Hercha flounces from the room muttering: 'The strumpet is no doubt deaf and dumb as well as fat and stupid. Definitely not the type of a noble.'
Tetia doesn't even notice her go. She looks down at the slab of cloth-covered clay in her hands. In the presence of all these magnificent works it is no longer an inspired piece of art, it is a crude lump of earth cobbled together by the careless hands of an amateur.
Pesna enters.
He is barefoot and dressed in a tunic cut from the same cream cloth as Hercha's. He smells of recent sex and is eating a leg of roasted chicken off a beaten silver platter. 'Have you seen anything you like?'
Tetia stares at him. 'Everything!' she blurts out. 'There is nothing here that doesn't thrill the eye.'
'Does that include myself?' He pads silently closer to her, the walk of a hungry wolf, ready to drop the meat of one victim and feast on another.
Sensing danger, she steps back a pace. 'Magistrate, I have brought this.' She holds out the bundle of rags in her hands. 'I have finished it, and had thought it suitable, but now, after seeing all of the marvels in this room, I doubt it will please you.'
Pesna loses interest in her. His eyes begin to undress the package in her hands. 'As I told you last time we met, I will be the judge of that.' He saunters to the right-hand side of the room, where there is a long oak table pressed against a wall. 'Bring it over here. I need to wipe my hands.' He steps through a doorway and Tetia follows his orders. In her haste, her old sandals catch on a raised stone slab. She stubs her toe and stumbles. The ceramic doesn't crash to the floor, but it does drop heavily on to the table. Far more heavily than is healthy.
She steadies herself. Fears the worst.
Tentatively she unwraps the greatest creation of her life.
Her heart sinks.
It has broken.
Even before she has fully unfolded the cloth she knows what has happened. It has cracked. It's broken cleanly down the two deep lines Teucer had drawn to divide the oblong into three.
To her horror, Pesna reappears. He has abandoned the platter of chicken and is rubbing his hands on a thick fold of linen. 'So, let's see this wonder.'
'I'm sorry.' She unfolds the last layer of rough cloth and steps back. 'I'm so deeply sorry.'
Pesna is silent.
He stands back and stares.
'Sweet mother of Menrva!'
He all but leaps on it.
'This is astonishing!' He pushes Tetia away. 'The raw clay you had worked on was promising, but I never expected this. You have created three equal and separate scenes that look wonderful alone but together create one glorious piece.'
Tetia looks close and sees he's right. Teucer's visions lie side by side, now separated by her carelessness, but one easy push will bring them together again, like completing a puzzle.
Pesna looks delighted as he slides the pieces around. 'This is an inspired and visionary piece. It tricks the eye and unchains the imagination. Remind me, what title do you give it?'
Tetia hesitates. Then Teucer's words tumble out. 'It is – The Gates of Destiny.'
'Of course.' The title seems to energise him even more. He steps back in slow wonderment. Raises his hands to his face. 'But, my talented young Tetia, it is not quite finished.'
Tetia frowns. 'How so, Magistrate?'
He smiles knowingly. 'Silver.'
Her brow furrows.
'To do it justice – to do you justice – you must work with my silversmith and lock its beauty in silver and preserve it for ever.'
'But-'
Pesna silences her with an upheld hand. 'Mamarce is the best in Etruria. From your clay he will make casts and we will cover your vision in the richest silver we can mine. I will have Larth arrange it immediately.'
Tetia begins to worry.
It was bad enough to contemplate giving the piece to the magistrate, but if he immortalises it in silver, then it is bound to be talked about and such chatter would surely get back to her husband. 'Magistrate, when it is finished, what will you do with it? Will you keep it here, in this room with your other works?'
Pesna's eyes are alight. 'I don't yet know. Firstly, your husband will bless it at the opening of the new temple, then I will decide. Perhaps I will let it stay there for a while, in gratitude to the gods.'
Tetia drops her head. She can see how her deceptions and lies are in danger of catching up with her. 'Magistrate, I have thought again. I really think I must give this work to my husband. I will make something finer, something much grander for you.' She tries to wrap the pieces in their cloth.
'Cease!' Pesna roars. 'How dare you!' His eyes are ablaze. 'You will do as I tell you, when I tell you.'
A pain suddenly shoots through her stomach and she feels her legs go.
She steadies herself against a wall and breathes deeply.
Pesna doesn't care about her discomfort. His face is scarlet, his eyes wide and angry. 'I told you once to make your peace with the gods and with your husband about this. You must do so. Now leave! Get out before I have you and that useless netsvis gutted and fed to my swine.'
CHAPTER 25
Present Day Ospedale San Lazzaro, Venice The cold, filtered air in the morgue moves Valentina to rub warmth into her arms. Tom doesn't feel the chill and Professore Montesano seems accustomed to it. Major Carvalho runs his tongue over his teeth, as if getting rid of a bad taste, or maybe trying to clean up the words he's about to say before he lets them out. 'We were wondering if the removal of Monica's liver has any religious significance?'
Tom doesn't look up from the teenager's body. She's laid out on a metal gurney like butchered meat on a long silver display tray. 'Satanic significance, you mean?'
'Si.'
He glances at the major. 'Centuries ago, many societies attached more significance to the liver than the heart.' He looks to Montesano: 'I suspect the reason's partly medical?'
'Indeed,' agrees the ME. 'The liver's the largest gland and internal organ in the body and, like the heart, you can't survive without it. A marvellous piece of work, really. It does everything, from detoxification, to protein synthesis and digestive functioning.' He holds his hands together. 'It's quite heavy, too: easily one and a half kilos. In adults it's about the size of an American football.'
Tom picks up his cue to continue. 'But aside from the medical reasons, livers and hearts have long held supernatural values. There are reports from as far afield as Costa Rica about Satanists using the hearts and livers of goats, sheep and even horses in black masses and initiation ceremonies. And they're not alone in attaching symbolic power to such organs. The Egyptians embalmed the heart separately so it could be weighed on Judgement Day. If the heart was heavy with sin – or had been already cut from the body – then you were denied passage into the afterlife. The Etruscans – your ancestors – considered the liver even more important than the heart. In humans, they thought it to be the place where the soul was centred and in animals, it was the sacred organ used to divine the will of the gods.'
Vito scratches the tip of his nose, a nervous habit when thinking. 'Why would someone remove Monica's liver?'
Tom struggles to answer. 'Satanists fixate on all manner of body parts, both of sexual and symbolic importance. Usually the sexual fixation is for immediate personal pleasure, but when they focus on other parts, such as eyes, ears and organs, then it's generally connected with much older, almost ancient rituals and defilement.' His eyes wander again to the unclosed wounds on Monica's naked body. He'd imagined that after the PM examination the pathologist would have sewn her back up, but that's clearly not the case. What's left of her insides are still visible from the outside. It's darkly shocking. The body is now just a shell, giving no hint at all of the person or her own unique spirit and personality. 'Taking a young soul is the ultimate insult to God. If your killer has Satanic connections, then the motive of removing the liver is to defile God by defiling the human form he created. You can also assume the killer wanted the organ for some sick private or group ritual.'