Marilyn Todd: Man Eater

Since he’d had no real answer, Orbilio reminded her sternly that time was a luxury they did not possess as he prised away a large section of the terracotta piping using a shelf as a lever. Now something was wrong. It prickled his skin and it prickled the hairs on the back of his scalp. Something was very wrong. And the danger that stalked them was almost bestial in form.

‘Claudia, we have to go.’ She had washed away as much of Salvian’s blood as was possible. The stains that were left were all in her mind.

To his surprise, she did not protest. ‘I’m cold,’ was all she said, hugging her arms tight round her shoulders.

‘It’s still early in the year,’ he replied, and his words were unconvincing.

He knew they both still saw the face of the junior tribune, rash-red from the razor, heard the clank of his ill-fitting armour. Seventeen, and almost a father. Seventeen, and more than a match for Tulola. Seventeen-yet much more of a man than his uncle.

‘We have to tell Macer,’ Claudia said, wringing her hair with her hands. But when she looked round, Orbilio was sprinting to the far side of the pond. His eyes were fixed on a coloured rag, dusky pink mixed with red. ‘My tunic!’ she cried.

He was hunkered over it. ‘Don’t touch it,’ he growled.

But it was too late. ‘I’m freezing,’ she protested, grabbing it out of his hands. ‘What the-?’ The red was blood. Fresh, dripping blood. And the tunic had been ripped to shreds.

There was a tenseness about him she had never seen before. ‘Be quiet,’ he warned. ‘And don’t move a muscle.’

Stealthily he padded towards the tree line, his eyes sweeping the ground. Claudia heard the snapping of a branch.

He returned with a piece of wood no thicker than her wrist, with two rough points at the ends. ‘Take this,’ he said. As a weapon it did not look convincing, but Claudia’s nails dug into the bark as he went off in search of a more promising defence.

Her eyes scanned the valley. The slaves would just about be stirring by now, another half-hour and pans would start to sizzle in the kitchens. At her feet, the tunic seemed to have a life force all of its own. It had turned into something evil and ugly, she half expected it to pulsate, to scuttle across the grass, to…

From the woods behind her came the rapid whirring of a hundred wingbeats. Finches, tits, stonechats and robins. Woodlarks, jays, warblers and an owl. Claudia felt her skin crimple. Dammit, Marcus Cornelius, what’s keeping you?

For a moment, she thought she saw movement. A pale blur among the branches. Stop this! You’re starting at shadows. Like dusk, dawn light plays strange tricks, and why shouldn’t a flock of birds stretch their wings? No reason at all, Claudia told herself, gripping the stake with both hands.

At the far side of the villa, the gazelle would also be stretching their thin, graceful legs, and Barea would be bringing out his stallion for an early-morning gallop. What she wouldn’t give to be astride that big, black horse at the moment! The fastest nag to reach Narni since Pegasus.

There is something moving. Up in the trees. Swinging. Swishing.

‘Marcus!’ she yelled. ‘Marcus!’

There was a flash of white. Muted. Soft.

‘What?’ He came crashing through the woods. ‘What is it?’

And then he saw it. The pale underbelly. The danger in bestial form…

With a snarl, the cheetah pounced upon the victim it had been stalking so silently.

With no weapon to defend himself, Orbilio threw up his hands-but it was no match for a hundred-pound cat hurtling out of the canopy. He could see every sinew, every black spot on the bright yellow pelt. Her pink nose. Her long, white whiskers. He could smell her breath on his face, fishy, stale. He saw strands of saliva, saw her awesome white fangs.

They would be the very last thing he saw in this life…

And then…

In mid-leap, it twisted and jerked. The snarl changed, became deeper, guttural. He felt a surge of liquid hot on his face. As the cheetah crashed down on top of him, a shudder rippled through its powerful frame. It convulsed twice, and twice more, then lay still. And the liquid he tasted was its blood.

Dazed, he looked round. Sticking clean through its neck was the point of his rough-hewn stake.

Marcus Cornelius Orbilio heaved the cat’s corpse clear of his body and scrambled to his feet. He wanted to thank her for saving his life, he wanted to tell her how lovely she looked, hair wild, cheeks flushed, body almost naked. He wanted to ask her to marry him.

Instead he was sick on the spot.

*

Claudia was still shaking as she lifted the hasp on the orchard gate. It was reaction, of course. Read nothing more into it. A man’s life was in danger, she had a weapon to hand at the time. That was all. She’d have done the same for anyone, and heaven knows it was easy enough. She’d seen the cheetah long before Orbilio, watched it spring. Hell, the damned cat practically impaled itself!

Smoke was rising from the kitchens and the slave barracks.

This was a set-up, start to finish, she thought. We were supposed to find Salvian. We were supposed to escape. Then-tragic accident. Cuddles gets loose and, tut-tut, two people torn to shreds. As Claudia’s tunic lay in one baited heap, no doubt Orbilio’s doubled the odds somewhere else, and when the cat had finished with them…well, that was not a pretty thought. Pallas said they start with the heart and the kidneys, but what the hell does he know? This was the man who swore it only took gazelle!

She paused to feel the first rays of the sun on her face. Her hair was almost dry now, the tangles would be excruciating. She opened the door to one of the outbuildings. It was the hay store, where Corbulo nearly came to a sticky end and quickly she shut it again. The next shed stored farm implements. Right. We’re in business. A workman’s coarse tunic lay discarded on a plough. Bit short on personal hygiene, Claudia thought, slipping it over her head, but not as bad as Taranis. She sauntered along the shed. Hoes, hurdles, sleds, drags-aha, what have we here? She weighted a pair of sheep shears in her hand. Probably more for the camels these days, it was a long time since sheep grazed these pastures.

Outside, Claudia stood for a moment on the terracing, listening to the yawns, grunts and chatters that seem common first thing in the morning to all creatures, whether wild, domesticated or human. While Cuddles had been stalking her victim, Claudia’s mind had been completely concentrated, but the second the cat’s death set in, she’d felt an inexplicable tug at her innards which owed nothing to fear and less to relief. Then when Marcus rolled out from under the cheetah, it seemed her raw emotions were mirrored on his own face. He had lurched white-faced towards her, and suddenly all she wanted was for him to open his arms and envelop her… Dammit, she was glad when he threw up!

Her gaze roved the Vale of Adonis, over its ordered rows of vetch and lupin. It was no good for a girl, this sudden rush of sentiment. And to hell with this workman, too, and his penchant for bloody onions. What else could be making her eyes water?

Taking a deep breath, Claudia flexed the shears. Well greased, they moved sweetly, but she did not intend to use them for haircuts.

The door to the north wing would be open by now.

Tulola, naturally, would have an alibi.

Someone to swear she had not unleashed her pet on purpose, and Claudia’s money was on Timoleon. Perhaps she had drugged him the way she had drugged Orbilio?

Pausing by the leopard shed, Claudia thought of her torn and bloodied tunic. Bait, to lure the cheetah, because that’s how they catch these big cats, isn’t it? By staking out an animal? This time, blood was the lure, and Cuddles didn’t care whether her gazelle walked on four legs or two.