Stone Cold

'Thank you.' He responded with all the grace of a man used to receiving compliments, but for whom they had little meaning.

'I recognize that outfit,' she said, peering over his shoulder to the scene he was painting. 'Marcia wore that robe to the banquet.'

'Did she?' He continued to define the features of the face. 'I don't remember.'

Not just the scarlet gown, either. He'd captured every detail from the silver tiara to her cerise slippers, even down to the engravings and whorls on her bracelets. It was just unfortunate that the face, though undoubtedly well executed and undeniably stunning, happened to be two decades younger than the woman who'd worn that eye-catching outfit. What was wrong with growing old?

'I lose track of time,' Hor added wistfully.

And he wasn't the only one, she thought, leaving him to it. Without doubt, Marcia would accept that lovely unlined face as hers. In fact, Claudia saw a time — not far off, either — when mirrors would be phased out of Marcia's life. Once she was no longer capable of luring young men (like the unfortunate Garro) into her bed and was forced to hire gigolos, she would have no need of mirrors. Instead, she would surround herself with people offering constant reassurance of her loveliness, and just a short stroll round this tomb would corroborate their lies.

Here, Marcia never grew old.

Here, she remained young and beautiful, for ever rich, for ever cherished, and only those around her would know differently.

But! Claudia set off in the direction of the menagerie. She'd come down here to find Hannibal, and Hannibal wasn't here. Frankly, she hadn't been a bit surprised when she had returned to the Forum shortly after midday and found Junius waiting alone outside the basilica.

'Hannibal's gone back to the villa,' he'd said.

'Now why doesn't that surprise me,' she'd muttered under her breath.

But how strange. Having searched high and low, he was nowhere to be found. Dammit, Hannibal, you're here somewhere, I bloody know it! Across the far side of the pond, now every bit as pink as the flamingoes that were giving their wing feathers a last fluff before bed, gazelles flicked off flies with their stunted, wagging tails as they grazed with quiet elegance, blissfully unaware of the cheetah's ever-vigilant gaze. But still no Hannibal.

'There, there, my pretty-pretty,' a monotone cooed behind one of the walls. 'There, there, my pretty girl.'

Claudia peered over, expecting to see Qeb with something small and furry in his hands, and recoiled instantly.

'It's a king cobra,' he said.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor of the enclosure, the setting sun reflecting cherry-red off his gleaming, shaven skull, he held the snake behind its head with one hand and stroked the loose skin that flared into a hood when threatened with the other. Interestingly, he didn't lift his eyes to meet hers once, although, to be fair, that might have had something to do with the creature in his hands.

'Venomous, although primarily it eats other snakes.'

'How reassuring.'

The damned thing had to be at least twice as long as Qeb was high, and he wasn't a small man. Six foot if he was an inch!

'Cobra venom paralyses the nerve centres that control the heart and lungs, did you know that?'

Claudia looked into the cold, bronze eyes of the cobra and thought, hell, the bloody thing wouldn't even need to bite.

'The spitting cobra is even more fascinating.' Qeb continued to stroke the snake's hood as though it was a kitten he held in his hands. 'That's capable of spraying venom from a distance of up to eight feet — '

Claudia took a step backwards.

'- and aims for the eyes, causing immense pain and temporary blindness.'

Lovely. Paris makes love to his statues, Qeb makes love to his snakes. Who said this wasn't a progressive society? Claudia wound her way up the path back to the villa. She knew who had made the attempt on her life this morning, and she knew why, but more importantly she was well aware that the killer wouldn't give up just because she'd had a lucky escape. What had gone through that murderous mind, she wondered, when it was obvious the plan had failed? Killers can't afford to hang around, for fear of being identified, because no matter who or what your status Rome doesn't take very kindly to its citizens being picked off in broad daylight. The killer would have bolted like the rat that they were, but she had no doubts her would-be executioner would try again. Only this time she would be waiting. Waiting, and ready to turn the tables on this person who valued human life so very lightly…

'Ah, there you are, Hannibal.'

To his credit, he actually jumped.

'Madam!' By the light of the torch flickering in the sconce on the wall, she could see the colour that flushed his cheeks darken to the hue of cut peat then spread all the way down to his neck. 'I–I didn't expect to see you there.'

No, I'll bet you bloody didn't.

'Sorry to startle you,' she said sweetly.

Although quite how else he could have been expected to react, she couldn't imagine, since she'd been standing behind that laurel for half an hour, until he eventually emerged from a certain door at the far end of the east wing.

'Only I have a favour to ask.'

Hannibal smoothed back his hair with his hand and adjusted his buckle. 'Ask away, madam, ask away. I am yours to command,' he added, with a theatrical bow. 'Even at one lonely sestertius a day'

Claudia drew a deep breath and forced herself to respond to his clowning with a smile. Since it made her cheeks ache, she stopped. 'I want you to forget about finding my father-'

Frown lines furrowed Hannibal's weathered brow. 'Don't tell me that scoundrel had reliable information after all?'

'Oh, my, you'll never believe what happened there!' Claudia rolled her eyes and wondered whether any of her ancestors had been actors. 'For a start, that idiot guide led me to the opposite end of the temple from where your informant was waiting, but the worst part, Hannibal, this HUUUGE lump of masonry fell off the platform, and, of course, this brought people running — ' he'd never know that was a lie — 'which scared your informant away. Anyway, the thing is… Hannibal, are you listening to me?'

'What? Oh, yes. Yes, of course, dear lady, of course. You want me to forget about tracing your father.'

'I do. You see, Vincentrix went to a lot of trouble to seek me out in Santonum yesterday morning.' She paused, picturing Everyman with his lime-whitened hair and pantaloons tucked into his boots, confiding the heartache of his tragic marriage as they munched sweetmeats by the river. 'He wanted to know what I could tell him about the Scarecrow, but all I could pass on was what Marcia told me. Namely, that this character lives in the forest and, whilst creepy, seems perfectly harmless.'

'Though not without cunning,' Hannibal muttered. 'Stella informs me that her elegant cousin regularly despatches trackers to hunt down this fellow and drive him out of her woods, but as fast as the dogs pick up his spoor they lose it again. There is only one possible conclusion to be drawn. Our friend the Scarecrow employs a substance to put the hounds off the scent. But I am curious, madam. Why should the Collegiate of Druids be interested in the wild man of the woods?'

The very question Claudia had put to Vincentrix, because clearly the Scarecrow wasn't Santon or the locals would know all about him — and if the locals knew, so, of course, would the Druids — and it was unlikely the most powerful Gaul in Aquitania had nothing better to do than satisfy an idle curiosity about a person who didn't remotely concern him.

'It would appear that a number of young women have gone missing lately,' she told Hannibal. 'Late last spring, the sister of a man who makes millstones disappeared, but it seems she'd always had a wanderlust and everyone assumed she'd just taken the first boat out of here, and, who knows, maybe they were right. Then the wife of a root-cutter left without a word, but, again, she was a flighty piece, often running off with different men, so no one gave her leaving a second thought.'