'And when I said a day's march,' a fruity voice droned in her ear, 'I was referring to the Druids' processional pace. On a fast horse, we can be there in two hours. Oh, and madam — ' he clicked his tongue in castigation — 'I told you before, Hannibal never leaves without saying goodbye.'
A fast horse, he said — plus a bit of fast thinking on her part. All it needed was a change of clothing and a gold trumpet and it was Find the Pea all over again. Oh, Vincentrix, Vincentrix. When will you learn!
'And what is the point, Claudia Seferius?' The Arch Druid's eyes mocked her. 'What exactly is the point of your visit?'
'I want you to spare your prisoner-'
'Impossible.'
'Until that candle butt burns down.'
Sacrifice was one thing. She glanced at the huge wicker frame. But she'd imagined he would be in one piece when they strapped him in. Oh, Marcus, Marcus. What have they done to you? She drew a deep breath. Held it until the shuddering subsided.
'Two fingerfuls,' she said, and if the Druid noticed her too-even tone it didn't show on his face. 'Two fingerfuls of a candle is all that I'm asking.' She forced a bright smile. 'Surely that's not an unreasonable request?'
Green eyes travelled round his fellow priests gathered in the clearing. Eager faces that demanded leadership and most of all direction.
'Very well.' Vincentrix nodded. 'The Roman's life is spared for the rest of that candle butt.'
'You give me your word as a priest and a Druid?'
He bowed. 'You have my word as a priest and a Druid.'
Claudia snipped Orbilio's cords.
'Good,' she said crisply, blowing out the candle and dropping the stub down her cleavage. A pity Vincentix hadn't thought to ask whether she intended to keep it alight. 'Now do hurry up, Marcus. This chanting is really starting to grate on my nerves.'
Twenty-Nine
The autumn equinox dawned soft and golden, the air heavy with the drowsy calls of wood pigeons and pungent with the scent of ripe mushrooms. Deep in the forests, the sharp tusks of boar turned up beechmast under leaves that rustled in the warm breeze and hawfinches cracked open the stones of fallen damsons. A sense of change was everywhere. In the massing of swallows. In the shrivelling of brackens and ferns. In the dulling of the roe deer's coat to a darker greyish-brown.
Nowhere was the sense of change more prevalent than at the villa.
Claudia watched from the gallery as cases and trunks piled up in the atrium below. For the people of Santonum, as with Gauls everywhere, the equinox was sacred. A time of reflection and prayer as the Demon Star rose bluish-white in the east and the battle for winter commenced at last. But here at the villa the observances were Roman, and thus it was business as usual as slaves lugged crates and chests into the courtyard.
'If you expect me to pay you for walking out on your contracts, think again!' Marcia barked. 'I have every intention to sue you.'
'Your lawyer will find us in Alexandria,' Hor said, wrapping the lacquered cheetah in blankets. 'My regret is not that we haven't been paid, Marcia, only that we ever left.'
The brothers had explained to Claudia yesterday, as they hauled Paris away from the tomb, that the only reason Hor had accepted this commission was to help Qeb overcome his grief. It didn't matter one iota, Hor added, that the paintings were twisted exaggerations of the truth. As far as he was concerned, Gaul was the back of beyond and he didn't expect anyone to see the damn things, anyway. Qeb's well-being was all that concerned him. Pride and money were never an issue.
'And who's supposed to look after the menagerie?'
'I am taking the king cobra back to Egypt,' Qeb replied politely, and Claudia noticed the first hint of dark hair growing back on his skull. 'She is too dangerous to leave, but you should have no trouble finding a competent keeper for the rest.'
'Where the hell do you think you're going?' This time Marcia rounded on Tarbel. 'Did I give you permission to leave?'
'I gave myself permission.'
'If this is because the manhunt ended in failure, don't blame yourself. The Scarecrow obviously uses some kind of substance to put the hounds off the track, we just need to identify what, and in any case it was Paris killing those poor girls, not the woodsman.'
'My resignation has nothing to do with the manhunt,' Tarbel rumbled. 'The reasons…' Chestnut eyes flashed up to the woman leaning with her elbows on the rail overhead. 'The reasons are personal.'
Marcia snorted as they trooped out one by one. 'Rats deserting the sinking ship,' she said dismissively. 'Who needs scum like that, anyway?'
Claudia smiled to herself as she descended the stairs. Marcia's ship wasn't in any danger of sinking. Another rocky sea to cross, maybe. But this woman — painted and pointed, and with her beauty fading — was too much of a survivor for the boat to capsize.
'They're not rats,' she said, 'but they have no choice. To work on a site where mass murder took place is to have their reputations tarnished for ever.'
She'd misjudged Hor. He obviously was famous throughout the whole of Alexandria, so there was no question of his not finding another commission. Qeb's role as menagerie-keeper came through inheritance, so he wouldn't have trouble either, and such was Semir's love of horticulture that this would only be a small setback in his fragrantly oiled, braided career.
'Provided you water the rosses twice a week with white wine, they'll be fine,' he'd told Marcia, slipping Claudia a sly wink as he kissed his patron's hand in farewell. 'And don't forget to give your fruit trees a gallon of red every month.'
Alone once more, Marcia was as close to tears as she would ever be as a dozen legionaries wielding sledgehammers tramped past in metallic precision.
'You realize those bastards are about to dismantle my tomb?'
Claudia goggled. 'You can't seriously want the caryatids to stay?'
'Why not? To smash the statues is to have the girls die for nothing.'
Strangely, she had a point. 'Have they found where Paris buried the bodies?'
'Not yet, but no doubt it'll be Semir's landscaping they ruin next.'
Definitely, Claudia decided. That ship is definitely unsink-able!
'I'm sorry you're leaving as well, Claudia, but with the seas closing in a couple of weeks, I quite understand.' Marcia paused. 'One thing before you go, though.'
She glanced at her soothsayer, whose cheek looked suspiciously red and puffy. As though it might have been slapped.
'Those soil tests of yours. You… might want to rethink some of the advice.'
Claudia smiled. It was the closest Marcia would ever get to emotional generosity. 'You might, too,' she replied.
Out in the garden, the heat warmed the shrubs, wafting aromas of bay and citrons around the peristyle, and the fountains gurgled and sang. Who would clip the topiaried cockerel now Semir was gone? How quickly would his 'rosses' die, with wine poisoning their roots, and what would become of the flamingoes, the lovebirds, the chattering monkeys? Without Tarbel, who would take Marcia's arrows for her? Surely it was the slant of the sun, but already the villa seemed to have an air of decay about it.
Down in the herb garden, a man in a freshly laundered blue tunic was digging a hole with a trowel.
'Let me guess, it's a grave for a mole.'
'Close, madam, very close. This is indeed a grave, but one to hold a dead canary, not a rodent.' Hannibal laid his cluster of feathers in the hole with reverence. 'I found this to be a grand talking point in inns and taverns on my travels, and I cannot deny that it helped me strike many a robust relationship with the ladies. But there comes a point when all noble creatures reach the end of their allotted span.'
Claudia watched as he covered the feathers with earth.
'The gesture is purely symbolic, of course, but it is my opinion that it's not always enough to say goodbye to the past. Sometimes burial is the only answer.'