'Beth took over at the same time as Rome officially took office,' she told him.
'Is that important?'
'You tell me.'
'Actually, I was rather hoping there was something you might want to tell me.'
'Such as?'
'Well, let's start with the reason you came back to Gaul. The reason, in fact, why you're here.'
The Security Spider luring the fly into his sticky little web? Honestly, Marcus! Does it look like I have wings?
'Providing you tell me why you're here,' she said sweetly.
'Because you asked me.'
'If I asked you to jump in the river, would you do that as well?'
He looked at the stream.
'My ankles would get awfully wet, but I suppose I might make the sacrifice.'
The twinkle died in his eye.
'Claudia.'
He leaned so close that she could smell his sandalwood unguent even over the smell of livestock and hay. And, she thought, maybe a faint hint of rosemary.
'For someone who flies in the face of male chauvinism herself,' he said, 'you're surprisingly antagonistic towards these priestesses and alarmingly passionate about solving this child's murder. Don't get me wrong, I find it admirable, but at the same time I can't help wondering — what does Clytie mean to you?'
There it was again. Thirteen long years ago, climbing the stairs
… opening the door…
Dammit, no matter how many times that memory flashed, it never changed and never softened. Not even in her dreams — in her nightmares — had Claudia walked into that room to find her mother laughing and happy, arms outstretched in welcome, sober and delighted to see her. The memory had stayed true in every respect. Her mother remained limp. Waxy. Somebody else.
And there was never a note beside the body.
Suddenly, the stench of congealed blood overwhelmed the scent of sandalwood and now all she could hear was the buzz, not of bees, but of blowflies. Bluebottles, gorging themselves on her mother's spent life She looked at Marcus with eyes that were as dead as her mother. As dead as the life she'd left behind.
'Nothing,' she said coldly. 'Clytie means nothing at all.'
From deep in the undergrowth, a pair of eyes that were neither green nor blue but somewhere in between followed the exchange with interest. Too far away to catch the exchange, enough words drifted across to convey the gist. That bit about insurrection was particularly interesting. As was the part about the pit.
Hidden by the thicket, his crouching figure went unnoticed by the girl as she went striding past, and half a minute maybe more passed before Pretty Boy eventually stood up, hefted the bale on to his shoulder and marched off down the path, whistling under his breath.
The eyes in the bushes might not be either truly green or truly blue.
But truly they were smiling.
The Scorpion slipped his ring back on his finger.
The hinge of the writing tablet flipped quietly open. With painstaking care, the stylus scored deep into the wax.
No secret can ever be safe.
The pen hesitated. Should it, or shouldn't it, add anything else? It tapped against the lip of the writer while it weighed up the consequences. Then, without bothering to etch another syllable, it positioned itself diagonally across the open wooden tablet.
The author took another long look round Claudia's room and, nodding in satisfaction, withdrew on silent feet.
Thirteen
In the Hall of the Pentagram, the flickering candles turned the robes of the priestesses iridescent as they took their seats round the star-shaped table. Sparkling silver next to flashing yellow. Shimmering brown beside flaming red. Sinuous black merging with silver again. But this tableau of elegance and sophistication was betrayed by the rapid amount of finger flicking, hand tossing, signing and gesticulating that passed between the five women. An infusion of lime blossom and lavender simmered softly in the corner. It did nothing to calm the mood of the meeting.
'I don't understand why this Claudia creature is so interested in Clytie,' Fearn flashed furiously.
'Is she?' Dora countered. 'So interested, I mean, rather than simply interested? After all, a twelve-year-old girl was murdered, one of our novices, then her body moved, painted and artfully arranged. Wouldn't that fire anyone's curiosity?'
'That woman doesn't strike me as the type to engage in morbid curiosity for its own sake,' Luisa signed, with an agitated fluff of her rowan-red gown.
'Typical.' Dora rolled her eyes in disgust. 'Decline has barely spoken to the girl, yet once again she's treating us with the benefit of her expert opinion.'
'My judgement's based on instinct and observation the same as yours,' Luisa retorted hotly, 'so don't you dare presume to question it.'
'It might be based on the same criteria, my dear, but it doesn't follow that it's sound.'
'The point is,' Fearn cut in, 'someone needs to tell that meddling bitch to keep her nose out of our affairs!'
'Curiosity killed the cat,' Luisa signed, looking at no one in particular.
'People come to the Hundred-Handed for guidance and healing.' Beth stood up and began to pace the room. 'They're bound to be curious about what this College stands for, its beliefs, its customs, its laws. But on this occasion I do find myself agreeing with Growth.'
Fearn gave a told-you-so toss of her raven black hair in Dora's direction. Luisa wrinkled her nose in support.
'Claudia's curiosity does bother me,' Beth added.
'She's questioned Vanessia, Aridella and Lin,' Fearn pointed out. 'She's talked to Gurdo.'
'And Mavor and Swarbric,' the Rowan Priestess listed helpfully. 'And they're just the ones that we know of.'
Beth circled the table twice then sat down, smoothing her silver gown flat.
'What convinces me that Claudia's questioning goes beyond straightforward prying is that she enquired about souls, isn't that right, Ailm?'
The Death Priestess threw her hands in the air.
'You slated me for not getting involved in the witchcraft vote, yet it's midsummer tomorrow, the second most important date in the calendar after the New Year, yet the best you can talk about is some stupid Roman who'll be gone from here in two days.'
She stood up and marched to the door, her black robes billowing behind her.
'I'll be casting the death runes if anyone wants me.'
'Ailm is right, of course,' Beth signed, as the door reverberated on its hinges, extinguishing half a dozen or more candles. 'I don't underestimate how unsettling it is for — well, all of us to have a stranger stirring up this unfortunate tragedy, but we do need to maintain perspective.'
She glanced at Dora, who stared impassively back.
'If, after two days, you wish to call another Pentagram, Fearn, should the problem still persist, then you may do so. Until then, though, and since my vote is worth three and Ailm's opinion we know, I declare this assembly null and void, and since it never took place, we will not speak of it again.'
'Now can I go and get my lunch?' Dora asked aloud, and though it was to Fearn and Luisa that her words were addressed, it was to the Head of the College that her fingers signalled once behind her back. The message that the priestess flashed was simple.
Thank you.'
Fourteen
With the approach of midsummer, preparations for the solstice were in full swing. Alternating between the force of her personality and her stentorian tones, Dora had conscripted a large percentage of the priestesses to help organize the festival that was dedicated to the mighty oak and everything it stood for. Leading her troops down the cliff and over the bridge towards the Field of Celebration, maturity, strength, courage and endurance would be the theme for a range of activities that would last a full twenty-four hours, commencing at sunset with the one event universal to all religious beliefs. The bonfire.