Marilyn Todd - Jail Bait

‘None of the soldiers other than Cyrus is in on the scam.’ If anything, Kamar seemed even more agitated. ‘Suppose he brings the rest of the legion out to the island and turns this place over?’

‘I imagine that highly unlikely.’

‘Why not? This is the obvious start point.’

‘Too true,’ Lais said, rubbing in wine lees to redden her cheeks. ‘But power is nothing without responsibility, Kamar. I suggest you remember that. You see, I haven’t reached this exalted position without covering every single angle and making plans accordingly. It was to be expected, Orbilio coming here. I simply took counter measures.’

‘Which were?’ In spite of his predicament, Kamar was impressed.

‘Isn’t it obvious?’ Lais reached for the kohl to highlight her eyes. ‘I disposed of him, too.’ A vision flashed through her mind of the blood, pumping out of his body to soak into his white linen tunic. The same warm blood dripping off the end of her knife. ‘I slit clean through his tanned patrician throat.’

Dead men can’t cause trouble.

There is no such thing as total silence. Indeed, a hundred paces deep in the rock face, where even the wrath of Jupiter’s storm failed to penetrate, certain sounds still crept in to fill the void.

The throbbing heat of the night.

The blood, thundering past Claudia’s ears.

The frantic flaps of her heart, as it tried to burst free of her breast.

But they were flimsy, whimsy, personal sounds and, like snowflakes gliding down in midwinter, they did not ruffle the dreams of the dead. Secure in their solid sarcophagi, the Etruscan nobility reposed for eternity, surrounded by their painted friends and relatives, their servants, their pets, their boats, their painted jewels and banquets.

Claudia was not prepared to wait for eternity.

Alabaster images of these ancient peoples, which once reclined upon the coffin tops, now lay smashed and scattered far across the tamped earth floor, swept aside in the grave robbers’ impatience, and whilst the sarcophagi had been ransacked-every gold torque, every ring, every last ivory ornament gone, even the bones tossed aside-it was the thieves’ very haste which gave Claudia inspiration as she scratched among the shattered shards for some means of escape.

In a corner of a chamber where the walls were covered with twirling dancers and musicians blowing on traditional double flutes, underneath the piles of debris, she had found a scrap of azure fabric. The colour was so vivid, so dazzling in the flickering candlelight, that it had given her an idea…

From the outset, Claudia knew she’d need a lever to dislodge that rock across the entrance, and not only was nothing remotely suitable inside this maze of chambers, with the tunnel heading downhill at such a sharp angle, how would she ever get leverage? That, therefore, was out of the question.

But suppose she inched the slab up? Just a fraction? And wedged a strip of her tunic in the slot?

Such was human nature that it would be unnatural for Pul not to be curious. Along he’d come, down this twisting stone path towards the tomb. He’d cast a professional glance at this circular, earth-covered mushroom, would check the granite slab as a matter of course. Then his slanted, almond eye would alight on the scrap of torn cotton. He would recognize the startling shade of yellow. Know it was Claudia’s gown and that it was not there, definitely not there, when he rolled the rock into place. Her? Escape? No way. Not possible. Of course not. But the professional in him would force him to check.

As the bobbing flame of the tallow moved inexorably south, Claudia swung herself up on to the lintel of the principal chamber. There was a niche here, large enough, if she curled into a ball.

All she had to do was to wait. To one side of her, wine was poured at a banquet. On the other, painted cheeses, grapes, sardines and pears were being guzzled at this family feast. Her skin was grazed and bleeding from shouldering the massive lump of rock, and it had been the tenth exhausting uphill push before she’d finally succeeded in holding that quarter-inch of space open long enough to push her skirt through the gap with the blade of her knife. Miraculously, the knife hadn’t snapped. Claudia’s lips were dry, her back raw as she contemplated Pul heaving aside the granite slab. So narrow, so low was the passageway in this subterranean world, he would be forced to hunch over as he made his way down, ducking further to avoid this low-hanging lintel.

One fist would clutch his wicked, curved blade, the other a torch to see by. His back would be bowed as he passed beneath the lintel, his movements slow. Suspicious. While his eyes searched forward, Claudia would spring. Land on his back. Her knife would slice through the top of his spine.

He’d be dead. She’d be free. Cal would be avenged, as she’d promised.

But! Her pulse raced with the tension. How long before Pul became curious? How long before he decided to check?

With a splutter, the candle in the tomb flickered and died.

Dizzy from exhaustion, the drug and the heat, Claudia twisted uncomfortably on her roost above the doorway. Funny how you lose track of time in the dark. Hours could have passed. Or just minutes. She wondered whether the lightning would have burned itself out yet. Had Drusilla had enough supper? Would her vineyards be scorched by the time she inspected them, leaving her bankrupt, the business in tatters?

She shifted position again, conscious of stone gouging out more of her flesh and damning to hell the tomb builders who could have made a bit more effort on the lintels. The shreds of her tunic had been welded to her wounds with blood, and dried stiff. Claudia wriggled numb toes and flexed aching arms. Come on, Pul. Surely you’ve noticed by now?

More time passed, yet not once did she regret being poised up here for attack. Sure it was unpleasant, but this happened to be the only place in this wretched subterranean prison where she would have the advantage.

Legs which were bare from the thighs down began to feel every pitting of stone. Come on, Pul. Earn your keep. Go out on patrol.

Nothing happened.

Claudia’s throat was swollen and throbbing from thirst. What the hell had Lais slipped her? Colchicum? No, she’d be retching by now, feeling cold. Probably pheasant’s eye, the Adonis plant. Mixed with the juice of the prickly lettuce. The bitch. But she wouldn’t get away with it. Sooner or later, Pul would have to check on his captive What was that? Yes, that scratching sound? There it was again. A scraping. Grating. Like stone, yee-ha, wrenching on stone…

All right, you bastard. Come and get it!

For what seemed an eternity, Claudia waited as the mighty slab was rolled aside. The whole tomb seemed to shake when it landed. She held her breath as tightly as the thin-bladed knife…

Cautious footsteps padded down the steep incline of the tunnel. A voice whispered her name, calling… To fool her. To lull her into trusting him. Dear Diana, did he think she was stupid? A rumble of thunder echoed through the underground chambers like the roar of the Minotaur. Claudia stiffened. The pain in her lungs was intense. The Oriental paused before ducking under the doorway. Claudia was poised. She’d been over this moment a hundred times in her head. The second he passed through, she’d dive on his back, knocking him flat to the ground. She’d lunge for his topknot with one hand. With the other, she’d bring down her blade ‘Claudia,’ came a sibilant hiss.

It was the first time she’d actually heard the sound of his voice. The accent was guttural. It reminded her of ‘Are you there?’

Damn right I am, buster. As Pul ducked beneath the lintel, she sprang. Down he went. Flat. She grabbed the topknot. There was more of it than she thought. Her right hand went up. Lightning flashed. The blade came down. Hard. And bounced right off the stone floor…