If he was innocent, he'd have plenty of time to ask himself who set him up. And if six stalwarts of the community had independently testified in open court that they'd seen him taking money that he hadn't taken, surely, he'd argue, it must be to cover their own tracks? Felix wouldn't know why and by the time his ten years were up, he'd care even less. In fact, after ten years breaking rocks it's doubtful he'd care about anything. He'd be released devoid of feelings, of all emotions, save one: revenge. Revenge, which he plots like a draughtsman as he sets out to destroy those who destroyed him.
Nice hypothesis, she thought as they approached the hot springs, only there was a problem. Darius has money. Lots of money, in fact, and this wasn't the first time she'd questioned his wealth. One of her earliest actions had been to check on the artisans who'd carried out the renovation work and confirm that the bills hadn't been charged to her. But no. The men had been paid cash for their efforts. (An opportunity Felix would surely not have overlooked, had the poor man but known he could have bankrupted what was left of Gaius's estate!)
Fine. If Darius is who he claims to be, his hands might well be as tough as those of a man who'd spent the last decade mining ore, and his skin might well be naturally tanned, rather than quickly brought up to colour quickly after being bleached from living underground like a mole. But if Felix was masquerading as Darius, how did he get his hands on so much cash? Felix's assets had been stripped from him, every last copper quadran. It's why his parents were thrown out of their home. Why Mariana couldn't afford a place of her own, or pay for a physician to guide her through childbirth. It was money, or rather lack of it, which cost her life and probably that of her child.
And there lay the root of the problem. The Felix who stood trial twelve years ago could not possibly afford to install Candace in Larentia's life, much less fund major renovations at the villa. Plus changing names, appearance, indeed planning every last detail entailed an awful lot of hard work and effort for a man who was guilty! So could Claudia be wrong about Darius? Could Felix be innocent after all?
Yes, of course.
And the sun would shine right through the night, and the moon would drop out of the sky!
Claudia leaned back in the gig and stretched her feet out on the buckboard. This ought to work out quite nicely. Swap Felix for a clean sheet and I'm home and dry on the Security Police front! Not that she'd wanted to spring Felix on him as a total surprise. Humiliation is never an asset in one's quest for a deal. But she was proud of the way she'd laid the foundations.
If you were a seasoned soldier, a general for instance, how would you kill somebody on a dark, stormy night?
By raising the question, it would occur to Marcus Cornelius sooner or later that, had Rex wanted to kill Lichas, he would have killed him. No messing, the boy would have been dead. None of this stab 'em and dump 'em stuff. Rex would claim self-defence and who wouldn't have believed his story? Even Rosenna couldn't be certain her brother hadn't picked a fight with the wrong man. Same with Tages. He jumped me, I killed him. Quite right. National heroes do not hide murder. Rex would have left the bodies in the open as proof.
'Stop,' she ordered the driver. 'Pull over to the side for a minute.'
Through the willows and poplars she'd noticed a soft, swirling ribbon of mist as the steam rose from the river and the air had filled with the sound of water rushing over the rocks, and the faint smell of sulphur. Everything hinges on these wretched hot springs; they were central to every move in the game — and every player. Eunice and Lars. Hadrian and Lichas. Darius and Candace. Thalia and her husband. Terrence, who owned the land, while even Rex feared Candace would be accessing the Gateway to the Underworld here. What was the old war horse worried about, Claudia wondered? Was it genuine altruistic concern, in his capacity as influential patrician, about a possible resurgence in local superstition that would put a barrier between Etruscan and Roman? Or something deeper, and far more personal?
Through the archway that led to the square of Lavernium, she watched acrobats tumble and jugglers tossing cups, while actors in cork masks performed humorous mimes and dancers swirled and gyrated in rainbow tunics shot with silver and gold.
'Judith and Ezekiel,' she murmured softly. 'Judith and bloody Ezekiel!'
'What was that, miss?'
'Nothing.' She indicated for the driver to move on. 'I thought I recognized some friends of mine, that's all.'
It wasn't the Hebrew twins in person, of course. They were firmly ensconced back at the villa, going through their creepy paces as usual. But the performers in the square made the connection in her mind — all the performers, as it happened — and a slow smile settled over Claudia's face as another piece of the puzzle dropped into place.
High in the sky, the moon prepared to comb her lovely red hair.
Twenty-Five
Boom, boom, boom-a-doom-a-dum-dum.
The pounding of the drums, soft and insistent, cut through the night like a heartbeat.
Boom, boom, boom-a-doom-a-dum-dum.
There was no blare of trumpets, no clashing of cymbals to signal that the transition from the day spent rejoicing in Etruscan heritage had become the night when Fufluns was worshipped. Just the lazy brush of stick against stretched animal skin.
Boom, boom, boom-a-doom-a-dum-dum.
Over and over again.
A hush descended on the sanctuary. A thousand people fell silent. The flames on the torches were dimmed. Sacred incense wafted over the precinct, a heady blend of frankincense, cedar, cinnamon and juniper, and in the Pool of Plenty, where moths fluttered round the floral garlands that wreathed the marble satyrs and nymphs, the moon reflected silver and proud. As the drumbeats continued to pound, a procession emerged from the darkness. Priests in mitres descended the steps, followed by acolytes in soft caps, and now chanting filled the air from the choir, soft, wordless, like a gentle exhalation of musical breath. A whisper. A blessing. A boon. His long robes swishing the ground, Tarchis stepped forward, raised his hands to the heavens and made the sign of the cross.
'Today the powers of Zirna have proved greater than Her brother Aplu's,' he pronounced, 'for the Moon Goddess has sent His clouds scurrying and captured the stars for Her own.'
These were good portents, he added solemnly, not just for the Bridal Dance, but for the fruit of the vineyards and the fruitfulness of the earth.
'Through Silver Zirna, the sky gods have given the Marriage of Fufluns Their blessing. Let the ceremony begin.'
In a finger-snap, reverence gave way to revelry as the musicians upped tempo, the choir lifted their voices and the whole crowd began to clap, cheer and stamp their feet. Sulphur was sprinkled on to the torches and, as the flames flared, a gilded litter appeared at the entrance to the temple. On the litter sat the famous red idol of Fufluns, so heavy it required a score of muscular bearers to manoeuvre it down the steep steps.
'By the Falcon of the Sun, by the Vultures of the Moon,' Claudia whispered, 'I know how you do it.'
'What do you know, my child?'
There it was. That deep, rich smile that never quite made the journey to her eyes. Was it the smile of a cold, scheming bitch, milking the gullible for all they were worth? A smile tempered by caution, lest human emotions betray the facade? Or was Candace hiding something? Even — possibly — scared? Claudia thought back to that first night she'd summoned the spirits and the feline look she'd held with Darius. She remembered the hot springs and the long, evaluating glance she'd given him from the corner of her eye, and to his granite gaze as she swept into the bath house, flanked by her silent servants. Claudia was wrong. Candace wasn't his mistress…