia's heart was racing, her palms sweaty.

'Forget the heroics, Rosmerta. Let's lock him in and leave someone else to deal with this fiend.' They'd done their bit. Time to cut and run while Nosferatu slipped and slithered in his own blood. 'Come on, let's go!'