Throw her arms around his neck was what she did.
'You don't understand,' he said, disentangling himself.
'Course I do and it's bound to tickle, a big bump like that. But better I whacked you one than have the gang see you, cos I know what that ugly bastard's like. Dunno what me mam sees in him, I really don't. He'd have slit your throat, my lord, as soon as say hello-'
'Marcus. Call me Marcus, please.'
'Then Marcus it shall be, my lord, but I've had a good old poke around the boat yard, and wherever he's keeping that poor little mite, it ain't in there. Any luck your end?'
'Not a bloody thing,' he admitted ruefully.
Taking Black Eyes' advice, he'd made no mention to anyone in authority that he was investigating the abduction of small children, instead letting it be known around the bath houses in Santonum that if anyone knew where he could find young flesh, and the younger the better, wink wink, he would appreciate it. But the only thing he'd been met with was revulsion, and who could blame them?
'There's more bad news,' he told Zina. 'Despite reporting the fact that I'd seen a body in the river as I was taking a midnight stroll along the bank, Rintox hasn't washed up.' He wasn't sure how to phrase the next bit. 'The thing is-'
'It takes three days for the gases to build inside as the body rots,' she said bluntly.
He had forgotten that she'd lived beside the Carent all her life.
'I'm just hoping that when he bloats up, we'll be able to fish him out and bury him, poor bugger. Cos if we don't, he'll not find reincarnation. He was a lazy git, Rintox, like I said, but he don't deserve not to find eternal peace.'
Orbilio had never been convinced of the logic behind this reincarnation lark. Peace, Zina called it, but as far as he could see life was one long, lonely, uphill struggle — which the Gauls seemed to want to keep repeating. Stepping out on to the balcony, he saw that she'd already installed a pot brimming with marigolds and asters. They really needed to have a talk, Black Eyes and him!
'It's such fun, this Fire Festival,' she said, stepping out to join him.
Beyond the basilica, smoke rose from the Great Inferno in the Forum, which would burn until daybreak tomorrow. This was the time of year when people began to work by candlelight and these roaring, spitting flames were lit as an auspicious start to the closing of the summer.
'All our shrines are stuck out in the middle of the forest,' Zina said. 'Takes all bloody day to hoof out there, and ain't as though you can understand a word the Druids say.' The fringe of her short skirt vibrated distractingly as she jumped up and down. 'I much prefer the idea of celebrating Hammer God Day with races and dancing!'
Young and vibrant, she would, of course, and in another twenty years, the whole of Aquitania would be scornful of the old ways, of furtive practices carried out in secrecy and silence by a priesthood that hardly anyone remembered. Already, for a nation new to public spectacles, the concept of Games was opening up a whole world of fresh horizons.
'Chariot races, horse races, foot races, I can't wait for this afternoon,' she said, clapping her hands in delight. 'Oh, Marcus, my lord.' She slipped her arms round his waist and nuzzled her head against his shoulders. 'Isn't this just wonderful?'
'Yes, Marcus, my lord, isn't this just wonderful?' a voice cooed from below.
'Claudia!' He took the stairs three at a time. 'Claudia, it's not what you think.'
'And what do I think, Marcus, my lord, when I see you standing on a bedroom balcony draped around a pretty girl whose hair is as loose as her morals? By the way, I do hope it's a quality place that you've rented.'
He made a sweeping gesture with his hand. 'A man of my stature settles for nothing less than the best.'
'Best, as in more fleas per square inch?'
'Keeps a chap warm in the winter.'
'Yes, and talking of fires — ' She indicated the massive bonfire burning in the Forum — 'did you know that in the olden days people didn't just throw fish into the flames like we do today, they used to toss small animals in, as well? I'm thinking of rats, in particular.'
'That's not fair!' He spiked his hands through his hair, and wished now he'd taken that bloody girl after all. 'There's a lot more to Zina than meets the eye.'
'Really? Looks to me like you can see most of it through that flimsy handkerchief that passes as a frock.'
'You know full well that all Gaulish women wear their skirts short, and, dammit, you've no right to question my private life. Not when your relationship with that — that — ' he jerked his thumb at the sandy-haired Gaul scowling at him from lowered brows — ’boy is the talk of the whole bloody town.'
Claudia seemed intent on examining a piece of jewellery around her wrist, a silver band which wrapped round twice, rather like a snake, and which was etched with whorls and inset with red enamel.
'Did you know the Gauls believe dwarves have healing powers?' she asked sweetly. 'I must remember that, next time I see one clowning in the theatre. See how healthy the rest of the troupe is and make comparisons.'
There was an ugliness surfacing in Orbilio that he was not proud of, but the mental images that confronted him — the two of them entwined, bedsheets askew, as the candle flame burned ever lower — were too powerful to ignore.
'Well?' he persisted. 'You could at least deny the rumour.'
'Orbilio, I have no intention whatsoever of discussing the relationship between my bodyguard and myself,' she said cheerfully. 'And certainly not in the sense you're suggesting.'
Contrition overwhelmed him. For Croesus sake, what got into him — and what the hell was he thinking of, prying into her sex life? What she did in the privacy of her own bedroom wasn't any of his bloody business!
'I am so sorry,' he said, and he meant it. 'When I used the word relationship, I wasn't talking any "sense" in particular-'
'Do you ever?'
Her eyes defied him to follow her as she disappeared into the celebrating crowd.
For the children, especially, the idea of spending weeks making their own offerings to throw into the fire had been particularly successful. Some of the older boys had carved elaborate wooden fish or animals to burn, while the girls had sewn or knitted theirs (with the aid of patient mothers), though the youngest simply tossed in whatever they'd been given. For most Santon children, this was their first experience of a party held right there in the middle of the street, to which everybody was invited, young or old, rich or poor, sick or ailing. There was music, made by all kinds of instruments. Trumpets, horns, pan-pipes, cymbals; there were harpists on the steps of this temple, lyre players on the steps of that; dancers everywhere. Some were costumed, some were masked, some mimed stories as they leaped, others performed breathtaking balletic feats and everywhere, but everywhere, there was food. Hot sausages, chilled wine, crumbly pies and crusty bread, sweet cakes made with almonds, honey, wine or dates, savouries filled with cheese or nuts or olives.
Through the giant flames, Claudia could see Stella's brood tossing their offerings into the fire, their eyes wide and shining as Hannibal guided their childish throws so they would hit the target. Balanced on the crow's nest of his shoulders, the littlest one clung on with fists clenched white, chortling merrily as his fish-shaped pastry landed in the middle and exploded with a whoosh that suggested Hannibal had filled the little chap's offering with oil. By his side, Stella clapped and laughed. She was dressed in Roman garb again, her dark, glossy hair pinned up in tight, obedient curls secured with pins of the finest ivory, and her tunic had been girdled in the latest fashion with the exact number of pleats that this year's style dictated, with the embroidery just so and a gold border round the hem and neck, and, just like at the banquet, she looked the prosperous, neat, attractive cousin she was meant to be. But again, just like at the banquet, it was as though the essence of the girl had been ironed out of her. How much longer, Claudia wondered, before Marcia sucked the whole lot out?