Dark Horse

Forty-Two

They had been climbing only a few minutes when the last of the scrub petered out. Now it was just bare white karst, slippery and hard to get hold of. Azan's archers might be crap, Claudia thought, as the strap from the quiver grated away at the flesh on her shoulder, but a blindfolded elephant couldn't fail to score a bull's-eye on such a slow-moving target. The only conclusion she could draw was that, in retaliation for disabling his artillery, Azan wanted to take them alive.

'Progress would be a lot faster if I ditched the axe.'

'I'll be needing that,' Jason replied. Geta was strapped across his broad shoulders, and the effects of the additional cargo showed in the lines on his face. Perspiration dripped off him in rivers. Claudia tried not to think about why he might want to lug a corpse around, instead of leaving him back there in the pines.

'Then suppose I dump the sack?' she suggested. Just carrying it made her feel sick. 'Bumping around between the axe and the quiver, it unbalances me.'

He flashed her a dark grin. 'I doubt anything unbalances you,' he said. 'And ask yourself the question, do you really think I've gone to all this trouble to bring along stuff I'm not going to need?'

Which was enough to silence her. If Jason needed an axe plus a sackful of heads plus Claudia Seferius as well as a corpse with a thick thatch of red hair which would look particularly pretty dangling off a war spear, it didn't need Archimedes to work out what he was planning.

Grappling with the slippery handholds, she wondered just how she was going to get out of this. Behind her, the shouts of the posse grew louder by the second. Not for them progress hindered by volleys of shrapnel, impeded by onerous burdens. They were scrambling up the hillside like millipedes. But assuming she escaped her pursuers, what then? Doubling back was out of the question — forget hailing a boat when the coast's in the hands of three pirate warships! While up here, the mountains were a desert. Without food. Without water. Without shelter. Without people. Just vast expanse of bare white rock after vast expanse of bare white rock. Like it or not, Jason was her only chance of survival, but the irony of her situation didn't escape her.

The very man who was keeping her alive was also the man intent on killing her.

Claudia climbed.

The track made in the mountainside by centuries of chamois and mountain goats was a narrow, boulder-strewn death trap, but for Claudia, loaded down by half her own body weight, walking along it was like being fitted with wings. Suddenly the peak was much closer, the pass between the mountains a realistic goal.

'That's far enough for the moment.'

Glancing back, she realized that Jason had eased Geta into a fissure in the rock and was letting the cliff absorb his own weight until his breathing returned to something approaching normal.

'Pass the quiver and bow,' he wheezed. 'High time we shortened some odds.'

Unlike Roman archers, who pulled their bowstrings back to the chest, Jason lifted his bow so his arm was parallel with his shoulder and pulled the string level with his ear. As the first of Azan's men took an arrowhead in the chest, Claudia understood why no Roman archer had beaten a Scythian. Jason's shot was on a par with Parthian bowmen. Accurate. Deadly. Every shot counts. Two more rebels tumbled down the hillside, then, just when things were going well, Jason replaced the lid on his quiver.

'Why don't you finish them off?' she asked, as he heaved Geta's body out of the crevice.

'I got in sufficient shots before they dived for cover. Any more would have been a waste of ammunition, and before you say why don't we stay here and pick them off as they come up the hill, that's simply locking ourselves in a trap.'

Darkness, he explained, would allow Azan's group the opportunity to separate, spread out — and comprehensively seal off the goat track.

'My totem's the bull, not the sitting duck,' he added.

'Strange,' she murmured, 'I could have sworn it was the chameleon.'

If Illyria was one scenic surprise after another, then none was probably more so than the track on the other side of the mountain. Instead of a sea of sparkling turquoise spread out below her, Claudia was plunged into an ocean of dense forest and the first thing that struck her was the birdsong.

'Inverse vegetation,' Jason explained. 'Unlike conventional mountains, where the upper slopes are covered with spruce leading down to rich fir and beechwoods at the bottom, on the karst, in Dalmatia, this is reversed.'

As though to illustrate his point, a squirrel scampered across the track in front of her to shin up an oak tree in a red chattering blur. They paused in the shade to catch their breath, Jason laying Geta reverently against a beech.

'How far to the cave?' she asked. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, hiding out here for a couple of days, and she pictured Jason's slingshot deer roasting slowly on a spit while Azan's frustrated gorillas gave up their search.

'What cave?'

The hairs on the back of her neck were the first to react. He seemed genuinely confused. Just as he might genuinely not remember how slowly and how painfully he had despatched Bulis and Leo. And suddenly Claudia saw herself roasting over that open fire…

'The one where you've stashed your booty,' she said nonchalantly.

'Oh, that one.' He chuckled as he wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. 'Well, there are caves in these mountains. Hundreds of them, in fact, as Geta knew full well. But as for the gold

…'He ruffled the mop of red hair affectionately. 'It was the only story I could think of which would make a plunder-hungry pirate drive his ship at full speed on to the rocks. That, and cutting the rest of the crew out of the deal.'

'What fairy tale were you planning to spin him once he was up here?'

'Hadn't actually thought that far ahead,' he admitted, hefting the helmsman back on to his shoulders. 'But I'd have thought of something.'

And Claudia thought, I'll bet you would. You must have had Bulis and Leo mesmerized, the poor misguided bastards. She caressed the stiletto still strapped to her calf and followed the Scythian deeper into the woods.

Orbilio wasn't sure how he'd get through the day. Time had never stood heavier. What he had wanted to do was jump in the saddle and scour the island for signs that could shed light on Claudia's disappearance, but there it was again. That old patrician millstone..

'You can't go charging off,' Silvia reminded him, tweaking her curls in the mirror. 'You're chief mourner at Leo and Bulis's funeral, and besides, you're Rome's representative on Cressia now. You have an example to set.'

'Bollocks to examples, bollocks to Bulis and bollocks to Cressia, frankly. These people didn't give a toss about Leo when he was alive, the hypocrites can't very well complain when-'

'You'll have to speak up, darling. Your voice is still terribly hungover from last night's binge.'

'That's not the drink,' he said. 'That's the swelling.'

'Good grief!' Big blue eyes jumped out on stalks as they noticed the bruising. 'What happened?'

A Gaul was what happened. Once Orbilio realized Claudia was missing, he'd released Junius and explained the position — only to take the full force of her bodyguard's fist. It was only because he knew how to roll with the punches that his bloody jaw hadn't been broken.

'I tripped down the steps.'

'Then I hope that will teach you a lesson about over imbibing,' she said tartly. 'But back to this morning, there is no question of escaping your obligations, Marcus. Whether you like it or not, the needs of the many must be balanced against the need of the individual.'

'You're a fine one to dish out lectures on duty,' he snapped. 'Or have you forgotten those three boys of yours?'

'Marcus!'

'Think that's uncalled for, do you? That I shouldn't mention the subject. That you don't deserve it, because it was only the night before last that some bastard left you for dead on the dark shores of Hades and you're frightened, bewildered and pitifully vulnerable? Well, I'm sorry for you, Silvia, truly I am, but that doesn't give you the right to lecture me about marital obligations and denying my children their birthright.'

Silvia laid the mirror down, walked across the room and began to massage the stiffness out of his shoulders. 'You raised those points, darling, not me.'

Shit. 'I'm sorry.' He wiped his hands over his face. 'My nerves are shot to threads, I'm not thinking straight.'

'Understandable, darling. It's your cousin's funeral and that's a lot of responsibility, but you can't cry off simply because some little wine merchant's widow has taken it upon herself to have an adventure.'

Orbilio resisted the urge to finish the job on Silvia's throat. 'It's a little more serious than that,' he said levelly.

He was wasting his breath.

'It's not just the family who will expect you to fulfil your obligations.' Silvia hesitated. Smoothed the wayward curls at the back of his head. 'The thing is, darling, it wouldn't sit at all well with the Senate should word filter back that you'd turned your back on duty.'

'Hardly turning my back,' he retorted, shrugging her off. 'All I'm suggesting is postponing the ceremony.'

'Iss too late, I fear,' Llagos said from the doorway. His dainty hands were spread in a gesture of helplessness. 'Things hef not been so good for the islanders lately. Much temptation to return to the old ways. So! Thiss morning I gather the people together and tell them — ' he coughed apologetically '- I tell them that the death of your cousin iss sacrifice to almighty Neptune.'

'What?'

'Iss something they can understand, Marcus. Do not angry.'

'The hell I-'

'Please listen,' Llagos pleaded. 'Lately there hef been much talk of superstition, bringing big gulf between Roman ways and Cressian traditions. So I use thiss to build bridge. I pretend Leo loved his people so much, he laid down his life for them and that, in return for his sacrifice, Neptune cast his special protection over the island.'

'Bloody hell, Llagos.' Orbilio hurled a vase filled with roses against the wall and watched until the last of the petals had cascaded down the plaster to join the glittering shards on the floor. 'Then perhaps you wouldn't mind rushing the service?' he asked levelly.

With a nervous smile, the little priest nodded, but it was Silvia who had the last word. 'One cannot rush a funeral pyre, Marcus, it burns itself out. Now then.' She gave her black skirts a shake. 'How do we look?'

Llagos had not been exaggerating the effect of his pep talk.

'Long live the new governor!'

'Hurrah for Marcus Cornelius Orbilio!'

'Bloody rum way to be sent off, in my opinion,' Volcar grumbled from his litter. 'Anyone would think this was a victory procession, not a bleeding funeral.'

But for the islanders, that's precisely what it was. They hadn't swallowed the priest's story about Leo sacrificing himself on the altar on their behalf, but they had learned their lesson. With Jason on the loose, they needed Rome at their back like no time ever before.

'Long live Orbilio!'

'Long live our new protector!'

Ducking posies and garlands, and politely avoiding the attentions of young girls thrust in his path by their hopeful mamas, Orbilio kept his gaze focused on his cousin's bier. The undertakers had rouged Leo's cheeks, rendered pale through loss of blood, and softened out the rictus, drawing attention away from the face by dressing the corpse in scarlet trimmed with silver, since gold was not permissible on the voyage to the Underworld. Leo's thick dark curls, the family trademark, were coiled artfully between a wreath of shiny laurel leaves. Frankincense, cinnamon and other rich embalming spices wafted in his wake.

Qus was one of the eight pallbearers, the only evidence of emotion being the five parallel scars on his forehead which now shone white in their ebony setting.

The smell of fishing boats hung rank in the air as the procession snaked its way past the harbour. Flax fibre nets had been spread out to dry, willow creels upended, children scrubbed barrels in preparation for preserving oysters and crayfish and squid in brine for the winter. Without a breeze to carry it away, the smoke from the torchbearers' flames rose upwards, like the black feathers of harpies, but Orbilio noticed none of it. It was his cousin's funeral, for gods' sake, he kept reminding himself. You've done enough damage letting him be killed in the way that he had, the least you can do is pay him the courtesy of mourning him properly.

But all he could think of was a girl with flashing eyes and a tongue like a bullwhip who had disappeared off the face of the earth.

Search parties had been sent out and he had placed Junius in charge in his absence, knowing that if anyone was going to find Claudia, it was the Gaul. Orbilio tenderly rubbed at his jaw. He couldn't blame the lad for taking a pop. Or for the threats he had made as he stormed off this morning.

'If she's dead,' Junius had said, wheeling his horse round, 'I will kill you.'

'Long live the governor!'

'Hurrah for Marcus Cornelius!'

A rain of petals showered over his black mourning cloak as he passed the waterside tavern where he had been staying the night Leo was murdered. Would these people still think him a hero if they knew the truth? Dammit, he should never have taken that bloody room. He should have gone straight to the villa, instead of buggering about playing cloak and dagger.

Outside the tavern, the man in his mid-forties, greying at the temple and with the spatulate artistic fingers that

Orbilio had envisaged handling fine works of art, watched the first of the two biers pass. Diplomatic, Orbilio decided. And shrewd. Magnus could hardly have joined Leo's cortege with Lydia present; while to pay his respects to Bulis would have been to snub his late patron. He acknowledged the sculptor's tight-lipped nod of sympathy and wondered what exchanges, if any, passed between Magnus and Lydia as she followed her ex-husband's body.

As the procession wound its way to the Temple of Neptune, a woman with malt-brown hair and green eyes sat defiantly on the steps with her arms wrapped round her knees. Nanai’, he concluded. Wondering whether she was here to mourn or to gloat.

It was only once the two biers were laid upon their respective pyres that Orbilio gave his full attention to delivering Leo's ovation, but when he stepped back to allow Saunio to deliver Bulis's, he noticed that the crowd comprised two very different groups. For the majority, this was the first Roman funeral they had witnessed and they were here partly to voice their allegiance to Rome, and partly out of curiosity. Why didn't the Romans simply bury their dead with their hands covering their faces like everybody else? But there was another group, a small minority comprising twelve, maybe thirteen people, who stood out from the crowd. The taverner's son, for example. As white as a barn owl. And the wheelwright, whose hands were shaking. These people, Orbilio realized, were scared. Scared of what? he wondered.

As the funeral attendants set a torch to the pyres, Shamshi rippled his way through to Orbilio's side. 'The organs of the sacrificial beast were sound,' he intoned. 'It augurs well for the souls of the departed.'

'The sun rose thrice more over our heads,' Orbilio countered, 'but no woman died.'

The smile that hovered at the corner of the Persian's mouth made his blood curdle. 'Did one not?' he asked softly, before drifting back into the throng and for a man who was watching his livelihood literally go up in smoke, he didn't seem unduly troubled, Orbilio reflected.

In front of him, the flames crackled and spat and the only outpouring of grief came from the artists, as Saunio's Beautiful Young Men clustered round to console the maestro as well as each other, ensuring outsiders could not breach their wall of self-contained mourning. At least they mourned. Qus might have been one of Magnus's sculptures. Nikias always looked like he was scowling. Lydia and Silvia were both visions in black, the one petite and fair, the other dark and statuesque, but not a glance had passed between them. And still Shamshi grinned.

Leo, Marcus felt, deserved better. Much, much better. But then we reap what we sow and whatever his intentions, however honourable they might have been, the bottom line was that Leo had not put them into practice. As a result, he'd left an aged uncle too bitter to grieve, plus an ex-wife and sister-in-law who couldn't find a tear to shed between them. His astrologer was indifferent, his bailiff detached, and even Nanai’, for whom he'd provided free housing for many years, felt he'd deserved all he'd got. Siring a son had blinded Leo to everything and everyone else. What made it particularly poignant was that he hadn't seen his motives as selfish. Robbing Petrus to pay Paulus came naturally to him. After all, everyone would be repaid in the end, the Villa Arcadia would be the most splendid palace in the whole of the Adriatic and, to cap it all, the rose-grower's daughter would give him a child every year until he lost count. By Leo's reckoning, this was a win-win situation, what's the problem?

Finally, after an eternity of waiting for messages from search parties that did not come, they approached the final rites of the double cremation. Censers were shaken vigorously, emitting clouds of fragrant grey smoke, handbells rattled, honeycakes thrown on the fire. Once the ashes were purified, a sense of relief fell over the assembly. Nothing stretches time like a body awaiting burial, and now a line had been drawn, allowing people to move on with their lives.

'You will come back to the villa?' Orbilio asked Lydia.

'The hell I will.' Her voice was pitched low and did not carry as far as the crowd. 'I want nothing more to do with that man or, and this is nothing personal Marcus, his kin. Be they related by blood or by marriage," she added, just loud enough for Silvia to hear.

The sun was sinking. Still no news of Claudia. What did Shamshi know, he wondered? He thought about the message that had brought so much trouble to this paradise island. Five words. Give back what is mine.

If only, if only…

One event sets off another, and so it goes on until a whole train is in motion and becomes unstoppable, out of control. The rage of frustration pulsed through his veins. Impotent. Useless. Hog-tied without any leads. The sun disappeared over the Istrian peaks, and with it withered his hopes.

All he knew for sure was there was a psychopath on the loose with god knows how many victims on his death roll. And that caught up in this whirlwind of evil was a woman with tumbling curls and dark flashing eyes.

Who might already be dead.