Sour Grapes

Twenty-Seven

The day dawned warm, soft and golden, bathing the landscape in the same glow that had suffused it for centuries. Subtle and gentle, tranquil and pure, the sun promised springtime and growth and renewal. For the people of this land, the people who had, for the same centuries, farmed its fields, fished its rivers and hunted its woods, the dawn was a time of contentment. Exhausted from revelry, satiated from wine and secure in their time-honoured identity, they slipped away from the temple. Thousands dwindled into hundreds, hundreds became scores, scores filtered away into nothingness until only the smell of incense and stale wine remained in the precinct.

That, and a pool of dark blood.

Kneeling over it, Claudia stared at the sticky puddle. Shouldn't it be blue, she wondered dully? Shouldn't it at least have been blue? Rocking on her knees, she could not leave this place. The Etruscans believed in Guardians of the Graves who stood over the tombs and protected the soul for eternity. But what of blood? Who guarded the blood to stop blowflies from feasting? To stop rats licking it up? To prevent ghouls from stealing his lifeblood away?

Life.

She tried to say the word aloud, but nothing could get past the rock in her throat, and you'd think it would hurt, but it didn't. Everything was numb. Leaden. Completely without feeling, and for some reason she couldn't see properly, her mind wouldn't work, nor would her legs or her arms. And there was rain falling now. Rain from a clear blue sky, that bounced down to leave crown-shaped imprints in the blood. Oblivious to the tears that coursed down her cheeks, Claudia rocked herself back and forth. So much of it. Like her mother's, it was the quantity that always surprised her. How much blood one stupid body contains…

Marcus.

But she daren't speak his name aloud. If she did… if she did …

When she closed her eyes all she could hear was the wild, wild music, and all she could see were the dancers. Every one whirling, swirling, blurring into one by the lights of the flickering candles.

Flavia.

This time Claudia didn't even try to say the word aloud. She would never speak it again. She hated the name. Hated her. Hated, you hear? Because while she was waiting, watching that little bitch run through her dance, Rosenna was sticking her No, don't. Don't think about that. Forget Rosenna. Forget Flavia. Forget everything. Forget, forget…

Please Jupiter, let me forget.