by Marilyn Todd
‘Harder or softer, depending on the state of the tissues. Always in the direction of the heart, though.’
It occurred to her that maybe Dierdra’s appearance was a defence mechanism. To say her tunic was garish was an understatement, and it was no exaggeration that if the patterns round the hems were any louder, they’d have drowned out a set of kettledrums. Was that the idea, though? While you’re busy gawping at the package, you don’t see what’s inside?
‘Every muscle in your body gets a rub on Dierdra’s table,’ she was saying. ‘Not just above and below, my lady. I apply the latest principles of making oblique and transverse circuits of the fibres. Feels lovely, doesn’t it?’
Iliona looked at the gaping mouths of the bronze lion heads that served as showers. The rows of oils in little phials. And thought the gods’ palace on Olympus couldn’t feel this good.
‘When the body is beautiful, the soul follows suit,’ Dierdra pronounced with the final knead.
‘There’s an Egyptian proverb that says perfection can only come from harmony.’
‘Is there really? Well, it’s the autumn equinox tomorrow,’ she said brightly. ‘That should bring us enough harmony to see us through the winter.’
‘Are you still thinking of leaving before then?’
‘I have my plans, my lady. Everything’s mapped out.’ She winked. ‘But don’t you worry. I’ll be around long enough to rub out all your knots and knobbles.’
Thank Hera for that, Iliona thought. She could get used to these modern techniques, and idly she wondered how much it would cost to add a sanctuary bath to the Temple of Eurotas. It would bring in pilgrims far beyond the boundaries of Sparta, increasing trade and promoting the temple’s reputation. Oracles and healing baths were simply two sides of the same coin, since mental and physical health went together. When the body is beautiful, the soul follows suit. Well done, Dierdra.
The only thing now was to convince the king that the expense was justified.
Any news that she’d be opening the baths for the poor she could save for later.
‘Have you seen Daphne this morning?’ Hermione pounced on Iliona outside the bath-house door.
‘Sorry.’
‘Can’t turn your back for five minutes and the wretched girl is off.’ Her grandmother’s face was pink and flustered. ‘The banker will be along any second. I need her here.’
So then. The strain was telling.
‘If I see her, I’ll send her along,’ Iliona promised.
The strain of waiting for the money, that is. Not grief. And whichever way Nobilor’s will was likely to be cut, Daphne was still a loser—
Cutting across the yard towards the accommodation block, she ducked the crush of merchants, couriers, diplomats and students all being treated as if they were the most important visitor ever to have set foot in the station. Of course, hospitality veered on the sacred when it came to the nobility, where to deny even your enemies risked incurring the wrath of the gods. But the combination of Anthea’s background and Hector’s profession made this an inviting, comfortable, indeed memorable stop, and it would be a disaster if such an enterprise failed. Not simply for the proposals to link all major cities with key trade routes. It would be a personal disaster for the station master and his wife, not to mention the hundreds of people employed here. Worse, if word got out that Spartan gold had been stolen from the station, both the new communications system and Sparta would totter. Especially on top of a curse from the Oracle that had supposedly sounded Nobilor’s death knell.
How long before the roof fell in on the bath house? Two years? Three? The stables would be torn down for firewood, winter storms would peel the frescoes off the walls and waist-high weeds would quickly lift the flagstones.
Thanking the janitor who opened the door for her, she thought there was not a more perfect springboard for a successful and efficient trans-Hellenic courier link than here, at the crossroads on the Lake of Light. Most communities, from the largest cities to the smallest hamlet, relied on fortification against enemy attack. The posting station had no such need. With mountains wrapped around it and a huge lake stretching out in front, the landscape provided an effective defence, and the very fact that the Eagles and the Bulls were locked in competition added to the bonus. Each would try to outdo each other to protect the station from attack, and if things got really bad, together they would make a creditable holding force until reinforcements could arrive. Also, where water supplies were often a weak link in a town’s defence, there were no such risks here, where even the customary underground conduits had been dispensed with.
This could not—must not—fail.
‘Haven’t seen Melisanne, have you?’ If Yvorna felt any contrition at being caught inside Iliona’s room, it didn’t show. ‘Meet me in your break, she says, I need to talk to you, it’s urgent, and what happens? Someone tells me she’s up here, but of course she’s buggered off, and I bet I know where to, as well.’ Green eyes rolled. ‘What is she, half rabbit? I tell you, if I did it half as often as my sister, I’d be fit for nothing. Morning, by the way.’
And with that, the red fireball breezed off down the corridor, her skirts swishing with the swing of her hips.
For a second, Iliona was speechless, then she burst into laughter so loud it made the alabaster bowl rattle on the table. Sliding out of last night’s robe, stained on the back by the bark of the horse chestnut, she wondered if the Krypteia would see the joke. Somehow she doubted it, but in any case she had no intention of sharing it with him.
Gossip might be the lifeblood of this posting station, but only among those who worked closely together. So many strangers came and went, they were of no interest. Maybe the source of a titbit to pass on, like how Iliona got her wound, for example. But when dozens of people passed through every day, like gnats, their antics only tickled the surface.
Belting a fresh gown of cream linen hemmed with green and gold thread, she wondered how many people had seen her this morning. Twenty? Probably closer to thirty, and that included Dierdra, Yvorna and Nobilor’s mother. Yet none of them had remarked on her spending the night with the banker, or even alluded to it with a snigger or look. She could hardly thread her amethyst earrings through her ear lobes for laughing, never mind clip on her double gold pendant. All the trouble he’d gone to, and no one even noticed.
Betrayal is everywhere.
Wasn’t it just! Let down by his own ego. Too clever for his own good. She rubbed wine lees on her lips to redden them and traced a narrow line of kohl around her eyes. Of course, it helped that most of the staff employed at the station were Bulls and few of the Eagles knew, or even cared, who she was.
Which meant a stranger could get away with just about anything without being noticed.
Unless Hector had picked up on it…
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake.’
The owl brooch that Dierdra had given her was no longer on the little altar. Must have got knocked off yesterday in her rush to leave, and now she was scrabbling around on her hands and knees in a clean robe, searching underneath the bed.
‘Damn.’
Not there. She flicked the bed covers up and down. Not in there, either.
‘Strange.’
An hour later, Iliona had covered every square inch of that room searching for that brooch.
So much for Athene’s protection.
Seventeen
Five drops of oil of lemon balm in water, sipped slowly twice a day to relieve a nervous stomach. A poultice of eyebright to ease the wheelwright’s stye. Wormwood, ground walnut husks and cloves mixed up to purge a mild case of worms. Jocasta’s corner of the kitchen hall was proving popular, now that word had spread about her healing remedies, with clamps and retractors hanging where strainers and strings of onions used to hang, balances and flasks lined up on shelves in place of sacks and pickles.
At times, it was frustrating. The mincer appeared to be quite incapable of grinding pork for his rissoles without exchanging
jokes with the fish cook on the far side of the room. No one could chop vegetables in unison, and whenever she needed to concentrate the hardest, the butcher always seemed to take a hacksaw to the thickest ox-bone he could find. The steam interfered with her preparations, too. Someone, somewhere was either poaching eels or stewing hares, putting black puddings on to simmer or boiling their pigs’ trotters. But whatever they were stuffing marrows with smelled good, hot almond cakes made her mouth water every time they came out of the oven, and the sizzling of sausages on the gridiron made sweet music in her ears. Whenever the smell of turnips or smoked fish grew overwhelming, she slipped a few bay leaves on the fire to neutralize the odour. So on balance, she supposed, the system did work.
‘Of course that coating on your tongue isn’t a reaction to drinking too much wine last night. Your whole digestive system’s out of order.’
She’d have thought he’d have noticed before, but at times we all see what we want to see. Her job was not to judge, but to prescribe sage tea for three weeks, with a chamomile mouthwash every morning, then move on to the miller’s daughter’s toothache.
In exchange for curing the kitchen steward’s baby—a simple case of colic, as it happened—she had commandeered more space, more pots, more cooking implements, and felt very much at home juggling decoctions, tinctures and infusions.
‘Chew five of these after lunch,’ she told the head baker, handing him a pot of what were nothing more than dried cherries. ‘Then lie down in a dark room for half an hour.’
He had been embarrassed at consulting her, but, newly married and with a wife half his age, he was having problems sustaining an erection. She wasn’t remotely surprised. A combination of middle age, fatigue and a constant need to prove his virility was taking a psychological toll. Rest was the best antidote to anyone’s flagging energies, but of course the baker would not see beyond the miracle cure.
‘I am surprised you take no payment for this sorcery,’ a voice intoned.
The priest shooed the line away and pressed his face close to Jocasta’s.
‘A herald will make the announcement tomorrow,’ he said quietly. ‘Those who wish to consult your services will be free to do so at their leisure and convenience, but they will longer be welcome at Zabrina’s shrine.’
She slammed the pestle on the oak table so hard that several pills bounced on the floor. ‘You aren’t seriously making them choose between the goddess’s protection and their health?’
‘Categorically not!’ His thin nose lifted in indignation. ‘The very notion is offensive, madam, an insult to both to me and the goddess whom I serve. But charms and potions wreak more harm than good. I will not allow this absurd practice to continue.’
‘In what way is easing a wracking cough absurd, Sandor? Or helping that blonde maidservant overcome her morning sickness? And is it equally preposterous, do you think, to suggest massaging thyme oil on swollen testicles, or adding a comfrey tincture to a bathtub every day?’
‘You are not a physician, madam. You are not trained—’
‘Precisely why I don’t examine the patients, or treat acute underlying conditions.’ She replaced the lid on her box of poppy ointment. ‘Already, I have suggested two of them consult a physician over in Phaos. They won’t, of course.’ His fees were far in excess of their humble means. ‘But I can at least mitigate their pain, while helping scores of others manage their minor ailments.’
Would he rise to the bait, she wondered idly. Would he reject her recommendations for treatment, or would temptation get the better of him? Her money was on him smelling of thyme oil and comfrey next time she saw him.
Hypocrite.
‘And what’s the alternative to my remedies, Sandor? Will you be telling the women to bathe naked in—what was it you told my friend it was called, the Pool of the Virgins? In the name of your sacred duty, where you will personally oversee their recovery?’
‘Friend.’ His lip curled. ‘You? A helot? Perhaps you amuse her, like a puppy amuses a child, until it grows into a lumbering dog. Then again, perhaps your countertop remedies suit her own policies for the moment, but mark my words, your so-called friend will tire of you. You will be cast out like filth on the middens.’
‘Overworked similes are tedious at the best of times, Sandor, and quite frankly, neither your insults nor your threats will change my mind about healing, much less my opinion about my employer.’
‘She keeps secrets from you.’
Jocasta shook a jar containing a garlic and dandelion infusion. No one said convalescence would taste good. ‘Does she really.’
The priest smiled. ‘Did you know she lifted her skirts in the woods for some wayfaring stranger, then spent the night in wanton abandon in his bed?’
Liar. ‘Good for her.’
Iliona did take lovers from time to time. They both did. Casual affairs, because everybody needs release. But, by definition, the High Priestess of the Temple of Eurotas had to be discreet.
‘You don’t believe me.’ Sandor hopped round the table, pushing salves and tongue depressors aside. ‘Suppose I told you it was the Cretan banker.’
Now she knew he was lying. Even overlooking the fact that Lysander was calculating, detached and a natural-born killer, Iliona might still have succumbed to physical desire. He was an attractive bastard, Jocasta gave him that, but to behave in such a shameless manner in public with the head of the Krypteia?
‘Holly leaf tea,’ she pronounced. ‘Works wonders for delusions, and now if you don’t bugger off and let me round my patients up, I’m going to scream and say you grabbed my breast, the choice is yours.’
‘Go,’ he warned. ‘Leave Phaos to the balance and harmony of the autumn equinox. Take your brews back to Sparta, but remember. The sun is setting on the likes of you, madam. Female physicians are an abomination of nature, and Athens has already put one on trial. The impostor will hang, mark my words.’
He stomped off, leaving Jocasta reflecting on how a wounded lion is the most dangerous creature of all…
‘He wasn’t pushing you to anoint Zabrina’s altar with your virtue, was he?’ Dierdra asked.
‘No.’
‘Because if he does, you tell him where to go, the dirty sod.’ The masseuse smiled. ‘Haven’t got anything for a burn, have you? Oh, bless you, darling, you’re an angel.’
Jocasta wasn’t so sure about that. Mixing a salve using mucilage from a lily for the burn on Dierdra’s elbow, she decided there were two reasons for that. One, only Jews and Babylonians believed in them. And two, even if such creatures existed, angels don’t plot the overthrow of governments, bringing about a war in which innocent women and children would surely die.
Eighteen
Small puffs of clouds dotted the northern horizon, white wisps chafed the sky over the mountains, but above the lake the sky was cloudless and blue, turning Zabrina’s kingdom into a sheet of shimmering sapphire. Out on the water, fishermen applied different strategies for different catches. Some used spears with trident heads, a skill that required patience and strong arms in equal measures. Others cast nets weighted by perforated stone rings, though the majority relied on the old-fashioned but reliable hook and line technique. If the boats were large enough to warrant a sail, and on a lake that size many were, the canvas was white. This was in stark contrast to any other vessels that Iliona had come across. But then those had been seagoing ships, where the sails needed tanning to prevent the salty air from rotting the canvas. Only sweet, fresh water from streams and underground springs fed the Lake of Light. Only the sweetest, freshest fish were caught for the table. For this reason, the nets of the lake fishermen were also bleached white hemp.
‘My apologies for keeping you waiting.’
‘Not at all,’ she told her ardent lover. His hair had been neatly refolded at the nape in Cretan style, and freshly oiled curls swung around his ears. She wondered why the effect was not effeminate. ‘I’ve been perfectly happy watching the birds and biting my nails. Anticip
ation, I’m told, is good for the soul.’
‘Hm.’ Measureless eyes looked up to the mountains. ‘If you expect me to apologize, you’ll have a long wait. I need to find this gold—’
‘And I’m bloody helping you.’
His lips tightened. ‘Despite what you might think, I am not unappreciative. However, my country comes above everything, Iliona, and time is running out.’
‘Please don’t insult my intelligence with that desperate times need desperate measures crap. You set up that seduction to put me in my place. I only hope you told everyone how good I was in bed and how you could hardly stay the course.’
‘Would you have preferred I told the truth, and said you spent the whole night snoring like a goat?’
Who said romance was dead?
‘I suppose the theft couldn’t be political?’ she said, and would it have hurt him to have said kitten?
‘No.’
Foal, or puppy even?
‘A single heist would have been enough to leave us with egg on our faces, and it wouldn’t need to have been sophisticated, either. With politics, it’s the principle, rather than the amount, and the seas close soon,’ he said. ‘Athens would want to spread Sparta’s embarrassment far and wide, inflicting the most damage possible. They certainly wouldn’t want to risk any chance of us catching the perpetrators.’
And another thing, Lysander reminded her. If Athens knew they were trading gold from Macedonia, they’d have broadcast the fact in advance. This would have the benefit of publicizing Sparta’s economic discomfort, as well as sending an open invitation to every bandit in Greece to attack the caravan.
‘Public humiliation is an effective weapon, which,’ he rumbled, ‘rather brings us back to the Oracle foreseeing a rosy future for this flagship enterprise.’ He shrugged. ‘Better the gold than a triumph of self-promotion, I suppose.’
‘At this rate, you might not get either,’ she said sweetly. ‘So far the only thing we’ve managed to establish is what you already knew. The gold wasn’t destined for Sparta, and the accomplice could be anyone.’