by Marilyn Todd
Claudia began to understand why Felix had embarked on his campaign of vengeance. It might be misguided, but the passion was real enough. Felix Musa wanted the families of those who had wronged him to suffer the way his own loved ones had suffered…
‘Where can I find Mariana, Tarchis? I realize twelve years have passed, but I really need to talk to Felix’s wife.’
‘Finding her is easy, Lady Claudia. Talking to her, less so.’ A sad smile settled over the old man’s face. ‘Mariana died giving birth to Felix’s stillborn child.’
Twenty-Three
Even as Orbilio approached the temple precinct, its serenity and stillness radiated out. From each salmon-pink column to the mighty oak doors, from the black bowls of divination to the fat sacred cats, Fufluns, god of wine, god of happiness, god of earthly pleasures, was determined to separate his devotees from their daily anxieties. And as these worries dripped off them with every step they took up to the temple, their spirits would be lifted by painted acrobats, dancers, musicians and banqueters brought to life by flaming torches set high on the walls and by thousands of oil lamps flickering like stars in the night sky.
Happiness and pleasure was their birthright. It was Fufluns’ job to see to that, so over here the horned god dressed in his customary goatskin toasted newcomers with his brimming goblet. Over there, maidens in bangles and bracelets that encircled ankles and arms, and wearing great silver disks in their ears, danced in welcome, while overhead, instead of the celestial paintings Orbilio was accustomed to seeing, painted roots entwined with Etruscan iris, a reminder that Fufluns made his home deep in the earth, and that this was his world devotees were entering, and that they had left theirs behind.
‘I know you,’ a little voice chirruped at Orbilio’s knee. ‘You come to the villa and hold hands with the old witch.’
‘I do?’
‘Yes, but I don’t think Claudia’s really a witch, because she hasn’t changed anyone into a frog, and besides, she’s not very old, either. I’m Amanda,’ the chirrup continued, ‘and this is my bestest friend, Indigo.’
He looked down, but saw only the one bright-eyed child with freckles on her face almost as large as herself.
‘Ladies.’ He performed as deep and gracious a bow as he had ever made. ‘Your servant, Marcus.’
Amanda burst into giggles. ‘You live in Rome, don’t you, servant Marcus?’
‘On the Esquiline Hill,’ he replied solemnly, before realizing that actually, no, he did not live there. Not any more. His home was now far away. In south-west Gaul…
‘I wonder if you’re my father?’
Mother of Tarquin, he hoped not. He wanted children, sure. But not illegitimate ones thrust at him several years after some casual coupling.
‘Am I your father? Hm, let me see.’ He pretended to consider the matter. ‘Do I have your lovely blonde hair?’
‘No.’
‘Do I have your lovely blue eyes?’
‘No.’
He swooped down and pinched her nose between his index and forefinger. ‘But I do have your lovely snub nose!’
‘Give it back, give it back,’ she squealed delightedly, jumping up for the thumb she thought was her nose.
‘Only if you’re a very good girl.’
‘Oh, I’m never good,’ Amanda sighed. ‘Me and Indigo are always in trouble, and if Mummy catches me here at this temple, I’m dead meat for sure.’
‘Mummy?’
‘You know the things, Orbilio,’ a female voice muttered from the corner of her mouth. ‘Come from Egypt. Old, wrinkled and completely brainless.’
‘That sounds like my mummy, not hers,’ he murmured as he replaced Amanda’s nose amid another bout of giggles.
It was no coincidence, bumping into Claudia. Ever since he’d requested the report on Vorda’s suicide, he’d been wanting to question her dance teacher, and when he returned to the villa this morning and was told Claudia had left to check on Flavia’s progress (like hell!), it seemed the perfect opportunity to sound Timi out.
‘So then.’ Claudia plucked a sprig of oregano from one of the herbal garlands that snaked round the pillars. ‘What brings you to the temple this fine, sunny morning?’
‘Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten?’ Amanda assumed the question had been addressed to her. ‘It’s the Trumpet Parade, silly! Mummy said I could go into town and watch the procession, only Indigo said we should come instead, because Mummy says we’re not allowed near the temple and that really bad things happen to little girls who come here, but I like it, don’t you?’ Blue eyes widened as they travelled up the pillar to what must have seemed like the sky at the top, it was so far away. ‘Promise not to tell, either of you, but I’m coming back tomorrow to play with the kittens. They’re cute.’
‘I tell you what, Amanda.’ Marcus knelt down. ‘You go down and play with the kittens now, then I’ll give you a ride into town on my horse and that way you can still watch the Parade of the Trumpets.’
‘You mean I get it all?’
‘You’re a woman,’ he said, ruffling her hair. ‘Of course you get it all.’
‘Out-of-bounds temple, kittens, trumpets, the lot?’
He winked. ‘I’ll even buy you a bun when we get to Mercurium.’
‘Oh, servant Marcus, I love you, I love you, because I’m ever so hungry. Did you know I haven’t eaten since breakfast?’ She tried to wink back at him and failed.
‘All of two hours, eh? Then we’d better make it two buns, one for each hour.’
‘Excuse me, but it’ll be three buns by the time we get there,’ she sniffed, skipping down the steps.
‘Oh, lord, what have I got myself into?’ he groaned.
‘Serves you right for ignoring your own army training. Never volunteer, remember?’
‘I’ll remember next time.’
Claudia took a bench facing a fresco of sated nymphs and satyrs sleeping contentedly in Fufluns’ sacred hazel grove, their empty goblets sprawled beside them. ‘I don’t suppose this visit is because you’re planning to convert to the red religion?’
‘It’s the celibacy that worries me,’ he replied, taking the opposite seat. ‘I don’t fancy giving it up.’
He liked it when she smiled. The way it started off at one corner of her mouth, as though struggling out against her will, then spreading until her cheeks bunched up until it finally danced out of her eyes.
‘Vorda’s death bothers me,’ he said, leaning back against the wall. It was a shame he’d missed out on the fun and games with the spirits last night, but he’d needed to speak to the girl’s mother. ‘Suicide seems right out of character, yet she drowned in the river, Lichas drowned in the river—’
‘And Felix’s mother might have drowned in the river, as well.’
He sat up. ‘Who’s Felix?’
Something fluttered over her face and closed down her expression. ‘No one. Local legend. Fairytale. What were you saying about Vorda?’
She was lying. Claudia Seferius was doing it again. Dammit, why would she never tell him the truth? When was she ever going to trust him?
‘Do you think Vorda’s death was murder made to look like suicide?’ she said in the hurried manner of someone desperate to change the subject.
‘No.’ He stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankle. ‘Talking to the rivermen—heroes, if you listen to Vorda’s mother, who risked eternal damnation diving into that pool—they’re quite clear her belongings were neatly arranged on a rock. Shawl folded. Amulets on top.’ Of course, it wouldn’t be the first time a killer had staged such a scene. However… ‘It was a still, warm night when she went in, and Kol the goatherd was sleeping not far away.’
Wolves choffed down newborn kids every bit as eagerly as they choffed down newborn lambs.
‘He’d seen Vorda earlier, bathing in the river. Dirty little devil crept up to watch, because she was naked, but the problem was, she was crying.’
The impression Kol gave was that if she ha
dn’t been, he’d have stayed a bloody sight longer, but at eleven years old the boy still had a conscience. Feeling that he was prying, he went back to his goats.
‘Kol insists he would have heard any struggle, never mind screams, and he’s equally sure no one else came down that path.’
‘It’s a pity you hadn’t been able to inspect Vorda’s body,’ Claudia said, and when she pushed her hair back from her face, the gesture highlighted the curve of her breasts. ‘If she’d fought for her life, there would be abrasions to betray her attacker.’
Orbilio cleared his throat and his impure thoughts. ‘I questioned the rivermen about bruising. They insisted there was none.’
‘And Vorda’s mother would certainly have mentioned it,’ Claudia added.
Indeed. No matter how conscientious the believer, the will of the gods only stretches so far.
‘There was one odd thing,’ he said slowly. ‘The divers say her folded shawl was wet when they picked it up, and that struck me as strange. I mentioned it to her mother, who confirmed it was still damp when they handed it over, and I took a good, hard look at that wrap. It smelled of sorrel and the smell was strongest over a series of red stains that were not, I hasten to add, blood, but cochineal dye.’
‘Perfectly understandable, Orbilio. Sorrel’s a bleach and, though the Etruscans paint their skin, they tend to steer clear of their clothes. For a girl with few possessions, Vorda would be unlikely to want her best shawl stained.’
‘I realize teenage girls are over-emotional, but they don’t throw themselves to eternal damnation because the dye won’t come out of their wrap. Dammit, Claudia, Vorda’s death is connected to Lichas and Tages somehow.’
Like the hunch that told him right from the start that Hadrian had not killed his lover, he could feel it. All right, he’d strayed from his theory, but he’d paid the price of listening to his head, not his gut. Somehow Vorda was connected…
‘Maybe she saw something?’ Claudia asked.
‘First thing I asked her mother, but Vorda was home the night of the storm, and as far as I can determine, she’d never spoken to Rex.’
They weren’t simply miles apart in terms of location. They were miles apart in class distinction and Rex, as he knew, kept the distance as great as he could.
‘I feel like I’m swimming in a thick fog,’ he said, ‘and what’s more, I’m swimming out to sea, not towards the shore.’
‘And I thought you said you didn’t crawl to your superiors.’
‘It beats the breast stroke,’ he quipped back.
For several minutes they sat opposite each other, lit by the flickering oil lamps and surrounded by enduringly happy people. Finally, Orbilio scratched at his neck.
‘Will you join Amanda, Indigo and me for processions and pies?’
‘Typical patrician. Two women are never enough.’
‘I shall only worry about that when I start actually seeing Indigo,’ he laughed. He stood up. ‘No trumpets?’
‘I blow mine quite often enough, but Marcus…’ She stood up and lifted her eyes to his, and now there was no laughter in them. ‘If you were a seasoned soldier, a general for instance, how would you kill somebody on a dark, stormy night?’
The question surprised him. What was she saying? That it wasn’t Rex after all? Bullshit. Who else had a motive? Hell, who else knew Lichas was meeting his lover?
‘If you mean method—’
‘Well, well, what a small world.’ Eunice’s trill echoed through the lamplit cavern. ‘Are you two planning on taking up the red religion?’
On her arm was Lars, as was to be expected and indeed welcomed. What was neither expected nor welcome was that they were accompanied by Thalia and her playboy brother.
‘When I said it was important to keep the numbers up,’ Terrence laughed, ‘I was rather thinking of locals.’
Orbilio steadfastly refused to look at the betrothal ring on Terrence’s finger as he gripped his wrist in greeting. Even though the bloody thing outshone the lights in the temple.
‘Well, you know my motto,’ Claudia breezed. ‘Think like a local, drink like a local, and Fufluns is the fellow for that!’
As Terrence leaned forward, a look passed between him and Claudia that might have been affection but then again might have been something else. Orbilio couldn’t tell because he was focussing on a kiss that landed a hair’s breadth from her lips. He hadn’t realized he’d been biting his cheek until he tasted blood on his tongue.
‘Since this lovely man is the temple’s chief sponsor,’ Eunice said, squeezing Terrence’s arm, ‘and this lovely man is its keenest publicist,’ she wrinkled her nose affectionately at Lars, ‘I saw absolutely no reason why these two handsome devils shouldn’t show Thalia and me around. After all, it’s so terribly primitive and tribal, this dance of the thirteen virgins tomorrow. I mean, can you imagine it in Rome? They’d never even find thirteen virgins, much less get the girls to go public.’
‘Eunice, you get worse,’ Terrence chided with a laugh.
‘Don’t say that, man,’ Lars retorted. ‘The woman takes it as flattery.’
‘Exactly how it’s meant.’ When he kissed Eunice’s hand, he completely blocked Thalia from view. ‘How’s Flavia progressing, my sweet?’
‘Timi’s doing her best,’ his sweet replied, and Orbilio thought, yes, Timi had also confided to him that she’d get better results with a three-legged donkey in clogs.
‘I’ll have a word with Tarchis,’ Terrence said. ‘See if he can’t arrange for extra tuition after the festival. Right, you girls seen enough? Because we need to take our places for the trumpet parade. Claudia?’ He held out his arm.
‘Thirty seconds,’ she promised.
‘I thought you said no trumpets?’ Orbilio said when the quartet had wandered off.
‘I didn’t say no,’ she said. For gods’ sake, his sweet? ‘I just said no to your offer of a lift. I already had mine arranged.’
‘With your fiancé?’ He stressed the last word.
‘With my fiancé.’ So did she.
‘I’m sure you two will be very happy,’ he said levelly.
‘Oh, we are, Marcus, we are.’ But there was a glint in her eye that he didn’t trust. ‘Though there is one other thing before I go. Have I ever asked you for a favour before?’
‘Dozens of times.’
‘Apart from those?’
He couldn’t help the soft snort of laughter that escaped through his nose. ‘What do you want?’
‘I’d like you to arrest Orson, please. Only my jewel chest is missing, and I think you’ll find it in his room in the toy-shop, but do hurry, Orbilio. Before that dirty thief pawns my best gems.’
*
When the Five-Headed Serpent rose from the Darkness and coiled herself round the Chaos, she created Order by dividing the sky into four holy quadrants.
From then on, Order was controlled by the sign of the cross, which signified not only the four different points of the compass, but stood for in front, behind, the left and the right, as well as the future, the past and the here and the now. Then there were the three sacred dimensions, typified by the holy trinity of Uni, Tins and Menvra. Three and four. These were the divine numbers through which Order was kept separate from Chaos and to which all gods contributed equally. Some—like Tins, who wielded the all-powerful sceptre of justice—might enjoy higher status, but the same tireless effort was required by all. Vesta must constantly watch over the fire and protect those hearths that she guarded, just as Vitumnus was obliged to breathe life into the foetus and Thalna obliged to deliver that child into the world.
But with life comes death. It is as much a part of Order as Zirna sustaining her silvery cycle and Horta giving strength to the crops. The gods of the west worked no less industriously.
The Nymphs of Prophesy conferred in hushed undertones with the Seraphs who measured the span of human life with sand that trickled through a holed jug, while the Demons of Death directed the Guardians o
f the Graves to the tombs where they must stand watch for eternity. Beside wolf-headed Aita, who judged the hearts of the dead before the Mirror of Truth, spells were cast, magic made, contingencies conjured, and there was no rest. Often Charun was required to make two trips in his boat to ferry souls to the west, such was the queue. The fountains from which the pure drank the Waters of Innocence required endless replenishment.
But while Envy and Greed stirred their sulphurous cauldrons and wraiths were guided to walk with their ancestors in the Isles of the Blessed or be chopped into pieces and burnt in the fire to annihilate their souls and their sins, a young man strode through the shadows with confidence. Like Terror and Ignorance, Rumour and Fear, the God of Revenge never slept, and all that was required to engage his services was an oath.
I have perpetrated no falsehood against man.
I have done no wrong in the Place of Truth.
Veive had heard Felix’s pledge and was duty bound to obey. It was not his task to question whether the oath was a lie. That was for wolf-headed Aita, who sat on the Throne of Reckoning.
But behind the throne, silver-haired Time sharpened his sickle and the Seraphs measured carefully the thread of one more human life.
Twenty-Four
The day of the Bridal Dance dawned murky and grey, but for the folk of Mercurium this was unimportant. The red-headed moon was the red-headed moon whether she shone brightly or not, and given that so many of their practices had been absorbed by Rome, it was no surprise that this had developed into the single most important date in the Etruscan calendar. It was a day in which to reinforce their national identity. To confirm their proud ancient heritage.
Wandering round the streets, Claudia saw that Romans, too, had become caught up in the excitement. Shops were shuttered, schools had closed, and even the commercial area around the basilica, which was entirely Roman in construction, had been given over to men, women, children, even babies, promenading with red-painted pride. Shoe points were compared, to see whose was the longest and whose curled up most at the tips. Hair fillets were scrutinized for intricacy and innovation, braiding admired round hems, the efficiency of various amulets exchanged in competitive clamour.
