Sour Grapes

by Marilyn Todd

  ‘The girls run through their routines with me until I’m satisfied they’re step-perfect,’ she’d explained crisply, showing Claudia the rehearsal room. ‘Only then do I allow them to enter the god’s chamber—’ She’d pointed to a low, narrow door cut into the rock face ‘—to work on their self-expression in front of Fufluns. But I warn you. If your stepdaughter thinks it’s an hour to skive off, she’s in for a shock. When her time’s up, she will be required to dance for me the way she danced for Fufluns, and I can spot instantly if her movements aren’t polished through the additional practice.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘If they’re no different, back she goes until they jolly well are!’

  A thought occurred to Claudia. ‘That’s the same for all the Brides?’

  ‘It is,’ Timi said, bending backwards to touch her heels.

  ‘So when Vorda finished the night she died, was she step-perfect? You didn’t make her go back and practise again?’

  The dance teacher straightened up with a scowl. ‘Young woman, if you’re implying I was responsible for Vorda’s state of mind that night, think again! I have no idea what improvements she’d made to her routine, because once the measuring candle burned down, I knocked to tell her and, dear me, she didn’t even look at me when she came out. Pushed straight past, which was not like her at all. She was singing like a lark when she went in—’

  ‘No indications at the start of the evening that she intended taking her own life?’

  ‘Between you and me, my lady, I rather hoped in Vorda I was training my successor. She was a natural, that girl. Far better than me at that age, and she loved showing me the various nuances she’d added, and with the red-headed moon approaching, she was as excited as ever. Singing, laughing, eyes bright when she went in, but like Tarchis says, what can you expect when the Herald of Death has summoned you to His hall?’

  Inevitability and predestination had its merits, Claudia supposed. People became saddened by death, but not devastated, since all things were the will of the gods…which was fine when you were distanced from it in terms of family and friendship. Rosenna, though, had taken her brother’s murder very badly and Claudia couldn’t help wondering how Vorda’s mother was coping with her daughter’s sudden death, either.

  ‘May I?’ She indicated the narrow door.

  Timi smiled proudly. ‘Fufluns will be very pleased to welcome you, my lady.’

  With a well-practised gesture of obeisance, she opened the door to reveal a chamber hewn out of rock, whose walls were covered with sensual rather than erotic paintings and in which fragrant oils burned from a handful of strategically placed lamps. Hyssop for purity, oregano for peace, sage for sanctification. The idol inside was life-sized, carved out of wood and realistically painted, right down to the leering expression, and though Lars had warned Claudia that Fufluns had horns, he forgot to mention how many. Or where!

  ‘He certainly seems pleased to see us,’ Claudia murmured.

  ‘The Brides’ purpose is to arouse their bridegroom, my lady. We cannot have them thinking their husband is disinterested.’

  Oh, that effigy was definitely not disinterested.

  ‘Thirteen virgins representing the full maturity of their respective moons marry the earth god on the night of the red-headed moon,’ Timi explained. ‘Then they dance to arouse His divine passion, that His seed will fructify the precious vines and the cycle of life will continue.’

  Claudia walked slowly round the chamber, feeling the rock face as she passed. ‘There’s only the one entrance?’

  ‘Like Horta, whose soil we turn with our ploughs, Fufluns makes His home in the earth. Even one door is an intrusion into the world of the gods, which is why the opening is kept small and remains locked when not in use.’

  Yet the Herald of Death got to Vorda somehow, and he couldn’t have been hiding in here. Not for the day or so between rehearsals. Claudia absently sniffed the contents of a bronze chafing pan. Ugh. Catnip leaves. Definitely not Roman! And for heaven’s sake, look at that. Something else seemed to have shrivelled and died in that horrid bowl. She moved closer to one of the oil burners and let their sweet fragrance smother the pong.

  ‘Did anyone come in while Vorda was dancing?’

  ‘Lady Claudia!’ Timi’s face was a picture of outrage. ‘Lady Claudia, this is a bridal chamber. The girls dance before their bridegroom in absolute privacy. I stand guard outside myself and no one—I repeat, no one—may intrude upon this sacred space while the girls rouse Fufluns’ passion!’

  Claudia tried to picture Flavia arousing anyone’s passion, much less a veteran godly seducer, but contented herself that whatever rabbits Timi managed to pull out of the hat, at least Flavia would learn discipline in the process, and god knows she needed it. Her foster parents had overindulged her and their authority had grown lax, enabling Flavia to give them the slip and meet Orson on the quiet.

  Orson!

  Bugger.

  Between arranging for Flavia to dance on the full moon and sorting out the Darius affair, Claudia had completely forgotten about Orson! In the quiet of the maze now, she prayed to Justice and Fortune that the ugly lug had got that preposterous notion of helping Rosenna out of his head, because forget what Orbilio said—evil had already tapped two seventeen-year-old boys on the shoulder. And two was more than enough…

  Reaching for the second goblet, she wondered just how much evil there was around here. Lichas was dead. Tages was in danger. Vorda had taken her own life. Moreover, five men had been brought to the brink of ruin through hardship or emotional distress, sometimes both, their families dragged through hell with them. Now the descendants and dependants of the sixth witness were about to be put through the same mill, and what could Claudia do?

  She couldn’t alert the authorities. Without proof, they’d laugh her out of the barracks—and, dammit, if the five men who were responsible for Felix’s conviction don’t recognize him, how on earth was she going to prove they were the same man? The fact that Darius doesn’t look anything like Felix is immaterial, but the authorities wouldn’t see it that way. They would agree with her that any man who intended coming back to Mercurium to wreak vengeance on those who had wronged him was hardly likely to announce himself—but they’d be expecting Felix to adopt a disguise by growing a beard or something else obvious, something that could be denounced immediately. Darius was far more subtle.

  Indigo says Darius is clever.

  Through the mouths of babes, Claudia thought. Through the mouths of babes!

  What was it Amanda asked, peering closely at the razor in his room? Why does Darius shave his head?

  At the time, Claudia dismissed it as a childish mistake, but now she realized it was no error. No doubt ten years down the silver mines hones revenge to the sharpest of points, but who’d have thought that by shaving his head and combing the rest of his hair over it, Caesar-style, it could pass as a disguise? Darius wasn’t balding at all. He just pretended to be—and what were the odds that Felix had had a thick head of hair? Curly hair, too, because Darius kept his closely cropped. She could not use his cough as proof of working the silver mines any more than she could show he took balm of Gilead buds as a painkiller against the bad back that ten years’ hard labour had undoubtedly bequeathed. Since the leaves were a well-known remedy for unproductive coughs, who’s to say an apothecary hadn’t muddled the physician’s prescription? Dammit, everything about Felix was different.

  Ten years of swallowing dust had left him with an unrecognizable gravel voice.

  Ten years of wielding a pickaxe had bestowed on him an athlete’s body.

  Ten years of shifting rocks had changed the way he walked, his gestures, even his nature.

  But take this to the authorities and they’d see nothing more than the bleatings of a self-seeking widow whose stepfather was about to wrest control of a business which, as a woman, she shouldn’t be running anyway—and besides! She’s already had her two years of state-allocated mourning. Doesn’t the law decree
she should re-marry?

  That was one jar of worms Claudia had no intention of opening up—and, dammit, she couldn’t confide her suspicions to Larentia, either. Not without concrete evidence to prove Darius was a monster who had nothing but hardship and humiliation lined up for his bride. The fact that he’d packed no cameo of his late wife surely showed admirable tact and discretion for a man about to be married. A lack of personal mementoes reveals a simplistic nature, a trait the parsimonious Larentia would admire. And how can you say he’s spent all this money on the villa to feather his own future nest, when there’s no proof he’s not the real Darius? No, no, the minute Claudia started to discredit her suitor, Larentia would view it as mischief-making and go running to Darius.

  Can’t have that. If Darius thinks the game’s up, his most likely course of action is to run. Five out of six ain’t bad, he could argue, and he’d disappear into the mist before you could say ‘retribution and justice’.

  ‘You’re not going to get away with this.’

  Not when so many people have suffered so horribly for his petty grudge, and right now he’s proud of his achievements. Devastation has rippled round their families like an earthquake, leaving death and destruction in its wake, while not so much as one finger of suspicion points back at him. What better time to attack than when he’s sure of himself?

  But to attack, Claudia needed weapons—weapons she didn’t have, because the best way to attack this man was through facts and either Larentia was unaware of Gaius’s involvement at Felix’s trial (women not being privy to men’s business) or she’d forgotten it, because she certainly hadn’t connected the epidemic of bad luck to the other witnesses. Why should she? In all her years at the villa, she’d mixed with the same people, led the same narrow life, and even though she’d started out as the wife of a common road-builder, she’d risen far enough through society not to mix with the likes of millers and tavern-keepers. And if the paper-merchant and the brick-maker viewed their calamities as nothing more than misfortune, all the more reason to place her faith in Candace. Were Claudia to broach the subject of Felix’s trial with Larentia, it was more than likely the old bat would ask Candace to contact him the next time she walked with the spirits. Sod that.

  Realizing the second goblet was empty, Claudia reached for a third.

  Undoubtedly, the best source of information had a rich baritone voice and carried a faint hint of sandalwood around with him, but she couldn’t go to Orbilio, either. As much as the newly installed head of the Aquitanian Secret Police would love the credit for solving a case involving treason, even he couldn’t take too long an extended furlough. He was close to cracking this business of Lichas’s murder, which meant he’d be heading back to Gaul in the middle of his investigations into Felix, thereby dumping the case back on to the local authorities—and, excuse me, haven’t we been through this already?

  Shit. Claudia drained the glass and hurled it into the laurels, where it smashed into a thousand satisfactory smithereens. Overhead, stars twinkled brightly, with no hint of the clouds that had left such a deluge overnight. She watched them tramp slowly round the heavens and thought, fine. All these are things I can’t do about Darius.

  Let’s work on the things that I can.

  *

  The God of Revenge simply laughed.

  Seventeen

  ‘There you are, you poor thing.’ A sandy mop tutted sympathetically over the top of the topiary. ‘Lars said he’d spotted you entering the maze by yourself, but that was simply ages ago. Come, my dear.’ Terrence offered his arm. ‘I’ll show you a sneaky way out.’

  Claudia was about to point out that she wasn’t actually lost, when he reached down and suddenly one of the neatly clipped laurels turned a ninety-degree right-angle to reveal a gap in the hedge for them to pass through.

  ‘This particular tree stands in a tub that I’ve buried,’ he laughed, ‘but sssh! Let’s keep this between you and me, because I would hate word getting round that I cheat.’

  ‘I rather got the impression you cheat on a lot of things. Loopholes in the law, I believe you called it.’

  Tuscany’s favourite playboy twizzled the pot back into position and brushed the dirt from his hands with a carefree gesture. ‘The State decrees each citizen must pay their taxes, Claudia. They don’t stipulate that they have to be fleeced in the process. A clever accountant finds ways and means, just as you and I circumvent the law when it comes to maintaining our freedom. Or am I being too blunt?’

  ‘Not at all.’ Claudia was comfortable with straight-talking men. Especially thirty-eight-year-old bachelors who owned half of Italy and knew how to throw a good party.

  ‘Do you…er…fancy a game of featherball?’ he asked, his large green eyes narrowing in shrewdness.

  She followed his glance to where teams were being picked and saw that, innocuous though the game was, it was scheduled to take place between the piggy-back jousting and a boxing contest, both of which were high-profile crowd pullers.

  ‘Perhaps you could set aside a little time to talk privately?’ he’d suggested, when they bumped into each other at the market. ‘There’s a little business matter I would like to discuss.’ With a gentle clink, the coin dropped, and if Claudia could have purred like a cat, then she would have.

  ‘Opposite sides?’ she said.

  ‘But of course.’

  ‘Then you might as well congratulate me now, Terrence. I’ve never lost at featherball yet.’

  A lie, but a psychological advantage never hurt, and when asked which team she wanted to join, red or blue, there was no contest. She’d take the fit townsfolk any day over round-shouldered lawyers, but even then her team was still short.

  ‘Two more,’ Terrence yelled. ‘Any volunteers?’

  ‘Oi’ll join.’

  Orson lumbered over from where he’d been watching the boxing and Claudia breathed a sigh of relief. Thank Jupiter he’d found better things to do with his hands than carve toys in Lichas’s workshop!

  ‘What about you, Rosenna?’ he called. ‘You in?’

  Was Claudia going deaf? ‘Did you say Rosenna?’

  ‘Aye. It weren’t easy, marm, getting her to come here tonight,’ Orson admitted, limbering up for the game. ‘But there’s a time to grieve, Oi told her, and a time to mourn, and melancholy dishonours the dead. Come along, Rosie.’ Grabbing the wrist of a po-faced redhead, he dragged her into the middle. ‘Let’s show them Blue Bloods what stuffing us poor folks is made of.’

  Something changed in Rosenna’s eyes as she weighed up the opposing team. A sharpness took over, banishing the indifference. ‘Them and us,’ she murmured to no one in particular, kilting up her fringed skirt to the knee. ‘Och, we’ll bloody show them, Orson. We’ll show them bastards right enough.’

  ‘You were right,’ Terrence wheezed half an hour later. ‘Claudia Seferius, I do indeed congratulate you. Blue were well and truly trounced by the finish.’

  ‘We had a secret weapon,’ she puffed back, watching Rosenna merge back into the crowd, wiping the sweat from her face.

  ‘Yes, who was that redhead?’ he asked. ‘I’ve never seen such passion in a ball game, especially from a woman! She went for every damned shot whether she had a hope of reaching it or not…I say, wine?’

  ‘I doubt I could whimper,’ Claudia quipped back, refreshing herself with a glass of cool dry white whilst wondering how that spangled Arab over there managed to swallow a whole sword and not give himself indigestion. As her eyes ranged over the dark hills all around, she remembered just how much land Terrence owned. ‘You do a lot for the locals, don’t you?’

  ‘Philanthropy is all part of the aristocratic process,’ he said, fanning air down his sweat-sodden tunic. ‘When one inherits land, one inherits obligations, and it strikes me that change is moving across the Empire at such a pace that it’s in danger of overstretching itself. Like most other cultures, the Etruscans embrace change, but evolution needs its own tempo, Claudia. As long as Rome and Tusca
ny have opportunities to mingle at functions like this, the ties of friendship remain strong.’

  ‘And Fufluns?’

  ‘Same thing. Providing people see that they haven’t had to give up everything, they’re happy to adapt to those things they’re required to.’

  ‘Lars thinks they’ll be calling their wine god before long.’

  ‘Not while I’m in charge,’ Terrence said firmly. ‘People talk about the temple being on my land, but more accurately it’s the access to the temple that’s mine. And if I continue to allow them to use the road, what they do inside is their own business, not Rome’s. Lars and I work very closely on joint Etruscan issues. It’s something we both feel strongly about and… Ah, Claudia, I’d very much like you to meet—’

  ‘Sorry, old chap, can’t stop.’ A small round man with a small round face kept on jogging. ‘I’m in the Cheese Merchants’ Relay.’ He wagged a jaunty baton to prove it. ‘Catch you later!’

  ‘That is—or rather was,’ Terrence corrected with a chuckle, ‘the fellow I’ve earmarked as Thalia’s husband. Decent fellow. Doesn’t womanize, doesn’t gamble, doesn’t take drugs, what more can a girl ask?’

  ‘Choice in the matter?’

  His chuckle deepened to laughter. ‘Not every woman is like you, Claudia. Believe me, my sister couldn’t choose between two identical buns, and I know you think I bully her, and I do, but Thalia needs a steady hand on the tiller.’

  ‘Her seas do seem a little choppy.’

  ‘Choppy? The silly bitch is even convinced she murdered her husband, which is bollocks. He suffered a massive apoplexy at the hot springs and it served him bloody well right. Doctors told him to lose weight, drink less and exercise more, but he didn’t take a blind bit of notice.’