Sour Grapes

Fourteen

The hell she could.

Claudia marched across the precinct of the Temple of Fufluns the following morning with her skirts billowing like a merchantman in full sail. Grey clouds had snuggled over the hilltops like a dirty blanket, while out across the valley — and a reminder that the temple sat in the middle of Terrence's land — armies of slaves pruned Terrence's willow hedges, dipped Terrence's protesting sheep in a bath full of dip and waged war on weeds and caterpillars that threatened to undo months of Terrence's careful nurturing. Thankfully, though, it was not the pitchy smell of Terrence's sheep dip that prevailed in the windless air, just the exotic aroma of incense.

Dammit, Claudia thought, skirting the sacred pool rimmed with pomegranate trees beneath which vividly painted marble satyrs cavorted with intoxicated marble nymphs. I haven't come this far to toss everything away on some wet drip of a husband, and how very convenient for the Security Police to have her frauds, forgeries and tax evasions wrapped up at the same time! Another laurel crown to lay on the head of an ambitious young investigator. Another step closer to the Senate! As oblivious to the tall smoking tripods that lined the plaza as she was to the host of temple kittens chasing each other, Claudia thought come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly. She rolled her eyes. Honestly, Marcus Cornelius! Do I look like I have wings?

On the other hand, watching Larentia and Darius laughing and joking at the hot springs (and what is it with the old battle-axe cackling away these days?), Claudia didn't think it would be long before her mother-in-law set a date — and June was traditionally an auspicious month. That gave

Claudia six weeks at best, three at worst, to discredit that smarmy horse-breeder, so where better to start than by searching his room at the villa while he was ensconced at the hot springs?

'Are you sure you have to go back so soon?' he'd asked over a breakfast of rhubarb, fennel and lightly boiled chicory. 'We only arrived yesterday.'

'And already I'm feeling too healthy for my own good,' she retorted. 'Tempting though that yarrow tea is, Darius, duty calls.'

He rose from the couch. 'Then at least let me help.'

Why? So you can pick up some tips about viticulture to help you take over my business more smoothly? 'No, no, you keep up the good work with those cowslip and horseradish syrups.'

'The physician swore he could hear an improvement in his cough just from yesterday.' Larentia reached for another liquorice root, blissfully unaware that it was turning her gums black. 'Said there was definitely less of a rattle.'

'That rattle wasn't my lungs, Ren, it was the crowd of doctors you had swarming all over me.' Darius sucked on a dark-green pastille that smelled as foul as it looked. 'It won't be any cough that kills me,' he told Claudia, with a rueful shake of the head. 'It'll be the crush of physicians that woman has set on me. At least let me escort you back to the villa.'

Taking control already, are we?

'I'll give you a ride if you like,' Lars said, striding into the dining hall and resting a hand on Eunice's shoulder. 'Sorry, pumpkin, but business calls me back to Mercurium.'

'You'll regret it,' Eunice warned, patting his hand, and even at breakfast she smelled of roses and wine. 'You'll come back from your trip, you two, frowning and frazzled — and I warn you, those of us who've been pampered to within an inch of our lives will have absolutely no sympathy.'

I can see you working out how Candace did it, what Darius's game is, what's behind the run of bad luck and why Lars married Eunice before the moon combs her lovely red hair…

Could she? Could she solve all four in as many days?

Seated beside him in the gig, Claudia became conscious of the Etruscan's musky scent as the mule clip-clopped up the hill, and noticed the way his muscles bulged as he fought with the reins on the tight turns.

'You have to wonder whether there's any part of the Empire Terrence looks out on from his windows that doesn't belong to him,' he observed cheerfully. 'With what he makes from Lavernium, he'll be minting his own bloody coins soon.'

'Terrence owns the hot springs as well?'

'That and every other hill you can see, and talking of the big man, whose side are you on? Are you in the Rexie and Terrence camp — and don't think I don't know they call me the Red Gigolo behind my back? Or do you agree with your mother-in-law that we're made for each other, my lady and me?'

As a matter of fact, Claudia wasn't in either.

'One can't deny Eunice looks well on marriage,' she said, oh and how tactful was that?

'As well she might,' he said. 'I picked up a whole batch of health tips when I worked at the hot springs. Is any man better placed to dose his wife with extra minerals of a day?'

Why Lars married Eunice…

'You… administer them yourself?'

'It's no great science,' he laughed. 'You pulverise herbs, turnips, lettuce and broccoli until you're left with the juice. Oh, don't twist your face, woman. With a pinch of mustard, it's practically palatable.'

'That's what they say about hemlock.' She smiled back, and by coincidence the poison was exactly the same consistency and colour. No doubt as Eunice sipped, she'd thank her husband for making her feel soothed and relaxed — until the point where she tried to move and found every muscle in her body was paralysed… 'I'm guessing it wasn't your love potion that fired Cupid's arrow?'

'A legionary would blush at the names Eunice calls me when I make her swallow the vile brew, but strange how I'm instantly forgiven when she looks in the mirror and sees clear skin shining back or bends down to adjust her sandal strap and realizes there's no stiffness in any of her joints. As for Cupid…' He broke off to pull the cart over and allow a wagon to pass. 'I'd give her regular massages at the springs… Look, will you stop spraining your face like you're a prude. We're Etruscans, girl. We're free spirits.'

'Who evidently don't believe in single-sex bath houses.'

'Men have bigger hands, stronger muscles. Oh, you can visit your fancy bath house in Rome and it'll smell grand, sure, and you'll enjoy your rub down well enough, but once a man's worked on those tension knots of yours, woman, you'll not know you're born.'

Eunice might be in danger in the longer term, she reflected, but she was surely in heaven while she was waiting.

'My lady lived in Rome in those days,' Lars said, 'so we'd not see each other that often. Then she rented a house here for the whole of the summer, invited me over to dinner and the friendship grew. To be honest, neither of us gave it a second thought until I went to kiss her goodnight on the cheek and caught her on the lips by mistake.'

'And that's it?'

'Aye.' He jiggled the reins and, when that didn't work, gave the mule a quick flick on the rump with the switch. 'I stayed the night and in the morning I realized that one man is no man, for one is no number. Never went home.'

Cue harps and rose petals… But did Darius put Lars up to it, or vice versa? And where the devil did Candace fit in?

'Thanks for the lift. Can I offer you wine and possibly a more substantial breakfast?'

'You're forgetting I spent two decades in that bloody spa,' he laughed, patting his stomach. 'Luckily for me, the head cook still has fond memories of my time there, for I swear it's the only place in the Empire where servant eats better than master.'

It probably was, but what kind of business would Lars have in Mercurium that was so urgent that it took him away from the hot springs almost before he'd arrived?

Inside her villa, slaves were industriously taking heather brooms to the floors, feather dusters to the ceilings and leather cloths to the marble. In the flurry of water being fetched from the well, oil lamps topped up, cushions plumped, furniture waxed, geese plucked, rugs beaten and vegetables peeled, no one noticed the mistress slip inside Master Darius's room.

Compared to the big house in Rome, the villa was cramped. Of course, to the average citizen it was a palace, and quite frankly the entire apartment in the slums where Claudia grew up could have fitted inside the atrium and have room to spare. But the point was, space was at a premium in Gaius's villa. There were far fewer guest bedrooms for one thing, and by the time things like couches, tables, chairs and clothes chests had been added, there was very little floor space to spare. All the more surprising, then, that Darius's room made the average Spartan appear profligate.

It wasn't unusual among the very rich, Claudia reflected, and actually it was one of the first things she'd noticed. In the same way that Orbilio, whose lineage traced back to Apollo himself, wore his clothes in the manner of a man born to affluence but without any need to advertise the fact, Darius also draped himself in expensive linens with the same casual neglect and kept jewellery down to the essential seal ring. Quality and minimalism often went hand in hand with breeding. But to have no personal possessions at all beyond the essentials…?

'Have you lost something?' an irritatingly familiar little voice piped up as it clambered on to the bed. 'Indigo thinks Darius must have stolen something from you and that's why you're poking around in his chest. Is it?'

Claudia was desperately trying to think of a better explanation for being up to her elbows in an honoured guest's underwear when Amanda saved her the bother.

'Indigo says she hopes it's a ring or a necklace or maybe a gold brooch set with amethysts and rubies and pearls. Something really expensive that means soldiers will have to come and arrest him.'

'Indigo would like that, would she?'

'Very much.' Amanda yanked back the coverlet and embarked upon a forensic search of her own. 'I overheard Darius telling Mummy that Indigo was bad for me and Mummy should stop moving round and that would get rid of her, but I told Indigo not to worry, no one's going to get rid of her, because why should Mummy listen to what Darius tells her? She'll be moving on soon, we always do, but this time it won't matter, because Indigo and me are running away after the Animals Holiday to go live with my father in Rome, only you promise not to tell Mummy, won't you?'

'Cross my heart.'

Comb, razor, scissors, but not so much as a painted cameo to remind Darius of his late wife. In fact, no personal mementoes full stop.

'He hasn't stashed his loot in the bed,' Amanda said miserably, and Claudia thought whirlwinds couldn't have made a worse job of that coverlet. 'But Indigo says Darius is clever.'

'Indigo's right.'

'She says he hides things.' Little hands stuffed themselves between the mattress and the bed frame and began prodding. 'Ooh, is this your brooch?'

Claudia took the box from her, lifted the lid and sniffed the unmistakeable balm of Gilead.

'Lemme see, lemme see.' Amanda scrabbled across the bed on her knees, craning her head for a better look. 'Ooh, yummy, are they sweeties?'

'No, they're buds.' Dried buds to be precise. The most expensive dried buds in the world.

'Bo-r-ing.'Amanda slid off the bed and picked up Darius's razor. 'Why does Darius shave his head?' she asked, peering closely.

Claudia snatched it away and placed it out of her reach. 'He shaves his face, not his head.'

'He does so, too, and he rubs ointment from that jar on his chest.'

'That's oil of frankincense for his cough,' Claudia explained, replacing the box of buds in exactly the same place that Amanda had found it and straightening the coverlet. When she looked up, Amanda was happily gouging a lump out of the table with Darius's scissors.

'Can I sleep in your bed tonight?' she asked, as the scissors were whisked out of her hand.

'No.'

'I could play with your cat.'

'We're still finding body parts from the last person who tried.'

Amanda giggled. 'If I can't find my father in Rome, I'll come and live with you. You're funny, and you won't make me move on all the time.'

Claudia made a mental note to have a word with Mummy and find out what the hell Mummy was playing at, condemning her six-year-old daughter to constant upheaval when the only thing children need at that age is stability. Didn't the woman realize that, in creating an imaginary friend, Amanda wasn't just lonely, she was deeply unhappy? For heaven's sake, what kind of mother can't see that her daughter's invisible friend is nothing more than an embodiment of the girl's confidence? That the minute Amanda becomes absorbed and able to state her own mind, Indigo vanishes? Unfortunately, Mummy would have to wait, and as much as Claudia would have liked to poke around Candace's quarters, she'd need to hold off until inquisitive little eyes and loquacious little tongues weren't around to betray her. Plus the Hebrew twins mightn't mix, but news of the mistress snooping around in the slave quarters would certainly make it to their well-attuned ears.

Which was why she was here, marching across the precinct of the Temple of Fufluns, just as the first drops of rain began to fall.

Up close, the forest of columns that fronted the temple was taller, pinker and infinitely denser than she'd imagined when she stood beside Darius at the top of Mount Mercury squinting down over the valley. What she couldn't see from that distance, either, was that rather than being built on to the hillside, the shrine had been painstakingly gouged out of it in a series of deep and tortuous terraces, and that the columns were actually remnants of the original rock face. Fufluns, she remembered Lars saying, was one of the gods who lived in the earth.

As she climbed the steps, haunting music emanated from the very soul of the temple, beautiful tunes made by strings, flute and tambour, soothing yet at the same time uplifting.

The further she entered, the more lamps that burned, and wild herbs that had been woven into fragrant ropes garlanded every column, wafting out scents of fennel, oregano and thyme that mingled with the fragrant oils that burned in the lamps: mint, lemon balm and sweet clover. The same rich red paint covered these walls as covered those at Eunice's house. Lively, energetic frescoes depicting people dancing, eating, bedding one another with wild abandon, reminding all those who came here that Fufluns wasn't just the Etruscans' god of wine. He was the embodiment of all earthly pleasures.

And to prove it, votive offerings hung from every inch of the prayer rails that lined the steep steps, some asking for the return of a child's health, others put in requests for sophisticated love-making techniques, the majority pleading that the Roman method of watering wine wouldn't catch on. Bronze tubes dangled from the roof to catch the breeze and chime a gentle message from the gods. Prayer ribbons danced, and other offerings to Fufluns lay scattered seemingly at random. Here a bunch of carved wooden grapes, there a set of clay dolls, elsewhere inscribed tablets, food, candles, or cork masks that had also been painted with smiles.

'May I be of help to you, my lady?'

Unlike Roman priests, who dazzled their worshippers in white, Etruscan priests clothed themselves in long red robes, painted the exposed parts of their skin red and wore conical mitres upon their heads, which were also, strangely enough, red. Surrounded by so many soaring pink columns darkened by the unnatural light, he had simply blended into the backdrop.

'I was looking for Tarchis the priest, but I guess he's found me.'

'Truly he has.' He bent his right knee, rested his elbow upon it and placed a clenched fist against his forehead. 'Come forth and welcome in the House of Fufluns, Lady Claudia. May He embrace you in His inestimable peace.'

'You know me?'

Tarchis rose. 'I was acquainted with your husband,' he said in a voice that radiated confidence rather than authority, yet could not disguise the crackle of old age. 'I was a guest at his house many times and was deeply saddened by his passing. Apart from being a good friend, Gaius was instrumental in bringing prosperity to this town.' He smiled. 'A mixed blessing,' he added wryly.

Indeed. A rabid desire for wine and olive oil throughout a burgeoning Empire had generated wealth for Tuscany and improved standards of living in everything from housing to schooling to health. At the same time, though, as Lars had pointed out, Romanization had taken its toll, and where more noticeably than Etruscan religion? Take that old wooden temple on the Via Tuscana, for example, dedicated to the triumvirate of Uni, Tins and Menvra. Who in Mercurium bothered that, these days, they'd become three temples, not one, made of marble, not wood, linked by an art-lined stone portico? Who honestly cared that it was Juno, Jupiter and Minerva who were invoked? Providing their prayers were answered, that's all that mattered.

Unless, of course, you were a priest of the old ways…

'How may I serve you, Lady Claudia?'

'Do you remember my husband's daughter, Flavia?'

'Indeed, I do,' he replied warmly. 'Although I never met the child, I recall Gaius fostering her on to his childless sister shortly after the baby was born. A typically noble, selfless and generous gesture, I always thought, a widower who appreciated only too well how a girl needs a woman to raise her and sacrificed his own happiness… Oh, my dear, what a terrible cough!'

'It's the incense.'

Noble, selfless and generous her arse! As head of the household and free to do as he liked, Gaius dumped a child he didn't want on a sister he didn't like, whether Julia wanted her or not — and she hadn't. Her own marriage, which had been going through a bad patch at the time, promptly plunged to rock bottom and had remained there ever since, the damage irrevocably cemented by the whim of an autocrat and an imperial law that let him do it.

And Orbilio dared to suggest marriage of convenience as a means to thwart Darius?

Claudia cleared her throat. 'The thing is, Tarchis, I realize this might be an odd request, considering Flavia is a stranger to Fufluns, but… '

'You'd like her to perform the Bridal Dance?' The mitre nodded. 'Darius said you might be in contact.'

Oh, goody. Darius is his new best friend now — no wonder Tarchis wasn't exactly overcome with astonishment at seeing her. Sly bastard.

'And did Darius say that before I committed her to such an undertaking, I'd need to know more about it?' Unable to keep the edge out of her voice, she congratulated herself at stopping short of calling it a primitive pagan rite.

'He suggested that you would probably want to satisfy yourself that this was no vulgar instruction into the art of the bedchamber, yes, and indeed you are right to question the morality of our ways.'

His glance automatically flew to the walls, which seemed to be covered in art (most of it of the bedchamber), and most of it energetic, as well.

'However, the days of orgies in the Temple of Fufluns are long past. Today we seek only to initiate young women in the awareness of their bodies in the sense of femininity, elegance and grace, and thus every year on the night of the red-headed moon, thirteen virgins perform the Bridal Dance in front of the idol.'

'Which still makes it a sexy dance?'

'If dancing helps a few graceless pubescent girls — how can I put this? — familiarize themselves with certain aspects of adult life that they might not otherwise acquire, I don't see this can harm them. Sexual awareness is an important part of maturity, for when the heart of the bride is fulfilled, then the heart of the bridegroom is glad and the two halves of marriage become one.' His voice was solemn, but there was a twinkle in his rheumy eye that was no reflection of the flickering lights and Claudia thought that for a man who was forced to juggle two cultures, he was doing a pretty good job.

'Why thirteen?'

'One for each moon of the year, and each has her own costume and characteristics to act out, for self-expression is a very important aspect of the ritual.'

'Which happens to eliminate teenage competition at the same time.'

'Gaius said you were shrewd,' he laughed. 'Now considering the red-headed moon waxes to maturity a mere four days hence, Flavia should commence instruction at once. And though she cannot hope to master every nuance in such a short time, Timi ought to be able to choreograph a simple routine for her to memorise.'

'Timi?'

'Our instructress. Come, I'll introduce you and she can explain what takes place and where, only men aren't allowed near the Bridal Chamber-'

'Tarchis, this is all very obliging.' She followed his cracking pace through the lamp-lit labyrinth. 'But don't you have your full complement of virgins?'

He stopped so abruptly that she cannoned into him. 'As it happens, Lady Claudia, we do not. Vorda, who was to be our little harvest moon this year, sacrificed herself to Fraon, the blue-feathered demon.' He spread his hands. 'Rivermen noticed her amulets piled on top of her neatly folded shawl next to the demon's pool at first light yesterday. When they dived in, they discovered her body tied to a rock.'

He dropped on to one knee and lowered his head.

'May the prayers of Aita make you strong as you stand before the Mirror of Truth, little Vorda. May the spells of Leinth protect you as you pass through the Halls of Purification, and may Efan ensure no road in the Underworld is blocked to your soul. Let the hearts of your ancestors rejoice at your coming.' He stood up and straightened a mitre that didn't need straightening. 'As death is certain, so is its hour, my lady. The gods allocated Vorda but thirteen summers-'

'You mean someone told her she was destined to die yesterday?'

'Who knows when the Herald of Death appears?' he replied smoothly.

Or in what form, Claudia thought as they continued along the vaulted stone corridors. 'Was she having trouble at home? Anxious, perhaps, about her abilities to perform?'

'Her home life was strict, but not unusually so, and by all accounts Vorda was an accomplished pupil who was very much looking forward to performing the Bridal Dance. Indeed, it was all she chattered about.'

'And you don't think it peculiar when that same cheerful thirteen-year-old throws herself in the river?'

Their footsteps echoed six-fold on the stone floor, and whichever way they turned the music was neither louder nor softer, garlands of herbs drifted out their fragrance wherever they passed and the figures on the wall laughed, danced and feasted, because for all they were supposed to be alive, they were dead, and so was Vorda, and Vorda was nothing to them.

'The will of the gods is unalterable, my child. They speak to the augurs through every aspect of nature, and Their prophesies are absolute.'

How can you argue with that?

'That was another thing I wanted to talk to you about,' Claudia said, and at least this was one topic Darius wouldn't have broached. 'Vorda's death seems to be the latest in a string of misfortunes that have occurred recently. In fact, I've drawn up a list.'

It was all there. The paper merchant's warehouse. The brick-maker's kilns. The tavern-keeper's sour wine, his broken axle. She'd written down those couples that had divorced, listed whose livestock had keeled over, the donkey that dropped dead in the harness, the well that was probably poisoned, so-and-so's financial hardships — the lot. And as Tarchis took the parchment closer to the light in order to read, she noticed that he was a lot older than she'd taken him for. Seventy, eighty, possibly more. It was hard to say under that paint.

'This is very strange.' He took off his mitre and scratched his head. 'You say Crantor's crops failed, yet make no mention of his neighbours' fields being blighted, and how odd that it was the miller's donkey that died.'

'Odd how?'

'Grantor is the miller's brother and his son is the blacksmith, the one whose beehive collapsed and whose wife left him and took their children to Rome. And look, here's another coincidence. The paper merchant's sister is married to the man whose cattle fell sick, and it's his mother whose well went sour, while his… Holy Horta!'

For an old man, he took off down the corridor like an Olympic sprinter, his robes flapping like some great red bat's wings as he flung open his office door. Without bothering to take a seat, Tarchis reached for a quill and began scratching away, connecting the names in great inky lines until the whole page became a criss-cross of grids.

'Misfortune be damned, Lady Claudia, this is judgment.' He thrust the parchment under her nose with the same forceful gesture. 'Thufltha has been unleashed.'

'Whofltha?'

'Do not mock the gods in my temple!' he thundered. 'Once invoked, His wrath is unstoppable. The gods have surely taken vengeance upon the wicked.'

A small, tight ball began to bounce around in her stomach. 'I don't understand.'

'Every bad thing that is listed can be traced to five men, and it is they who suffer the punishment of the gods-'

'Along with their families, it appears.'

'When injustice has been done, the gods wreak revenge, and I suppose the closest thing to Thufltha in your religion is the Furies. Winged avengers, who pursue those guilty of crimes against the family to the four corners of the earth, then punish them.'

'Including the innocent?'

'When Thufltha is summoned, Veive obeys.'

'Veive…?'

'Veive is the God of Revenge, and perhaps you have forgotten the story, my lady; perhaps you have not heard it.' Fiery eyes skewered hers as he bade her sit. 'Twelve years ago, in the fifth year of the Emperor's reign, the five men listed bore witness at the trial of Felix Musa here in Mercurium. The charge was treason, a charge Felix denied, but since the evidence was incontrovertible, he was denounced as a traitor, stripped of his assets and sentenced to ten years' hard labour in the silver mines.'

'If the evidence is not in dispute, why would five upstanding pillars of the community need to be punished?'

'Why?' Tarchis stared at her as though she was simple. 'Because Felix has obviously stood before the Mirror of Truth-'

'You mean he's dead?'

'My dear child, how else would the gods know who to avenge?'

That was the trouble when one leads a zealot's existence, she thought. Tarchis' vision was as narrow as these corridors hewn out of the rock and Claudia wondered whether Gaius had genuinely taken to the priest as a friend or simply exploited his standing in the local community.

'Your husband told you nothing about Felix's trial?'

Claudia was his trophy, not his soul mate. 'Why would he?' They rarely met, much less conversed.

Tarchis leaned forward and folded his hands on the desk. 'Because, my dear, there were six men, not five, who bore witness against Felix.' He held her gaze for what seemed like eternity. 'The sixth witness was Gaius.'

Veive looked down the long shaft of his arrow, then tested the feathered flight with the tip of his finger.

Beside him, the winged avenger smiled.