Wolf Whistle (26 page)

‘Madam?’

Claudia looked up to see Cypassis, her nightshift flapping as she ran, her enormous bosoms bouncing like ripe pumpkins in a sack.

‘Madam, please! You can’t go alone!’

‘Junius,’ she said, pushing aside the fine linen drapes, ‘is meeting me at the post house beyond the Collina Gate. Go indoors, it’s cold.’

‘Who’ll pin your hair?’ The single plait bounced in agitation. ‘Who’ll fix your ribbons and fastenings? Who’ll brush your clothes?’

‘Who’ll cuddle Jovi, mop his tears and clear up after his pet if you’re tagging along?’ Bloody monkey. It spits, raids the kitchens, poops on the beds, yet will it surrender? The Sahara would flood first.

‘I suppose so,’ Cypassis said doubtfully, but inside she knew her mistress was right. Jovi was clingier than ever, rarely letting her out of his sight. She sighed as she helped Claudia into the litter. ‘I think I must look like his mother.’

Claudia settled herself among the soft linen cushions. ‘There could be any number of reasons, Cypassis, why he sticks to you. Your scent, your voice, your mannerisms, maybe they do remind him of his mum.’ She drew the curtains of the litter together and smiled. ‘Then again,’ she said, ‘it could just be because the wee lad loves you.’

A backward glance between the litter’s drapes revealed a dark-haired, broad-hipped girl dabbing at her eyes, and Claudia knew it would be every bit a wrench for Cypassis as it would be for Jovi when it came to parting company. She hoped and prayed that hard-hearted bitch of a mother would call before another sunset fell.

Because if Claudia got hold of the woman, she’d thrash her to a pulp and make a necklace of her teeth—

With a surge of delivery carts clogging up the roads, progress was painful. ‘Are we in a slug race?’ she asked the head bearer. ‘I know sloths that move faster than this.’

‘Sorry, marm,’ he yelled back in his lilting Cappadocian accent. ‘There’s always a jam near the gates. Too many roads converging, y’see.’

She popped her head out. Wagons were gridlocked, drivers were cursing and ragamuffins scampered in and out of the spokes for a game. ‘Set me down.’

‘Bless my sidewhiskers, marm, I can’t just dump you here,’ the bearer protested, disengaging himself from the pole and leaving the others to redistribute the weight. ‘Junius said the post station, and that’s the far side of the Collina—’

‘I know where it is, you oaf. I just don’t have a week to get there. Now will you set me down, or do I have to jump?’

The bearer wrung his hands. ‘It’s still dark, marm—’

‘Suppose I say “please”?’

‘The traffic won’t take long to clear—
Aw!
’

Claudia tightened her grip on his nose and pulled him closer. ‘Suppose I say “pretty please”?’

This was not an area of Rome she knew well, but you didn’t need a lifetime of navigational experience to realize that all the wagons were facing the same way. Buying a light from a torch bearer, Claudia pushed her way through the braying and the cussing, squeezing through gaps and edging past mules and asses and oxen made skittish by her flame. Three streets from the Gate, her way was finally blocked by a wagon whose wheel had come off. Shit.

Backtracking down the narrow, serpentine alleys to circumnavigate the accident, niggling doubts began to creep in. Traffic had not only thinned, it had downright disappeared, then the reason became clear. She had wandered into the grainstore district, no wonder it looked like a ghost town. Their winter stocks depleted, the towering warehouses stood empty, echoing and lonely, for at this time of year Rome relied solely on daily deliveries. Soon, of course, favourable winds would send the massive grainships whipping back and forth to Africa on an almost weekly basis. These granaries would quickly fill up. But for now there was no need for armed guards to patrol, there was nothing to steal. The whole area was derelict. No bakers’ carts, no creaky pulleys, no split sacks causing chaos. No rats, no cats and even the mills were silent. Maybe, she thought, it had not been such a good idea to dismiss the litter. Maybe she should have arranged for Junius to accompany her, rather than meet up at dawn…?

Get a grip. It’s that damned riot, made you jumpy. And Supersnoop, saying Rome isn’t safe. Hell, it’s the countryside’s that not safe. All those bears in the forests, the wild boar, the wolves. Not to mention the cowpats.

‘There you are.’ A stumpy individual with wonky gnashers ran to catch up. ‘Thought I’d lost you.’

She could smell the stale sweat from five paces. ‘Wrong lady, I’m afraid.’

‘A couple of streets back, when the military pushed past—’

‘Is this the right way to the Collina Gate?’ Dear Diana, did this man need a bath! No wonder the street was deserted. Hell, he’d probably clear Rome when he pulled off his boots.

‘—that’s when I lost sight of you.’

‘Look.’ It could happen to anyone, but she wished he’d take his hand off her arm. Heaven knows what sort of a stain it would leave. ‘For the last time—’

‘Now we can live out our dreams.’

‘— I don’t know who it is you’re chasing, but,’ Claudia held the torch up to light her face, ‘I am Claudia Seferius.’

There was a manic grin on his face, and his eyes glittered. ‘Yes. And now we’re free to live out our dreams.’ He was drunk, of course, but it made little difference.

‘Let go of me, you clod.’ She tried to shake his hand free, but the grip was a vice.

‘Where would you like?’ Fingers bit into her flesh and she yelped. ‘Here looks nice.’

Goddammit, he was dragging her towards one of the warehouse entrances. Merciful Mars, please let it be locked.

‘Help!’

The door gave under a push of the man’s filthy shoulder.

‘
HELP!’

The only voice that came back was her echo.

Claudia thrust the burning bitumen towards her attacker, but as though it was a cake she was offering, he twisted the torch from her grasp and tossed it into the gutter, where the flames fizzled out in the rivulets of the drain. There was no point yelling. Save your strength for the fight. In the murky dawn light, Claudia could make out skid marks left by her heels. She saw sweat stains on his tunic, and clots of stale food.

‘Let go of me, you bastard!’ Her nails dug into the wood of the door jamb.

His breath reeked, and his lice-ridden hair stank of fish. Almost as though he was oblivious to her frantic struggle, her attacker continued to talk. ‘They tried,’ he said, his arm locking fast round her waist from behind. ‘But I knew they couldn’t succeed.’

A filthy black hand began to prise her fingers away, one by one. Squirming, kicking, writhing, Claudia was dragged along the pitch-painted wall. Whatever he was on—magic mushrooms, hemp seed, Sumerian poppy dope—she prayed the effects would quickly wear off. This man not only believed himself Adonis, he had the
strength
of a god, too.

‘Such soft skin,’ he said, sliding a calloused hand inside her tunic. ‘Such firm tits. Just like you told me.’

He pinched her nipple and when she screamed, she
could feel his sharp intake of breath. ‘Look! Flour sacks,’ he breathed, wrestling his frenzied victim across the cleanly swept flags. ‘Over there, Claudia. Do you see? Soft, white sacks for our bedding.’

The hairs on her neck bristled. The way he said ‘Claudia’… As though he knew her…

‘I don’t know how they thought they could keep us apart,’ he was saying, and she doubted whether he’d noticed her heel hammering against his shinbone. ‘True love will always conquer.’

‘Get your filthy hands off me,’ she spat, gouging her fingernails deep in his flesh.

True love will always conquer.
Where had she heard that before?

‘You’re on fire for it.’ He thrust his tongue inside her ear.

She sank her teeth deep in his forearm. Tasted blood.

‘Oh, how you long for it.’

She bit harder.

‘Feel me, Claudia. Feel me against you.’ He tore off her cloak in one wrench. ‘Say you want it. Say how you want me.’

Her heart was pounding. She felt faint. Sick. About to pass out.

‘Go to hell!’ Was that mouse squeak really hers?

The hand in her tunic squeezed hard on her breast. ‘Don’t lie to me, Claudia. Never lie to me. Not to me, understand?’

‘Please,’ she begged, tears clouding her eyes both from pain and from fear. ‘Please let me go.’

‘Don’t be shy.’ The hand round her waist slid past her stomach. ‘Let me feel you. Oh, yes. Oh, that’s nice.’

‘Please! You’re hurting me—’

Her flailing arms could find no target, and tears coursed down her cheeks. Tears of shame, tears of fear, tears of guilt. How stupid could she be, sending Junius ahead? Talk about arrogance! Even if he had set off now to look, he’d never find her.
Please,
she prayed.
Someone help me…

‘That’s really nice, Claudia.’ His breath was fast and ragged.

Her frantic kicks and her struggles only spurred him on. ‘Bitch on heat,’ he rasped. ‘You’re a fucking bitch on heat.’ The obscenities increased. Vulgar. Repetitive. An ugly, unstoppable chant. Just like Magic wrote in his tirades of filth.

Oh no! Sweet Jupiter, no! Claudia’s blood turned to ice and her head swam. Please, no. Not that unstable lunatic! Not here!

‘Magic?’ she squeaked.

Now she could see the ink blots on his clothing, his hands stained black from it. It was all that he did, writing. It was obvious. He ate only to stop himself from starving. Cared nothing for personal hygiene. And now it was no longer a question of rape. This man was a monster, his fantasies warped…

‘I knew you’d replied to my letters.’ He wrenched her skirts up. ‘Only someone was stealing them, did you know that? I’ll find him, this thief. I’ll bring you his balls as
a
present. Or maybe his heart? Would you like that? You could eat it.’

As his hand slithered across her naked thigh, his stinking breath threw out another tirade of cruelty. Claudia clawed at thin air. He was strong. Demented. She
couldn’t break free, she couldn’t fight back.
Or now could she?

Silly bitch, why didn’t you think of it before! If only she could reach that knife she’d strapped to her ankle…

Magic threw her headlong into the sacking and lifted his tunic to expose himself fully. ‘Want it?’ he breathed.

Claudia screwed up her courage. ‘Yes,’ she croaked.

As he launched himself upon her, she spun sideways. Felt the blade in her hand.

‘Whore,’ he yelled, then total surprise washed over his face. ‘But… But…’

As Claudia struggled free of the slippery sacks, he knelt staring at the knife in his side. ‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Claudia, why?’ His eyes were those of a whipped puppydog, a portrait of utter betrayal.

‘Why did you kill me?’ he asked. ‘Magic loves you! Magic’d never hurt you. Not ever.’

Claudia stood riveted on the cold, stone floor. Physical disease she could deal with. Jaundice, dropsy, pneumonia, no problem. But confronted with mental illness, she froze. She watched, mesmerized, as Magic staggered to his feet. Magic swayed. Magic pulled out the knife. Magic roared. Not with pain, but with anger, and any compassion Claudia felt, any confusion, vanished on the spot. Blood spurted from the wound in his side, gushing on to the flagstones, and suddenly he was lumbering towards her, stabbing with the knife. Her knife!

Terrified, Claudia ran into the street as Magic, hands red with blood, stumbled after her.

‘Bitch! You treacherous bitch! Come back here!’

Even in the next alley, she could hear him.

‘I’ll kill you, you fucking treacherous bitch! Do you hear me? I’ll fucking KILL YOU!’

Swamped by nausea, every limb shaking and her teeth clashing like castanets, Claudia fell against a wall for support. Where was everybody? Janus, she’d been dragged off the streets, almost raped
and these people were still sleeping
? Lumbering steps echoed in the grey dawn light. Holy shit, run!

And run she did. Past the mills which, at any other season, were beehives full of millers and sackmen, porters and donkeymen, the dry air alive with clipped orders, where flour would tickle your nose, make you cough. It would never echo like it did now. Claudia could hear her own light footsteps, and a heavier, dragging tread from behind… Rounding a corner, she collided with a solid mass of horseflesh.

‘Move aside, you’re blocking the road!’

The boy who sat perched upon the animal looked down his snooty, freckled nose. ‘My father hired this horse for me to try out. It’s my birthday.’

‘Out the way!’

‘He’s magnificent, isn’t he? I might ask Father to buy him.’

Perhaps the horse might pay more attention. ‘Shift,’ Claudia told it, ‘or prepare for the gluepot.’

Any second now Magic will come stumbling round the corner…

The boy was stroking the animal’s mane. ‘He’s called Comet, he’s so fast.’

‘Is he?’ Claudia licked her lips. ‘Then it’s about time he showed us.’ She yanked the kid off and jumped into the saddle.

‘Hey!’

It was one hell of a way up. And having never sat astride a monster like this, bloody uncomfortable, too. ‘Gee up.’ That’s what they say, isn’t it. ‘Gee up’?

‘That’s stealing.’ The boy scrambled to his feet.

‘Damn right.’ Comet? It hadn’t budged a hoof.

The boy was frantic. ‘Gerroff, you!’

Claudia leaned into the animal’s ear. ‘Ssssssss.’