Dark Horse

But come on. He couldn't. He wouldn't. Not Silvia.

Could he?

Silvia was only six when Lydia had married his cousin, but despite limited family contact, these two would still have known one another from childhood. Who knows what went through his mind, seeing her again out of the blue? Claudia became aware of a nasty taste in her mouth. Marcus was no longer a set product of his class. Convention didn't matter to him and he wouldn't give a tinker's damn that disgrace clung to her like a second skin. If she was the woman he wanted. Claudia felt the return of the needle which had jabbed when his lips closed over the Ice Queen's.

'… there was a child,' Silvia's sexy damaged voice was saying.

'There was what?' The baritone ceased being a rumble.

'A boy,' she began, but at that moment, Orbilio turned and saw Claudia on her knees at the open door. She knew what he'd do. He'd shoot her a glance which was both admonishing and amused. She'd indicate her sandal as though to say look, stone in my shoe. His left eyebrow would say like hell there was and, then, with a twinkle in his eye and a twitch at the side of his mouth, he'd close the door ever so gently in Claudia's face.

Which he did. Closed it, that is. But there was no amusement on his face, only a look like thunder, and he did not shut the door gently, either. He slammed it so hard, the hinges feared for their lives.

'You sent for me, madam?'

In daylight, Junius's injuries looked even worse. His left cheek was up like a puffball, the eye half closed and purple. My, my. That was some punch Leo had packed.

'It's just as well you don't work here,' she told him, clicking her fingers for him to follow her into the herb garden. 'Leo would have had you sold at the auction block for clashing with the estate livery.'

Was that a smile which flickered at the corner of his lips, or a grimace of pain from the place where Leo's punch had connected? You couldn't tell with the Gaul, enigmatic wasn't the word. High, wide and handsome, the bodyguard did a bloody good job, keeping tight to his mistress as though expecting an assault on her life any moment. Yet you couldn't accuse him of being over zealous. Conscientious, but in an intense, absorbed sort of way. Any other chap, of course, and Claudia might have suspected him of carrying a torch, the way his blue eyes fixed on her with an expression of solemnity bordering on pain. But good heavens, Junius must be four years younger than her — and what boy of that age lusts after mares, when there's a whole paddock of fillies out there?

'Now then.' Stripping leaves from a hyssop, she mashed them with water from the fountain and rubbed it into his bruises. 'Your honest opinion, Junius. Do you think you can row us to the mainland in the dark?'

The Gaul puffed out his cheeks. 'It's got to be at least fifteen miles,' he said, 'and after this latest attack, there's no guarantee the villages will be lit at night to act as a guide. So, no, madam. It's far too dangerous and I really wouldn't care to risk it.'

Clearly, if a girl wants an honest opinion she's going to have to give it to him herself!

'Moonrise at the cove it is, then. Be there, or I'll row off without you.'

How hard can it be, pulling on two lumps of wood for fifteen miles?

'In the meantime, I have another little job for you. Er, did I just see your shoulders slump?'

'Me? No, madam. Certainly not.'

'Then why are you frowning?'

'Squinting, madam. Against the sun.'

'You're standing in the shade, but it doesn't matter, Junius. You are still going to do it.'

'Do what?' he whispered hoarsely, and look how fast the hyssop poultice worked, because even the swelling had turned pale. 'With respect, madam, I've already picked a fight with an aristocrat and sawn a hole in his ship.'

'Yes, and now you're going to search Orbilio's room.'

'Why?' he rasped.

Leaning her hip against the white marble sundial as a scramble of white roses offered up their fragrance in a perfumed libation to Apollo, Claudia thought that was pretty obvious. 'Because I want to know how much he's got on me, of course.'

'No, madam, I meant why me?' Through the gate, the young Gaul glanced nervously across to the portico, where Marcus Cornelius had returned to stare at the marble frieze of the Odyssey. 'If he catches me, a common slave, searching not only a patrician's belongings, but Security Police papers as well-'

'He's too busy thawing icicles to bother about that,' Claudia assured him, 'and excuse me, I won't have it bandied abroad that any of my slaves are common! Now chop, chop, Junius. I'd do it myself, only I have to check something out before we go.'

'Dawn would be less chancy, madam.'

'No wonder Rome conquered Gaul. The place is teeming with wimps. Now, if you could just take my trunk down to the cove? Plus my leather travelling satchel, a couple of blankets in case it turns cool, some cushions to sit on, don't forget Drusilla — she'll be hard to round up if you wait until vole time — and that golden statuette in the atrium.'

Which ought to sort out four, if not five, angry creditors.

'Statuette, madam?'

'Next to the left-hand pillar as you go in, the one with Persephone holding a pomegranate in her outstretched hand, but you're right. Bring that gold unicorn with you, as well.'

That should keep another three sweet.

'Unicorn…'

'Leo specifically wanted me to have it. He said, and I quote, if anything happened to him… Anyway, while you're about it, you might pack a light picnic for the journey. Half a dozen meat pies would be nice. Two or three cheeses. A chicken. Ham. One of those big smoked liver sausages I saw hanging from a hook in the kitchens. Some wine and honey cakes would go down well, one of those big crusty olive loaves, and I saw them stuffing dates with almond paste yesterday, so you can pick up ajar of those as well. Yes, and don't forget we'll need a jug of wine. Oh, and Junius?'

'M-madam?'

'Close your mouth, please. You look like a goldfish.'

Thirty-One

On the grassy shores of a small island many leagues south of Cressia, Jason lay on his back, his shirt open to the waist, one knee raised, the other ankle resting on it. His hands were laced across his eyes to shield them from the fierce rays of the sun, and a wolfhound snoozed at his side. Music and laughter floated out from a tavern in the village beyond, but not so loud that they drowned the splash of terns diving into the shallow lagoon or the snoring of the taverner's dog.

He lay there, chewing on a leaf of the mint which rampaged across the island, and considered the tall and graceful woman who had given birth to him thirty-three years before. Nearly five years had passed since he'd seen her, and although the High Priestess had insisted the cough had been curable, his mind would not be at rest until he saw for himself. Sixteen hundred miles away, all he could do was pray to the moon goddess, Acca, to keep her devoted priestess safe and well — and make sacrifices to Targitaos, the sun god, that her warrior son would acquit himself well in her name.

Targitaos had listened to his entreaties. Thanks to his offerings, the sun god had kept the warrior in the peak of good health, made his muscles strong, his mind a powerhouse and, had he not been cheated out of what was rightfully his, Jason would be back home in Colchis already.