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 lamp-lit 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 fiance?' He stressed the last word.
'With my fiance.' 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 toyshop, 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 of 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.