Marilyn Todd - Widow's Pique

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!'

She heard a soft click behind her. The sort of sound, she thought, that a key might make when it turns in the lock.

Pavan's grey eyes skewered Claudia through the runnels of blood. 'No!' he roared. 'No-o-o-o!'

'He's quite right,' Nosferatu said, and her voice had a harsh edge. 'You're not going anywhere, Lady Claudia, and neither for that matter is Pavan.'

Sweet Janus. Rosmerta? It can't be. Not Rosmerta. She was bossy and vain, not an ounce of dress sense, she was shallow and snobbish, the victim of a selfish philandering husband, but, if anything, she looked after people rather than harm them. Hadn't Vani said she was like a tigress with those she protected. And yet, and yet…

'Vani said you were Histri through to your marrow.'

'So I am, my dear, so I am. What you have to remember is that Histria is part of Rome.'

A flash of steel caught Claudia's eye before she realized what was happening. She leapt forward, but the blade was already deep in Pavan's back. Horrified, she could only watch as, with a wheeze, the King's general collapsed onto the tiles.

'I should have listened to Lora earlier,' he gasped, every syllable wracking his lungs. 'I should… have seen… from the start that it was ye, not bad luck, that… wiped out the King's family.'

'And anyone who got in my way,' Rosmerta sneered. Drops of bright red blood dribbled down the blade in her hand and pooled on the floor at her feet.