But the big Basc wasn't giving up. 'At what point am I supposed to have lied to you?'
'When you told me you enjoyed your job and, before you say anything else, our conversation's just proved it.'
Tracking the Scarecrow was the first 'real' job he'd been given since hiring himself out as Marcia's minder and already his orders were being countermanded. Men who don't care don't get angry.
'Very well, acting bodyguard to a rich bitch didn’t turn out the way I expected.' Tarbel turned on his heel. 'But I fail to see how my attitude to my work is any of your bloody business, or why it should make you dislike me.'
'Who said I disliked you?'
He stopped in his tracks.
'It works both ways,' Claudia told him. 'If I didn't care, I wouldn't bother about what happened to you, either, but you're no trained bear, Tarbel. That green and gold livery itches your skin.'
'Si. ' The big man nodded slowly. 'But I'd still give my life for her.'
'As you would have for Rome. Yes, I know.' The difference is, the Empire would have been grateful. 'You're a man who needs more out of soldiering than covering the occasional body with your own, tagging along with a crowd of simpering flunkies, searching other people's rooms-'
'Maybe I don't like some of the jobs I am tasked with,' he thundered, 'but, by the gods, I do them well.'
'Perfection isn't the issue here, Tarbel. Marcia wouldn't have hired you if you weren't a stickler for detail. But you're a soldier. A mercenary. Fighting is what you do, remember?'
'And?'
'And nothing.' She slipped into a new pair of sandals and swept past him into the corridor. 'I just thought you should be reminded, that's all.'
Plumping the pillows, Claudia glanced once more at the sun's progress on her bedroom wall. The shadows had barely moved and, biting into a soft yellow plum as Drusilla stretched languorously over the counterpane, her thoughts drifted. She was glad, for the children's sake, that Orbilio had managed to bust the paedophile ring so quickly. Dammit, though, you'd think a man who was that good at his job would give a grieving widow a break. And although she knew he'd keep his word regarding her fraud, she intended to have a quiet word with that little snake Burto once she got home. (And if that quiet word happened to contain the letters that spelled out 'branding iron', 'pincers', 'thumbscrews' and 'knuckle dusters', then so much the better.)
'He suspected Qeb was involved,' she told Drusilla, but the cat's paws were twitching as she caught mice in her sleep.
Claudia yawned and stretched, too. She could well understand what had aroused Orbilio's suspicions. The doll in the bushes. All those crates coming and going to the menagerie. I mean, who would notice one more whimper or cry? She closed her eyes and snuggled down into the cushions. But it was over and Qeb wasn't involved, the gang wasn't operating out of the villa and Marcia hadn't been inflicting her own pain on- Her eyelids sprang apart. Qeb might not be part of the paedophile ring, but we still have a man who refuses to meet people's eyes, whose younger brother has to take responsibility for him and He strokes my hair, Luci had said, as she played with the grey kitten Qeb had given her. It feels really nice.
Nausea lurched in Claudia's stomach as she jumped off the bed. Dammit, he was grooming the child, in every sense of the word! She reached in her jewel chest for the thin, narrow dagger and strapped it to her calf. Right, you bald bastard. Let's see how you play with the big girls. k k k
It felt strange, not wearing her wedding band. Her ring finger seemed naked. Vulnerable, somehow. As though something was missing, and yet not. Stella sighed. She would get used to the sensation, she supposed. It would just take time, that was all.
Glancing over her shoulder, she watched the flame of her prayer candle dance in the breeze. Below it, hyssop spikes purified the offering she had made and sprigs of thyme added strength to her prayers. She sighed again. She had sacrificed all that she had. Her fate was in the hands of the sylph of the spring now. There was nothing left to do, except hope — hope with all of her heart — that the gentle spirit would smile upon her.
The cawing of jackdaws echoed in the canyon. High on the wing a buzzard mewed, and a red admiral came to rest on a fallen crab apple. Brushing the white local limestone from the hem of her skirt, Stella suddenly remembered her promise to Luci about playing butterflies and didn't notice the footsteps at first. Startled, she turned. All these stories about missing women…
'Hannibal!' Her face relaxed into a smile of relief. 'Didn't anyone warn you about creeping up on people?'
Wedged between the slaves' quarters and the guest accommodation, the rooms Marcia's artisans had been allocated were spacious without being grand, comfortable without verging on luxury. It seemed a pity not to take a peek in the others as Claudia passed, but Hor's room was locked, Paris's was so tidy it could pass for army barracks, while Semir's was a clutter of embroidered robes, combs, depilatories, beads, bangles and slippers, with enough oil to light the Capitol for a year. Not only did his bedroom smell like a Persian brothel, she mused, it bloody well looked like one, too.
Qeb's room was at the far end of the corridor, and he couldn't match Paris for neatness, but then he didn't have to. There was so little in it, even a Spartan would have complained. Still, a mere three pieces of furniture made the search simple. Claudia started with the bed, and found nothing of interest in the thin coverlet and flat pillow. She moved to the clothes chest, but it contained just two linen kilts, some spotlessly clean loincloths and a light, waterproof cloak. Which left the table, as sparsely decorated as the rest of the room. One razor, whose handle was shaped like a dung beetle, although quite why Egyptians imagined a replica dung beetle should protect them was beyond her. One alabaster bowl in which incense burned. And one looking glass with lotus flowers carved into the rim. What looked back at Qeb, she wondered? Was he aware of the slouch of his shoulders, the slow, almost clumsy walk? She replaced the mirror and turned to the only other personal item in his room.
He keeps a cheetah in his bedroom, Luci had whispered. It's lovely and smooth and has blue lizards round its neck, but Mummy says I'm not allowed in there, so you won't tell her, will you?
Hor, too, had been astonished when Claudia said she'd seen his brother's cheetah. It was the night of Marcia's banquet, and although the conversation had moved on, Hor deliberately switched back to the topic of the cheetah. She remembered how he'd leaned towards her, his eyes narrow.
You saw it?
And she remembered how he'd relaxed when she explained that she'd heard it, as well.
Heard? Oh. The menagerie, you mean.
At the time, she had merely filed it away in the library of her mind, because two creepy Egyptians was, frankly, one too many. Then Luci mentioned the cheetah, only what she omitted to say was that the cat was completely life-size. Expecting it to be wood, probably holm oak but possibly alder, Claudia was surprised at the echo that sounded when she rapped its side with her knuckles. It was clearly made out of terracotta, then laquered. The lapis lazuli that encircled its neck had been corrupted by a six-year-old's tongue into lizards, but the gems in the collar were authentic, and the cat felt warm to her hand.
'Please don't touch that.'
It was the longest sentence Qeb had probably ever spoken, and, goddammit, she hadn't heard the sneaky bastard approach.
'Why not?' She kneeled down at the cheetah's side. 'It's beautiful.'
'Yes, it is. Perfect. But I'd be obliged if you would respect my privacy, please.'
'This artwork has to be your brother's doing. The dark lines of the muscles. Yellow eyes that follow you round the room.' Claudia began to pick at one of the gems with her fingernail. 'And this gorgeous lapis lazuli collar!'