Sour Grapes

Thirty-One

This time she wasn't waiting for anyone's sodding approval. This time, as she marched towards the infirmary, Claudia Seferius would not take no for an answer. Too much time had slipped past already.

Having left Terrence thrashing in agony (and pray Jupiter the pain never lessened), she'd raced back to the chamber as fast as she could, swivelled the plinth and jammed the lever with one of the bronze chafing pans. Not that he'd follow. He'd crawl back to his room, tend to his wounds, then try to find a way to talk himself out of it. Save it for the lions, she thought. The first thing she did was rush straight to Tarchis, who'd mustered the temple guard almost before she'd finishing spilling her story, and there was no question of not taking the bastard alive. Terrence was too arrogant to take his own life. In fact, he'd still be trying to worm his way out of it as they lugged him off in chains, and though it was too late for Lichas, Tages and especially Vorda, there was satisfaction in knowing he faced the grimmest of executions. For a patrician, the public humiliation would be as bad as the agony and she smiled. When it came to rapists, Rome did have a penchant for sending out a clear message!

The worst part was the impact this scandal would have on Mercurium. Terrence had supported the cult of Fufluns for his own vile ends, and discord was growing among the conquering Romans. They'd already vandalized the temple of Juno, trying to blame it on locals. Now they could argue there was no justification for maintaining these pagan practices. The high priest was a zealot, the chief sponsor a predator, and since they couldn't shape up, then ship out. Let's put paid to it once and for all. Claudia glanced at the vibrant scenes on the walls, listened to the music that offered calm in a world of worry — strings, flute and tambour. Lars was probably the only person involved enough and passionate enough to fight his god's cause, but would he want to?

There were times, she thought, when she couldn't see wood for trees. Jumped at every daft shadow. Lars wasn't after Eunice's money! The light in Eunice's eyes stood proof to that. The man idolized her! No conman would be so attentive, so loving, so passionate, so compassionate without letting his guard slip at least once. Claudia thought about the insight into Roman life that Eunice had offered him, how he'd reciprocated by inviting her into his world, then been overwhelmed that she'd embraced it. No doubt both believed that what they enjoyed was ephemeral — and when one doesn't expect something to last, that's the time it usually does. With Lars fighting his corner, Fufluns was looking at a good few Bridal Dances yet.

'Ah, there you are,' a velvet voice drawled, and it seemed right at home in this subterranean cavern. 'Amanda said she saw you riding off in this direction.'

'Does anything escape that little monster's notice?'

'With time on her hands and no one to play with, she's had nothing else to do, but that situation is set to change.' Candace smiled, and this time it lit up her eyes. 'I want to thank you. I want to thank you for giving me my daughter back, or perhaps more accurately not taking her away from me.' She paused. 'You could have denounced me as a conspirator in Felix's sabotage, but instead you showed me what I'd lost sight of, and for this I thank you. We are moving on. Naturally. But next time we will put down roots and Indigo will fade like frost in the sun.'

'I'm glad,' Claudia said. The child deserved it.

'Before we go.' Candace bit down on her plum-painted lip. 'You accused me of giving Larentia happy pills, but don't you see? Did you really not see why, no matter how much I forced her hand through those walks on the wind, your mother-in-law wouldn't set a date for the wedding?'

Well, I'll be damned. It had been staring Claudia in the face all along! The old boot had nothing in common with Darius. He was too young for her for one thing, she'd never leave Tuscany for another, and it was far too hot in the south.

Don't you think old people get consumed by the same urges as you youngsters? Course we do, and when you see my Darius, you'll understand why. Quite the stud, if you pardon the pun.'

The wicked old trout had been leading everyone on — including the man she believed was a wealthy horse-breeder. It was exhilaration that took ten years off her. To be courted and pampered by a much younger man turned other elderly widows green with envy, and she loved rubbing their noses in it.

'Did you see the way people looked at her?' Candace said. 'That was the drug, and that's why she kept stringing him along.'

Not just Darius, Claudia thought. Larentia had been laughing at her daughter-in-law all along. (And to think she'd actually felt sorry for the poisonous old bat!)

'Goodbye, Candace,' she said, wishing her luck. 'I think you and Amanda deserve it.'

'Actually,' a voice rumbled, 'there'll be three of us.'

Darius stepped out from behind a pillar, something he seemed very good at, and as much as Claudia wanted to remain cross with him, the fire had gone out of her belly.

'Claudia, I don't ever expect you to forgive me, but I do hope that one day you can understand.'

'I already do,' she said softly. 'Tortured by your family's deaths and the injustice of false accusation, on top of being consumed by a feeling that you'd failed everyone you ever loved, you truly believed in your heart that you owed them retribution.'

That gravel voice wasn't the rusty horse razor Orbilio imagined. It really had trod the path to Hell.

'I was wrong, though, that was the point. I brought vengeance on those who didn't deserve it, and… and I cannot ever put that right.'

'No, you can't,' she agreed crisply, 'but none of those involved know that they've been set up, so I suggest you leave the rest of the silver for the families you've destroyed-'

'I can't,' he cut in. 'I've already spent it.'

On expensive renovations to Claudia's villa, among other things, she reflected, but when you're teetering on the edge of ruin yourself, this is no bad thing. Claudia Seferius had never had a problem with hypocrisy.

'Here.' Candace began to remove her welter of bangles and pendants. 'Like we said, my child, love is more precious than gold.' She handed Claudia her rings and anklets. 'I cannot carry Kush on my body, any more than I can carry Kush in my heart. I do not belong there, I have never belonged there. My homeland only brought me heartache and pain.'

'If you can both put the past behind you, you have every chance of success,' Claudia said. 'Once neither of you cared, and Darius, you were dead every bit as much as your father, your mother, Mariana and your child. But now you do care. You've begun to feel again, so for gods' sake don't waste it.'

Second chances are as precious as they are rare, but she couldn't linger with tearful goodbyes. The infirmary awaited and, funny, but inside this artificially lit subterranean warren, it was easy to lose track of time. So much had happened since dawn broke over that enormous pool of blood in the precinct that it was probably no later than midday — yet a lifetime could have passed since then.

Claudia closed her eyes and prayed to the Fates who measured the thread that that lifetime wasn't Orbilio's.

In the House of Shadows, where whispers flitted like gnats round the Runes of Adversity, the Goddess of Immortality lifted the veil from the Mirror of Life. In it, she saw spring blossoms ripen into rich autumn fruits. She saw seeds in the womb grow into man, then watched those same strong, knotted muscles turn scraggy and thin. Everything changed except Immortality herself. But all earthly things must come to an end.

As the last grain of sand trickled through the holed jug that measured the span of human life, the Herald of Death slipped on his silent winged sandals.

'I don't care what the bloody priest says!' Claudia barged past the guard outside the infirmary and flung open the door. 'I have to see him. I have to talk to him. I have to tell him not to go yet.'

'Tell who not to go where?' a baritone drawled from the bed.

Claudia blinked. He was sitting up. Miracle of miracles, he was sitting up, with a bandage round his upper arm and he was smiling. Relief coursed through her veins, and for some stupid reason her legs had gone wobbly. Sitting up. Smiling. With a bandage round his…

Round his upper arm?

And what's this? It's not just one cot that's occupied, but three bloody beds. Orbilio, Orson and Rosenna, all pale, all sporting bandages…

'I'm sorry, milady, it is the Lord Tarchis' orders that no outsider be permitted in the infirmary without his authority.' The guard was one step away from breathing fire. 'I will have to ask you to leave.'

'Ask all you like,' the baritone rumbled. 'I've seen that look in her eye before.'

'What's the matter, guard?' A stocky individual with close-set eyes marched into the room, carrying a surgical box under his arm.

'I've tried to get her to leave, sir…'

'What for? Invalids need visitors.' He deposited the box at the foot of Orson's bed and flipped open the hinge. 'Cheers 'em up.'

'But Lord Tarchis-'

'Gave the order before he went to bed. It was an expedient way to keep order while people recovered from yesterday's revels.' He brought out a pair of sharp pointed scissors and cut through the stitch holding the bandage round Orson's shoulder. 'She can stay.'

'Will someone please tell me what's going on?' Claudia demanded. 'For gods' sakes, Orbilio, I thought you were at death's door!'

'I'm sorry if my good health disappoints you.'

'You do not enjoy good health, young man, so stop bragging. ' The physician waved the scissors with uncompromising menace. 'If you must know,' he told Claudia, unwinding Orson's bloodied bandage, 'the only reason that little hothead,' he pointed to a contrite Rosenna, 'didn't do more damage was because this little hothead,' he tapped Orson's skull, 'got between them.'

No wonder there was so much blood in the precinct! It had spurted out from three different bodies.

'You'll need an abacus to keep count of the wounds,' he said, slapping a poultice on to a neatly stitched cut. 'Apparently, it was some struggle, our little wildcat none too eager to part with her skinning knife, but at a rough guess, our young hero sustained four, the wildcat sustained six — mostly slashes that cost them a lot of blood — while the braggart whose hand you seem to be crushing took a blow to the upper arm, two to the chest, and one in the side that was quite deep.'

Her stomach flipped over. Sweet Janus, if Marcus had done as she had asked, he would have been dead…

'Dammit, Orbilio, don't you ever do anything you're told?' It must be the stuff he'd put on that poultice, because her eyes had started to water. 'I specifically asked you to put Orson under arrest.'

'What for?' The boy's face twisted in puzzlement. 'Oi handed that jewel box in the minute Oi found it there under me bed! You can't go round arresting folks for being honest!'

Or giving civilians medals for being brave, she reflected. Looking at the expression that passed between Orson and Rosenna — a mix of complicity, affection and sorrow — it was obvious that, whether he'd seen her pocket the knife or had just been alarmed by her strange behaviour, Orson had shadowed her during the festival.

'Mind, Oi think you'll be happy with me news, marm.'

Claudia's stomach was still churning. 'Sorry, Orson, what did you say?'

'Oi said, your Flavia don't want me no more. Partly it were coz she thought it were boring, stupid and a complete waste of time, me making toys for them kiddies, but like I told her, if every man were a lord, where'd we be?'

There was merit to that, though Claudia preferred the alternative. 'I think I can guess the other part.'

'Aye.' He nodded glumly. 'It's coz Oi weren't there when she danced.'

That's Flavia for you! While Orson's saving Orbilio from death and Rosenna from herself, the little cow's bitching because her boyfriend wasn't watching her dance.

'You're lucky,' she told him, as the physician stitched up the fresh bandage. 'You escaped. I'm stuck with the wretched girl.'

It was good to see the ugly lug laugh.

'Right, Oi'm offthen,' he told the doctor. 'Oi'm a working man, see, and me hands need to be busy.'

'As do mine, young man,' the physician replied sharply. 'Now lie still or I'll make you sew your wounds up yourself, and you can get back into bed, too, madam.'

Rosenna's lips pinched. 'Holy Nox, you don't seriously expect me to make a run for it in blooming bandages?'

Pushing her thick tangle of curls back from her face as the physician announced that she wouldn't be running anywhere with that amount of blood loss, young woman, and anyway, if the investigator intended to press charges, she'd be in the army's infirmary, not the temple's, Rosenna felt a rush of colour to her cheeks.

She glanced awkwardly at Orson, who beamed proudly back.

She twizzled a curl.

The colour of rosehips in autumn, eh?

Claudia watched the exchange and thought, they'll be all right, her and Orson. Both were fighters in their different ways, and though he was younger than her, just like her brother, he had a wise head on his shoulders, and Claudia envied the man who could truly be content with himself.

Yet something wasn't right. Although the infirmary was warm, goose pimples rose on her arm and the hair prickled on the back of her neck. It was as though the Herald of Death had just passed.

But if Terrence was in chains, Darius was innocent, Orbilio was alive… who was being summoned?

Aurelia stared at the goblet on the wooden table. Everyone said hemlock was painless, but no one she knew had firsthand experience. She wouldn't know for sure until she drank.

But there was nothing to live for. So long as Felix was suffering, she had been happy — if happy was the right word. She'd been able to wallow in her own cast-offmisery, barren, unloved and empty. Her world had revolved solely round retribution, calling upon Veive for revenge. Veive had answered. He sent his arrows straight into Felix, and the winged avenger dipped them in poison for her without even asking.

She had watched impassively as the evidence mounted against him. The clerk testifying that it was Felix Musa who'd incited him to steal from the Treasury. The witnesses who'd seen Felix stash it away in his saddlebags. That actor had been worth every penny, she thought. The way he'd impersonated her ex-husband's walk, his dress, his every mannerism. Not that Aurelia attended the trial. She was supposed to be the tolerant ex, and of course she could have gone along to support him, but what if her emotions gave her away? She'd stayed in Cosa, content that he'd been found guilty, his assets stripped, his shame and humiliation made public — exactly like hers had been.

Fifteen years. Fifteen years she'd loved that man, and then what? He threw her away like an old sandal, and it wasn't her fault his father and mother were dead. They took their own lives. It was their decision, not hers, but oh how she rejoiced when Mariana had died giving birth. Now Felix would know what it was like not to have children. To be barren and sterile, like her.

And then Claudia brought her face to face with him again. Her Felix. Her very own Felix…

The love that she'd felt from the beginning welled up, but this time it came with an emptiness like she'd never known. He would not take her back. Not now, not ever; it was over. She'd hurt him too deeply for him to reciprocate, they couldn't even build again on a friendship, and now he was leaving with some coloured bitch and, worse, adopting her white bastard child.

As long as Aurelia had believed Felix dead she hadn't cared, but now, oh, the pain. The pain of seeing him, loving him, of being not only discarded for another woman a second time, but hated. Truly hated.

'Wolf-headed Aita is waiting,' the Herald of Death whispered softly.

Aurelia reached for the goblet. 'I'm ready,' she sighed.

In the House of Shadows, where no sunlight shines, the Seraph who measured the thread cut through cleanly.

Standing at the top of the steps, Claudia stared out across the landscape of Tuscany, over its vines and its olives, its sheep and its pastures all bathed in centuries-old sunlight. Down in the precinct, the water in the Pool of Plenty sparkled beneath the pomegranates, and it must have been a trick of the light, but she swore she saw one of the satyrs wink. A gentle warm breeze carried away the sacred incense that burned in the tripods — frankincense, cedar, cinnamon and juniper — and the ethereal music pulsed softly around her. Lyre, flute and tambour.

The gods had answered her prayers before she'd asked them, she thought. They'd given him life when she feared death, but the emptiness remained. He was leaving. Going back to Gaul to resume his post as Head of the Aquitanian Security Police, while she was returning to Rome.

'Don't suppose you know where a chap could find a crutch around here?' a baritone rumbled.

Claudia spun round. He'd managed to clamber into his long patrician tunic, but with his arm bandaged up, hadn't been able to belt it and was in danger of tripping himself up. Mindful of his wounds, she tied it gently and resisted the urge to push that ridiculous floppy fringe away from his forehead. As he leaned on her shoulder for support, she was sure she could smell sandalwood over the mouldy bread poultice they'd stuck on his wounds. Nonsense, of course. And besides, she was relieved he was leaving. Ever since that little white doughboy failed to win the effigy race, she'd been torn between fiddling her taxes (again), making a fraudulent claim for compensation (again), or watering the vintage (again). With the long arm of the law probing Gaul and not Rome, she was free to do all bloody three.

'Shouldn't you be in bed?' He was less than steady on his feet as she helped him down the steep steps.

'The doctor says providing I don't do anything stupid for a couple of days, I should be fine.'

'Liar. You didn't even ask the physician's permission, and that's stupid for a start. Did you see the way he punched Rosenna's pillow?'

'I was just too damn quick for him,' Marcus quipped, wincing as his side caught the handrail. 'Although I'll happily to go back to bed, if you'll come with me.'

'If we're playing doctors and nurses, you need to remember that I've already cauterised one patient this morning. And why didn't you have Rosenna arrested?'

'What, and rake the whole nasty business up even more? Right now the focus is firmly on Terrence, exactly where it belongs.'

Finally they reached the bottom, where the temple kittens found the hem of his tunic the perfect height to play catch.

'Yes, why did Rex try to cover up Lichas's murder, if he believed his son was innocent?' she asked, disentangling their sharp little claws.

'Because he was ashamed it would come out that Hadrian — his only son, and heir to his illustrious name — was running off with a commoner,' Orbilio said, puffing from the exertion. 'In dear old Uncle Rexie's book, that's worse than homosexuality, but put the two together and the disgrace it would bring if it became public was worth anything. Even covering up murder.'

Claudia distracted the kittens by trailing a herbal garland over the flagstones.

'So, er, you're not marrying Terrence, then?'

And who'd have thought that playing with a couple of cats would have made a grown man grin from ear to ear? Honestly, she'd never understand these patricians!

'No, but I gave him his ring back,' she said, rubbing the sapphires on her skirt. 'Right in the eye as it happens.'

'Dammit, Claudia,' the baritone was suddenly gruff. 'You could have been killed.'

Or worse, she thought. 'Didn't you know? I'm indestructible, Marcus.'

'Oh, yes. Absolutely.' There was a twinkle at the back of his eye now. Sunlight, presumably. 'But you're still faced with the same old problem, you know. Widow, with your two State-allowed years of mourning well past.'

Bugger. She'd forgotten about that, and that's the trouble with bullies these days. You just can't rely on them. If only Terrence had browbeaten her into announcing their engagement, she'd be off the hook. Another reason to hate him!

'Of course, there's a simple solution.' Orbilio hobbled over to the side of the pool and clutched the rim for support.

'Really?' She was all ears. 'What's that?'

'Mmmf… unnnnng… tththth.'

'Say that again?'

He beckoned her over with a weak hand. 'I said, mm-ung-ung… '

'Orbilio, I know you're weak, but you'll have to speak up.' She stood on tiptoe and moved her ear close to his mouth. 'I didn't catch a word.'

But it only goes to show, you can't trust the Security Police, either. He wasn't weak, just pretending. There was nothing at all feeble about the lips that crushed down on hers. Or the arms that wrapped around her.