Widow's Pique (35 page)

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.

'Ye'll not get away with this.'

She laughed. 'But I already have, Pavan, I already have! I presume it was you who sent that young doctor away?'

He nodded grimly. 'Knew . . . ye'd try to stop the lad . . . giving . . . evidence. Sent him . . . back ... to Gora.'

'Waste of time. Who's going to listen to one lone voice, when the King's dead and the kingdom's in chaos? And that's assuming the boy lives long enough to speak in the first place!'

Pavan clutched at his chest.

'I . . . should have . . . silenced ye ... as ye slept, ye evil bitch . . .'

'Never underestimate the ineptitude of a local mule doctor.' Rosmerta wiped the knife on the counterpane. 'One only needs to look at the Lady Claudia to see that any man who diagnoses all manner of complications after a fall in which she sustained nothing more than a few bruises, and who couldn't recognize the King being poisoned right under his nose, was not to be trusted with the correct dosage of painkiller.' She snorted.
'Koma
be damned. All he did was put me into a sleep that restored my strength. In fact, you could say that it was his incompetence that killed you.'

'I ... am not . . . dead.'

'Yes, you are, Pavan. Oh, yes, you are.'

Something flashed, but before Claudia could prevent her, the blade was in his back up to its hilt. His huge frame convulsed twice then fell still. She gasped. Rosmerta smiled. It was the sort of smile a crocodile wears when it spots a wounded gazelle in the river.

'This is how it is,' she announced, and her voice seemed to come from the end of a long tunnel. 'Pavan is Nosferatu and the Lady Claudia realized this, which is why she came running. To protect me. Luckily, she caught him in the act of smothering me and saved my life.'

Claudia's body was ice. If only she'd
walked
through the corridors. If only, if only, if only . . . !

'You clubbed him, my dear, but not hard enough. Enraged, Nosferatu strangled you, while I, too weak from the overdose, could only watch helplessly as he crushed the life out of you. But then, when the beast came at me again, I reached for my dagger with the last ounce of strength before I relapsed. Though you do understand, don't you, my dear, that this was not how it was meant to be?'

Claudia said nothing, because there was nothing to say.

'The dog,' she muttered at last. 'How do you murder a man with a dog?'

She must be insane. Here they were, standing in a pool of Pavan's blood with Rosmerta flexing her fingers - the same fingers that had closed round the neck of the boat builder, the royal physician and heaven knows how many more - and all Claudia could think about was
death by dog.
Perhaps this is why people are said not to fear death? Their heads become light at the end. Nothing matters. Only trivia. Only ridiculous, useless trivia . . .

'One of my better pieces, I think,' Rosmerta replied. 'Took some organizing, but I had a man train one of the hunting dogs by taunting it with the lad's tunic until the poor beast associated cruelty and hunger with that shirt. My sons are good boys. They'll make fine senators one day, providing they do as I tell them. Like keeping the trained mastiff on a tight leash until it was just my sons alone in the clearing with their cousin, at which point, of course, they released it. When it had, er, fulfilled its duty, I had them hack it so badly that no one would recognize that it wasn't part of the usual pack and then, while the hunting party bewailed the terrible accident that befell the King's son, Marek and Mir killed another mastiff, burying the body to ensure there were no "extra" dogs in the count. Exquisitely executed, even if I say so myself

The room was beginning to swim. So callous, so cold.
And so strong.

'All your accidents were clever,' Claudia said. 'Even the one you fixed for yourself

'This?'

Very gingerly, Rosmerta prodded the bandage wrapped round her forehead.

'No, my dear, this is proof that the gods smile on my venture. This wasn't my doing - no need, after all. No one suspected me. Why should I harm myself? But you can rest assured I shall penalize
very
heavily the idiot who cannot maintain his own roof properly!'

'Why senators?' Claudia asked dully. 'Marek and Mir could be princes. Kings, even.'

'Bless you, child, they'll be both. Can't you just picture the New Order in your mind? You have to remember, Lady Claudia, just what a bunch of uneducated losers these Histri are. Half want to go back to the old ways - I mean, as if
that
will help them! - so, I say no more of this ridiculous shillyshallying. Move the capital back to Pula, integrate, become part of Rome, and then we have everything, don't you see?'

Rosmerta cracked her knuckles.

'Best of both worlds. We'll become a family of rich royal merchants, with all the luxuries that Rome can bring as well as total control over the Histri - and tell me, dear, what could be more
perfect
than that?'

'Rome and all things Roman,' Claudia echoed.

She had been thinking of higher issues, like law and justice and peace, but in Rosmerta's eyes, Rome also meant fashion. Including curly blonde wigs that distorted shadows on house walls in the moonlight, to leave impressionable young girls conjuring up the name Nosferatu.

'That's why you speak such perfect Latin, I suppose?'

'Oh, don't
you
start!'

The nerve was red raw.

'You sound like that other little bitch! Delmi was nag-nag-nag, too, calling me lazy for not even
trying
to fit in with Histrian ways. Well, why should I? I'm Roman! Then she'd castigate me for ignoring my sons' education, their religious upbringing, their social skills - like none of this was Kazan's fault! Their father was never around, but she didn't nag
him,
now, did she? Oh, no! And I did
not
pander to my boys when they skipped lessons, and I didn't
always
condone their behaviour when they contrived to get their tutors sacked. Boys will be boys, as I kept telling Delmi, and then I discovered that all the time she'd been criticizing me -
me!
- the hypocritical cow had been warming my husband's bed.'

'Yes, but you didn't tell Mazares.' There had to be a soft side to appeal to. 'At least you spared him that pain.'

'Like there was any point!'

Rosmerta swatted any thoughts of soft sides away like a

fly-

'She was his Queen and, really my dear, who would suffer from such a disclosure? Not Delmi. No, no, it would be my Kazan who'd be sent away, which would mean me going too, so there was only one way to end
that
situation. My, if you'd only seen the life drain out of her when I told her that her little girl was dead. Suddenly it was a case of,
Oh, so no more criticism, then, Delmi . . . ?'

'You saved her life, Rosmerta. She tried to commit suicide, but you brought her back.'

'Only because I hadn't finished with her.' Rosmerta snorted as she advanced across the room. 'If that little bitch thought she could escape me that easily, she had another think coming.'

Claudia's head was pounding.

'But me. Why me? I'm Roman.'

'Yes, dear, and truly I have grown as fond of you as I have of my own darling Vani. Heavens, I'm so proud my son's made her with child, you have no idea how happy it makes me, so don't think it gives me pleasure to do what I have to now. It's just that you leave me no choice.'

The dagger Claudia kept concealed in her gown suddenly flashed in her hand.

'Is that a fact?'

'Yes, my dear, it is a fact,' Rosmerta said, and instead of flinching, jumping back or even feinting as the weapon lunged forward, Nosferatu once again outsmarted the enemy.

She punched Claudia square on the jaw.

The blade had clattered uselessly into the corner. Claudia knew that much, but, blinded by white light, she couldn't see it. She couldn't see anything but the light, and when the light faded, pain took its place. Ferocious, juddering, all-encompassing pain, and a feeling of total stupidity. Once again, she'd tried to make a straight move complicated and once again, she'd paid the price. It was the same as that night at Salome's, when she

should have drugged the guards and run off instead of playing mind games, and here, she should have just charged. Head down, knife in the belly, bull-in-the-potter's-yard charge. But no. Stupid bitch, you try to outwit her. The woman who's outwitted everybody for years, and you think you can do better. You can't.

There was little time for self-pity. Although her thoughts had flashed by in a fraction of a second, a hand had already clamped round her throat.

'Maybe not strangled,' Rosmerta boomed, as she slammed Claudia's head against the stone wall.

Jupiter, no. Not like this.

'I think you deserve a heroine's death.'

Something wet was running down Claudia's face, but there was only one thought in her brain and that thought wasn't survival. It was to kill the fiend that was Nosferatu. This monster must not slaughter more innocent victims. Her evil had to be stopped . . .

'I want people to see that you fought Nosferatu like a true Roman.'

Rosmerta thumped her victim's head against the stonework with just the right amount of force.

'Let's have your blood establish your heroism.'

'Yes, let's,' Claudia gurgled, and this time there was no mistake. The stiletto she kept strapped to her calf embedded itself in Rosmerta's neck.

'Yeeeeeee!'
The wail was unearthly, but either Claudia was too weak or Rosmerta was too strong. Or Nosferatu really could not die . . . 'You -'
slam
- 'bitch -'
slam

Claudia lashed back. She kicked, brought her knees into Rosmerta's stomach, clawed at her skin, tried to gouge, but there was no strength in her swings, no power behind her punches, and each time her head connected with stone, coordination grew that little bit weaker. How many more? How many more could she take before she passed out?

'I'll see you in hell -'
slam
- 'for this.'

And would he know? she asked herself. Would Marcus ever know that she—

'No, Rosmerta,' a male voice growled, and miraculously the grip round her neck fell away. 'It's ye who's going to hell.'

There was a scuffle. A scream. Then a pause. A terrible pause in which Claudia could see nothing but redness and clouds, and she tried to get up, to reach for the statuette that sat in the niche, to bring it down on Rosmerta's head, but she kept slipping in something sticky and warm, and the world seemed to be falling away at her feet. Then a voice broke the silence.

'Bastard!' Rosmerta screamed. 'You bastard, you bastard!'

The bastard ignored her and suddenly Claudia was lifted on to the bed and a sheet was wiping the blood from her eyes.

'Next time ye throw furniture,' a gravel voice rumbled, 'would ye have a mind to use a wee stool, please?'

Nosferatu couldn't stop screaming.

Bastard! He was wearing a cuirass, the bastard! Beneath his shirt, that fat oaf had been wearing a thick leather cuirass, and now he was binding her wrists in irons - irons, if you please - and tying her legs at the ankles, and all that lazy Roman cow was doing was sitting on the bed holding a bedsheet to her head.
My
bedsheet at that.

'Lady Claudia, I insist you stop this farce at once!'