Marilyn Todd - Wolf Whistle

Claudia visited the hospital wing, the classrooms, the workshops, and looped past the lake where a score of youngsters thrashed around in the water. But each tutor and nursemaid said the same thing.

‘Master Sargon in the girls’ wing? Never.’

‘Boys and girls mixing? Oh, the shame of it!’

‘Silverstreak? No dear, we never let the children play with him, one can’t be too careful with a wolf…’

She gazed around the complex. Childish squeals accompanied piggybacks and hopscotch, one girl tied ribbons to a donkey’s tail, a boy mooned at a group of shrieking infants, another hopped on one leg as he tied an errant shoelace. She had not expected them to be happy.

And it was with a heavy sense of anticlimax that Claudia bumped into Angel picking oleanders in the courtyard.

‘I like fresh flowers round the house,’ the girl said accusingly, and that was the thing about Angel. She could control her voice, but her body language took longer to catch up. The petals trembled in her hand, and there was a strange look in her eyes. Claudia remembered their encounter yesterday. Claudia was standing by those same oleanders peeping through the terracotta screen, and Angel had perceived her as an enemy…

‘They were very pretty flowers I saw in your bedroom,’ Claudia said mildly. ‘Thorn apple, weren’t they?’

Instantly the colour drained from Angel’s face, forcing the livid purple bruise into stark relief. Claudia bit her lip. Better by far Angel took the hint from a stranger, than for Arbil to find out.

In the atrium, Claudia glanced at the law plates of bronze and shivered. Oh yes. Far better.

*

Dino, Claudia decided, was the weak link. Time they had a cosy one-to-one.

She knocked on his bedroom door, and a plump housemaid answered. ‘Master Dinocrates? Him and Master Sargon’ll be in Rome by now, it’s market day, see.’

Croesus, she’d forgotten!

‘What about the Captain? Does he go with them?’ Shit. And Arbil had disappeared, too. Shut himself away, no one knew where, but this often happened of late. Shit, shit, shit!

‘Well, there’s so much business to conduct on a market day, ain’t there?’ The maid smiled, and, recalling the revelations of her search, Claudia decided the housemaid was a lot closer than the poor woman realized.

The corridor was deserted as Claudia swept down to the end. This time she checked over her shoulder before she pulled back the bolt, but dammit, the door still wouldn’t budge. Easing out a hairpin carved in the shape of a cat, its tail forming the pin, she wriggled it around in the lock. Snap! The tail broke near its tip, but-praise be to Juno-not before it had finished the job. The door creaked open on its black iron hinges.

What had she expected to find in this room? To be truthful, she wasn’t sure. A treasury, perhaps. Documents locked away. Records of the children who’d been ‘processed’ over the years. What she had never in a million years expected was to find herself looking at the second face from Arbil’s portraits.

‘Shannu?’

The handsome features creased into an open and amiable smile. ‘Hello.’ In his left hand he held a paintbrush, and on the table lay a palate. The paint dripping from both was a vibrant shade of yellow, the perfect match for winter aconites. The same colour paint covered every inch of wall and floor and ceiling. ‘Did you want something?’

Claudia felt her stomach churn. ‘No. No, I just came to…see what you were doing.’

Now she could see why the door was kept locked. And bolted again from the outside…

‘I’m painting,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I always paint, I find it relaxing. Tell me, do you approve of my landscapes?’

Landscapes? Stuck for words, Claudia suddenly realized it was his right arm which was inviting admiration of his work. His right arm. His sword arm. His painting arm, in fact-had it not ended in a stump. A chill wind blew round the horrid yellow room, which had nothing to do with the weather. Because it was only when looking at one law tablet that she’d noticed another next to it.

SHOULD A SON STRIKE HIS FATHER, LET THE OFFENDING HAND BE CHOPPED OFF.

So this was Arbil’s secret. No wonder Sargon was concerned about her entering.

‘Who are you?’ he asked, merrily splodging his brush in the paint. Shadows from the iron bars at the window striped the yellow floor.

‘Me? I’m a friend of um, Angel’s.’ Claudia backed slowly towards the door.

‘Liar.’ Shannu sprang across the room, and she felt splatters of paint on her face. ‘Angel’s dead,’ he spat. ‘Arbil killed her.’

Oh-my-god! ‘Yes. Yes, I know that. I…wanted to see where she lived, that was all.’

‘You knew Angel?’ The intensity that burned in his eyes froze her bones. ‘Angel was beautiful, wasn’t she?’ he said dreamily, taking Claudia’s arm with his remaining hand and leading her into the room. ‘Long, black hair, as lovely as Ishtar herself.’ The tone changed abruptly. ‘But my father debauched her and she died.’

‘How-’ Claudia cleared her throat and tried again. ‘How, exactly, did Arbil kill her?’

‘Don’t you know?’ Shannu snarled. ‘He took her maidenhead, and whoosh! Out went her soul.’

Sweet Juno, get me out of here. Claudia heard voices outside the window, but nothing would squeeze past her larynx.

‘I tried to avenge Angel,’ Shannu said. ‘I tried ramming a glass in my father’s face, but that fool Tryphon stepped in front. I told him. I said, “Arbil, one day I will kill you.” And one day, you know, I will.’

Claudia believed him. Insane he might be, but the boy was bloody determined with it. She wanted to get out, run up the corridor, but her legs would never make it. Oh, Sargon. Why weren’t you here to stop me this morning?

‘He said, strike me again and I’ll cut your bloody hand off.’ Shannu started drawing circles with his paintbrush on the wall. ‘Every time I tried to kill him, that’s what he would say.’

Janus. Claudia hated herself for asking, but- ‘How many times did you try to kill Arbil, Shannu?’

‘Seven or eight,’ he said casually. ‘But my brother was always there, or Dino. And then finally-’ he held up his stump ‘-the bastard did what he threatened. Tell me, do you really like my landscapes? Or-be perfectly honest-do you prefer the seascapes over there? I think I’ve got that storm just right, the waves and that zig-zag flash of lightning. What-?’

The second he turned his back, Claudia slammed the door shut and rammed the bolt home just as hard as she could. The broken end of her hairpin tinkled as it fell on to the floor, but she was well out of earshot. In fact, Claudia didn’t stop running until she met up with Junius, and then it was only to gee up the horses.

From the moment he received the news of his Regent’s death, the Emperor Augustus had remained virtually closeted inside his basilica on the Palatine, digesting reports, wading through correspondence, thrashing out the endless possibilities and despairing at the crackpot theories which surfaced with greater frequency and more frantic desperation as time wore on. Sedition, my lord? Round up the troublemakers, that’s what I’d do, make examples of the bastards. No heir? No problem. Let the herald proclaim your wife pregnant, declare public holiday, throw Games in her honour. All feasible. All dismissed. Certainly it was not beyond the realms of possibility that, even after fourteen barren years, her imperial majesty might fall pregnant-but how long before the populace saw that they’d been conned? Quick-fix solutions were no use, Augustus needed to gather the facts, sift them carefully, then see what nuggets were left.