Marilyn Todd - Widow's Pique

His white shirt stood out like a beacon in the blackness as he stepped in front to block her way. With no lamp burning up in Claudia's bedroom, there was no reason for either of them to suppose that their conversation would be overheard and, invisible in her dark-grey cotton robe, Claudia leaned over the windowsill for a better snoop.

'Is that why you entered the foot race this morning?' Mazares asked quietly.

And wasn't it a good thing that I did?' Salome retorted. 'Otherwise I'd never have known your… your friend was a-'

Dammit, the clashing of cymbals drowned out the rest of her words and much of his reply, too.

'-god knows, I've warned you enough times, Salome-' clatter, clang, crash '-and believe me, Marcus isn't stupid-' batter, bang, boom.

'-well, you're a fine one to dish out advice about Rome-' now it was the drums and the trumpets again '-and what about Lora, eh? What about her?'

'For heaven's sake, don't you think I've thought about that? Good god, Salome, all I'm asking is that you-'

Claudia would never know what Mazares was asking. At that moment, a mighty cheer rose up from the crowd, calling the victors' names over and over, but in any case, Salome seemed to be in no mood for discussion, storming off just a few minutes later, leaving Mazares tossing exasperated hands in the air. The same hands, Claudia reflected miserably, that had thrown a noose round Raspor's neck and throttled the life out of the priest…

The same hands that had killed Broda's uncle, drowned a twelve-year-old child and callously murdered his way to his goal.

Nosferatu.

Demon, ghoul, fiend in human form.

Ah, yes, my friend. Claudia stared into the blackness. But no one said you were immortal.

They were all there, clustered around Rosmerta's bedframe. Drilo, the high priest, in rich flowing robes scented with incense, stood on the far side, his dark blue eyes narrowed in thought. He was flanked by her sons, and although their handsome faces registered concern, one tapped his foot and the other drummed his fingers against the wall. Behind them stood Vani, and Pavan towered impassively in the corner, his arms folded over his massive chest, each corded muscle bulging the fabric of his shirt. There was, of course, one noticeable absence, but the puppet-master needed time to plaster the right expression on his face. No doubt he would be along shortly.

However, it was Kazan who surprised Claudia. For once, the little-boy-lost expression had been overtaken by Kazan the man. By Kazan the husband, Kazan the father, Kazan the head of the household. In turn anxious, devastated and shocked, he paced the room, his face drawn and white as a stranger placed a poultice of mouldy bread over the head wound.

'How is she?' Claudia whispered, but she needn't have bothered.

'I could have died, you know,' Rosmerta boomed. 'I could have been killed with that wretched masonry tile!'

Claudia couldn't help smiling. Some things, she thought, never change. This woman, dammit, was bulletproof.

'If it hadn't been for Salome, I would have bled to death, too!'

'Not at all,' the young stranger reassured her, bandaging over the poultice. 'Head wounds invariably gush.'

His patient's snort reflected her opinion of that.

'I tell you, Lady Claudia.' Rosmerta even managed a feeble wag of her finger. 'If that girl hadn't been on hand to staunch the blood with a decoction of yarrow and dead nettle, they'd be embalming my corpse at this moment!'

Without the usual preponderance of make-up and flounces, Rosmerta looked like every other piece of mutton who tries to pass herself off as lamb. She looked younger, and for the first time it was actually possible to view Rosmerta as her husband's contemporary, rather than a bossy older sister or (sometimes) even his mother. On the other side of the bed, Marek, or perhaps Mir, opened his mouth in a yawn. Kazan's glower cut it short.

'Well, I hear the Lands of the Blessed get a lot of rain this time of year,' Claudia quipped. 'You're far better off with us here, on Rovin.'

She glanced at the box on the chair by the stranger's side and noticed a grisly array of scalpels, retractors, catheters and probes poking out. Hardly the instruments of a mule doctor, then, but it seemed the curiosity was mutual. It was the first time, she realized, that he'd appreciated the newcomer was Roman, but the minute he noticed, his eyes narrowed in hostility.

'I'd prefer visits were kept to the immediate family,' he said brusquely, pinning his patient's bandage in place.

A ripple of glances were exchanged round the room, but it was Pavan who stepped forward to answer.

'The Lady Claudia is contracted to marry the King, lad,' he rumbled.

The physician's hostility evaporated at once.

'Good,' he decided. 'Excellent, in fact, because I was just about to go looking for him, before I was summoned up here.'

This time the glances were sharper, longer, and Claudia felt a ripple of alarm run up her backbone.

'Listen, laddie-' Pavan began.

'The thing is,' the doctor said, checking Rosmerta's pulse with one hand, as the other packed instruments back in their box. 'When I was called to examine the body of the royal physician, I discovered-'

Everybody began exclaiming at once.

'Good heavens, man, what are you saying?' (Drilo.)

'The King's physician is dead?' (Kazan.)

'We thought he was a poof run off with his lover.' (Marek.) (Or Mir.)

'Ah!' It finally occurred to the young man that no one had actually told these people that the royal physician had died. 'I — uh — I'm really sorry, but yes. The fact is, his body was found at the bottom of a valley halfway between here and Gora.'

Embarrassment at his gaffe had turned his face and neck as red as a turkey-cock's wattle, and he tried to cover it by rearranging instruments which didn't need rearranging.

'He'd fallen, obviously?' (Vani this time.)

'Well, no, that's the odd thing,' he stammered, clicking the clasp on his instrument chest. 'I can't help feeling the accident had been staged — oh, shit. I shouldn't have said that, should I? Not before I'd talked with the King.'

'No, lad, ye shouldna,' Pavan growled, and his grey eyes rested on Claudia for a very, very long time. 'Look, son, why don't ye and I take a stroll?'

'Well, I really think I ought to stay with-'

'A stroll, lad,' Pavan insisted, laying a huge paw on the young doctor's shoulder and pushing him out of the door. And as for the rest of ye — I reckon we should let the patient rest.'

'Absolutely,' Vani said, patting her mother-in-law's hand.

'But first, I have some thrilling news that I know will make you very happy, Rosmerta.'

She patted her tummy, delight sparkling in her eyes.

'Well done, girl. Jolly well done!' Rosmerta winced as she grabbed Vani's hand, but her joy was plain for all to see. 'I told you rubbing bear's fat on your womb would do the trick.' She sank back on her pillows and sighed happily. 'Just think, Kazan! We're going to be grandparents at last! Isn't this just so exciting?'

'Indeed.' Kazan's smile was as broad and proud as his wife's, but his was without surprise. 'I'm so happy for you, Vani, I really am.'

'You must organize a parade,' Rosmerta told Kazan. 'Several! We will need to show the little one off, and when it comes to the Naming Ceremony, I don't think a public feast in Pula would be amiss, either. You'll need to start looking round now for a goldsmith to craft the amulet…'

Dear me, the baby wasn't born and Rosmerta was taking over, and if she was like this on her sickbed, what on earth would she be like when she was up and running? Vani, who clearly had her own ideas about her child's future, rolled her eyes in the direction of the baby's father, and Kazan responded with a tight, understanding smile.