Luci giggled. 'She won't believe what she's seeing.'
'Precisely.' He ruffled her blonde curls. 'Then afterwards you and I shall sneak off and stuff ourselves with sweetmeats and sherbets until honey drips out of our ears.'
'Sweetmeats and sherbets?'
'Every day, if you play the same game on your mother.'
'I like that game, but if it makes me burp I'll tell Mummy that it's your fault.'
'My shoulders are broad, young lady, my shoulders are broad.'
The Scarecrow watched as the man hefted her on to them to prove his point, felt a stab under his ribcage as she squealed in delight. Of all the children, this little cherub whose innocence burst out of every hop, skip and jump — this one, oh, this one was special. They called her Luci, he'd noticed, and a lump formed in his throat. He had another name for the child. Belisana. After the goddess whose name meant 'the Bright One', for Belisana equated with sunshine and happiness, gentleness and warmth, qualities this child possessed in abundance.
'Belisana,' he whispered. 'Dear, sweet Belisana
His reverie was interrupted by the arrival of the girl's mother, wiping her work-reddened hands on her gown and shrieking in mock horror. 'Gracious me, what terrible visitation have the gods inflicted on me? This morning I had three boys and three girls, now I have four boys! Oh, it's you, Luci! What on earth are you doing up there, with your dress tucked into your knicker cloth?'
'Riding Pegasus!'
Her mount duly whinnied and neighed.
'Well, you can jolly well drop down from the saddle and give the floors a good sweeping. I've left the broom by the door.'
'But Auntie Marcia bought us slaves to do those jobs.'
'Indeed she did, but you'll never know the value of hard work if you don't experience it, so off you go, you idle monster. And no sweeping the dust under the rugs, either!'
'What of Pegasus, Stella, my star?' the man intoned, lowering himself to his knees. 'Do you have any tasks this fine stallion can put his hoof to?'
'Didn't they teach you anything in the army, Hannibal?' Stella laughed. 'Such as never, ever volunteer?'
'I never volunteer,' Luci confided in a loud whisper as she clambered down off his back, 'but look at the chores I get lumbered with!'
One day, her hair would darken to the deep, glossy brown of her mother's, the Scarecrow realized. The plumpness would fade from her cheeks and her figure would achieve the same stunning curves as the woman who was pretending to throw her arms up in despair. When that day dawned, this rosy-cheeked child would metamorphose into a beautiful, beautiful woman — but right now, the only thing the Scarecrow knew was that when Belisana coiled her little arms round the man's neck and smacked a wet kiss against his leathery cheek the pain inside was too hard to bear. With tears coursing down his face, the Scarecrow stumbled back into the woods.
'Marcus!'
Among the thick, swirling steam and rich, scented oils that clouded the air of the villa's bath house, her deep, almost masculine voice made him jump.
'How lovely to have you return to the fold!' Marcia settled herself on the bench beside the hot tub and crossed her legs. Behind her, billowing in and out of the mist, painted horses galloped over the walls as the Amazons charged down in their war chariots. It came as no surprise to Orbilio that, at the head of the column, Marcia was holding a whip in her left hand, or that her wheels were crushing the life out of a luckless Athenian.
'We've missed you,' she said.
'Nnnnnn.'
He bared his teeth in what he hoped was a smile. Mother of Tarquin, it wasn't enough that he was lying naked in the bath in front of his hostess. The wretched woman had only brought her whole bloody entourage into the room, and he regretted, now, the diet of stodge he'd been living on this past week while he kept up surveillance. Every fat-sodden sausage and honey-drenched cake seemed to be on public display round his midriff, and it was no consolation that Marcia's gaze wasn't actually on his waistline. None at all. Not when it had drifted a lot further south!
'Don't get out on my account, Marcus. You enjoy a long wallow while I give Tarbel his orders, then I'll let you into the secret about what my little soothsayer's been up to.'
Listening to her organize another manhunt — 'This time there will be no slipping through nets. Tarbel, you will take personal charge and bring this bastard back dead or alive, understood?' — Orbilio was conscious of the big Basc's silent scrutiny. He might be nodding at what his mistress was saying, taking everything in, but his dark eyes were fixed on the man in the tub. Interesting. Because someone had made a thorough search of his room (someone other than Claudia, that is) and it occurred to him that the most likely candidate was Tarbel. But why? And had he been acting on his own initiative or on his mistress's orders? More than ever, Orbilio was glad he'd taken a leaf out of Julius Caesar's book and written up his dispatches in Greek. The Gaulish language, when written, was not so dissimilar to Latin. Greek rendered everything in code.
'… I want this set in motion first thing in the morning,' Marcia was saying. 'Got that? Good. Padi!' At the snap of her fingers, the crowd parted and the Indian oozed his way to the front. 'Padi, tell Senator Orbilio what your runes read. Or — ' she grinned wickedly — 'have I just given the game away?'
'Indeed so, Mistress.' He placed his pink palms together and made his customary obsequious bow. 'But I do not think the young gentleman will be too distressed at the disclosure.'
This time he bowed in Orbilio's direction.
'The Stones-That-Talk cannot lie,' he explained in his soft, sibilant voice. 'They spelled out quite clearly the letters SPQR and heralds calling you to your seat, O Great Master, and the rods spoke of you taking that seat in noble ceremony below the presidential podium.'
Orbilio wondered if he would also meet a tall, dark stranger and go on to marry a man in uniform, but decided this was probably a combination of embarrassment, scented oils and the jug of red wine he'd thrown down his throat making him light-headed.
'That is marvellous news, Padi,' he replied solemnly. And resisted the urge to fart in the water.
'My soothsayer also predicts a swift and successful conclusion to your current case, Marcus,' Marcia said. 'Isn't that so, Padi?'
'Unambiguously, Mistress,' the Indian lisped, 'and Aquitania will hail you as a hero for your actions.'
It crossed Orbilio's mind to ask this little fat fraud whether he saw the Governor himself kneeling at his feet. Instead, he scrubbed his chest with a sponge as the steam billowed up to the high, vaulted ceiling, playing round the gilded cherubs and swirling through the chain of stylized lotus flowers so that they almost appeared to be swaying in the breeze.
'Good heavens, Marcus, we have slaves to do that!' Marcia was horrified. 'You! Yes, you over there! Get in and scrub Master Orbilio's back!'
'Actually, I'd prefer to scrub my own-'
'Nonsense! It's what these people are trained for, and if you let them get away with it once, they'll walk all over you, darling. That girl knows I'll be docking her wages for slacking. Now then.' She stopped glowering at the slave girl and her voice softened. 'I'll have Koros fix you up with a tonic, Marcus, because you're looking a bit peaky, if you don't mind my saying so. Koros!'
The old man materialized at her elbow, and Orbilio realized how perfectly he'd been camouflaged in this hazy white atmosphere.
'Which would you recommend?' Marcia asked. 'Borage and chamomile wine or rosemary and wild celery seeds in a marjoram tea?' When she leaned forward to whisper in Orbilio's ear, he could see the cracks that had formed in her heavy make-up because of the steam. 'They work absolute miracles, trust me.'