Stone Cold

'That old wives' tale?' Stella giggled. 'No, no, that's Marcia's doing. If Jupiter himself will have no other herb to sweep his table, why should she settle for anything less?' The vitality suddenly popped like a bubble. 'Why?' she asked wearily. 'Why did he just walk out without a bloody word?'

The lump in Claudia's throat tightened like a knot.

'Another woman?' Stella sighed. 'Was he in some kind of trouble? Why couldn't he have just left an explanation?'

Why, indeed, she thought, and the knot just got tighter.

'Doesn't he care at all, that the older ones still cry themselves to sleep at night? That he's consigned my girls to wearing clothes they hate, living rigid lives with frigid masters that they might grow up with all the privileges money can buy, but no spirit?' The freckles stood stark on Stella's face. 'Did he hate us? Hate me and wanted to punish me? I don't understand. We were fine. Nothing magical, I grant you, and something must have been building up that I didn't see, but until you have five kids running amok and a sixth kicking your belly-button inside out, you can't know what it's like, and it's not as though it was me who kept pushing for the large family.'

Trapped. Trapped and caged like the lovebirds in Marcia's aviary, pretty and spirited, but doomed all the same, and yes, what kind of bastard does that? Until now, Claudia had envied Stella, believing that a note saying "sorry" was better than no note at all. She was wrong. Her father (assuming he had walked out) had entrusted his daughter to her mother's care, and at least her mother had waited until Claudia was old enough to take care of herself before slitting her wrists. A butterfly fluttered off from the heliotrope, taking every ounce of Claudia's self-pity with it. Orphaned, she was at least free to make her own decisions. Decide who she married, what she did with her future, how she earned her living. Stella's husband had left her high and dry. Unable to divorce him. Unable to remarry. Unprepared and ill-equipped for taking over his business, until the family became a victim of Marcia's charity, the coldest charity of all.

'I don't know whether this is some kind of sick control he's exercising,' Stella added wearily, 'but what he can possibly gain by making his children suffer, I have no idea.'

Claudia rubbed weary eyes. 'You're going to have to stop lying to them, you know that? You're going to have to tell them the truth about their father's absence, because four years is a long time to be stringing them along and children aren't stupid.'

'You're right.' Stella sighed. 'Hannibal said the very same thing, said if I didn't do it quickly, the danger was they'd turn against me for betraying them.'

Hannibal wasn't wrong. 'Have you seen him recently?'

'Uh-uh.' A soft smile played at the corner of Stella's lips. 'In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he hasn't gone roving again. Have you ever known a man with such itchy feet?'

'Probably not, dear lady,' a familiar voice boomed, 'probably not, but restless though my poor body is, I am not a pack mule. Even I cannot remain on the move all the time.' He turned the corner into view, balancing the littlest one on his shoulders. 'Think of the strain on my poor weary legs, not to mention my wallet.' he cast an oblique glance at Claudia. 'And, in any case, Stella my star, Hannibal never leaves without saying goodbye.'

Fond farewells were the least of Stella's concern. 'What happened to my son?' she squealed, jumping to her feet.

'Small boys, I fear, are like pigs, in that they are addicted to rolling in mud.' Hannibal tickled a little fat midriff and was rewarded with a loud chuckle in his left ear.

'I'm a pig, I'm a pig.' To the chuckles were added a series of snorts. 'Oink, oink, oink, Mummy. Oink, oink.'

'I'll turn you both into bacon,' Stella exploded, as he was heaved down. 'Marcia will be needing that tomb tomorrow, if she catches you in this state,' she scolded her son, 'and as for you!' She rolled her eyes at Hannibal. 'That tunic is filthy! Give it here before Marcia sees it or you'll be banned from the house. You know how she baulks at the slightest imperfection.'

'Now, Stella my star? Here? And in public?'

'Yes, of course, now, here and in public' Stella unbuckled his belt as though he was just another one of her brood she was undressing. 'It's a lovely warm day, you'll have it on your back within a couple of hours.'

She didn't even blink at the lean, tanned torso that was revealed, or the strong sinewy arms that had been previously hidden by baggy sleeves.

'Now, what's this little piggy been up to, eh?' She tucked the three-year-old under her arm like a bedroll and carried him back to the house. 'Oink, oink, little piggy-wig.'

'Oink, oink,' the bedroll echoed back. 'Oink, oink, oink.'

Once they'd rounded the corner, Hannibal flopped on to the bench beside Claudia. 'You have no idea how exhausting that tribe can be, madam, no idea at all. Tell me,' he leaned sideways and lowered his voice to a whisper, 'are there really only six of them, or does the witch keep another set indoors as a spare?'

Oh, Hannibal, Hannibal, what sorrow you sow…

'Like the horses of the Gaulish sun god, they feed in special pastures overnight to replenish their energy,' she quipped. 'What did you find out about the Scarecrow?'

'Well, for a start, it would seem your Druid friend's tally is correct.' He reached for a spiced sausage. 'First, the sister of a man who made millstones went missing. Number two was the root-cutter's wife. Three was a young woman who used to churn cheeses. Number four was the tanner's daughter, Brigetia, who was due to be married to a local boy called Orix. And, finally, the fifth victim is the granddaughter of an old woman who'd passed her basket weaving skills down through the family. Sadly, the old dame died of a broken heart,' Hannibal added, munching his way through a plate of rissoles, 'and I understand the root-cutter has not been the same since his wife disappeared, either, despite her reputation for lifting her skirts at the blink of an eye.'

The tavern-keeper's words replayed in Claudia's memory. It's never just one man, she had said. It's always somebody's father and somebody's son, a brother, a lover, a friend. Let it go. Wise words, because it was never simply an isolated incident. Whole families are destroyed in the process, and if Claudia was unable to let go of the past, how on earth could these families hope to move on?

'I'm told the Druids conducted a thorough investigation after each girl's disappearance, but no traces of violence were found. No blood, no trampled undergrowth or broken branches to suggest these women had fought for their lives, and, since there were no signs of struggle in their homes, it was accepted they'd plotted in advance to elope.'

'Bollocks. Even the most hot-headed lovers will take some cherished possession with them.'

'Ah, but there speaks the voice of wisdom and experience,' Hannibal intoned, reaching for a plum. 'These villagers have not travelled further than Santonum. They do not understand the significance, not so much of these girls' disappearances, but the manner of them.'

Something uncoiled in her stomach. 'You mean…?'

Perhaps the plum was bitter, because he tossed it into a bush. 'They were stalked, madam. Like hinds at a drinking pool, someone watched them, followed them, knew their every move.'

'Knew when and where to strike.'

'Precisely so, dear lady, precisely so.' He drew a deep and thoughtful breath. 'And there is a common denominator among these missing creatures. The ladies in question were not necessarily beautiful, but each was without blemish and in the richness of youth. In short, madam — ' He filled his glass — 'they were plucked in full bloom.'

Silence descended, in which the only sounds were bees buzzing from plant to plant heavy with pollen, and the distant low of cattle in the water meadows.

'Tell me,' Claudia said eventually, 'if you were a tribune in the army, how come you wear a tunic with narrow purple stripes?'