Stone Cold

Ten

The moon was high, the stars bright, when the second round of silver platters was being cleared away. After a prelude of music and dancing to get the guests in party mood, the banquet had formally begun with a toast to the hostess, followed by a first course of fattened dormice, larks' tongues and snails accompanied by oysters from the Carent estuary served on a bed of blanched lettuce. This had been allowed to settle while a group of Kushite acrobats turned somersaults, the idea being that with white 'bones' painted on their bodies they were turned into leaping skeletons. During this interlude, Claudia had been stuck between a tin importer and Hor, and frankly she'd found little to choose between them in terms of conversation.

Of the two, the artist had the edge, because although the tin importer was widely travelled his personal interests revolved solely around the intricacies of bee-keeping and dear Diana, did that man understand the full meaning of the word drone! With an assurance that it was so fascinating she was inspired to take bee-keeping up herself, Claudia switched her attentions to Hor. Bad move. Here was a man able to quote chapter and verse on the virtues of red ochre over haematite crystals (or was it the other way round?), but knew sod all about current affairs, either amorous or political. No first course had ever lasted so long. No skeleton had ever rattled quite so monotonously.

'That's quite a cheetah your brother's got,' she cut in, as Hor drew breath about the merits of Spanish armenium.

His liquid dark eyes hardened to steel. 'Qeb?'

'Why? How many brothers did you bring with you from Egypt?' It was meant as a quip, a light-hearted throwaway, but Hor wasn't the jocular type.

'Qeb's my only family. I have to look after him, but-'

'Surely he's a decade older than you?' Maybe that was the answer? Maybe Qeb was a bit simple?

'Nearer eight years,' Hor corrected. 'But the cheetah?' He leaned towards her, his eyes narrowed. 'You saw it?'

'And heard it.' What was so odd about one snarling cat? His intensity was starting to give her the creeps. Seemed it was a family trait.

'Heard? Oh. The menagerie, you mean.'

He relaxed, picked a bit of meat out of his teeth, examined it between manicured fingernails and then ate it. Claudia clapped the retreating skeletons so hard, they thought she was demanding an encore. Bugger.

'Any time you want your walls painted — ' Hor indicated the magnificent frescoes that adorned Marcia's banqueting hall with a long artistic finger — 'be certain you look inside the artist's box before hiring him. Don't be afraid to poke into all the compartments, and satisfy yourself he's using pig's bristles for his brushwork, because nothing else is good enough, and if he says any old scoop will do for measuring out pigments, don't hire the fellow. There's no substitute for bronze. Other metals only compromise-'

'He doesn't say much, your brother.'

'Qeb?'

No, the other half-dozen! 'Yes. Qeb.' This time she wouldn't bloody well clap them and the skeletons could take as much offence as they liked.

'He prefers to talk to his animals,' Hor explained. 'Oh, and another thing. Plaster.'

'Qeb talks to… plaster?'

'Don't let anyone put fewer than three layers on your walls or you'll get all manner of faults cropping up. But no more than six, either, because-'

Lightning couldn't move faster. Before the skeletons had finished their last leap, Claudia was off that couch and collaring the usher before he'd even reached for the next course's seating plan.

'I'll just consult the scroll, milady'

As the rest of the diners slowly stretched and rose from their couches for the next reshuffle, Marcia's voice could be heard explaining how Paris couldn't make it tonight, he had a nymph to see to.

'Expect he's seen to plenty of them," a woman close to Claudia sniggered under her breath.

'Quite the lover, I would imagine,' her companion whispered behind her hand.

'He's from Argos, my dear, and you know what they say about their men! Goes right back to the time of Jason and his Argonauts, and don't tell me those boys didn't have stamina!'

'And his hair! The way it falls back in place when he shakes his head!'

'Never mind the head, what about the body?' The first woman rolled her eyes in admiration. 'And his hands! So slow, so careful! I mean, if he's that meticulous with his statues, can you imagine what he's like in bed?'

Her friend giggled. 'He can leave his sandals under my couch any-'

'If you would care to follow me, milady?' Trust the usher to go and spoil it. 'This is your couch, with the merchant Piso and Her Ladyship's gardener, Semir.'

Wedged between a man who'd been trading in Santonum for twenty years and the genius who recommended watering gardens with wine, Claudia couldn't have planned it better herself! Maybe Piso could fill in some gaps about what happened here fifteen years ago? Kicking off her shoes, she made herself comfortable as slaves filed in with trays of venison, duck, boar and sucking pig, but before she'd reached for the first morsel, a pudgy finger was clucking her under the chin.

'I shay, you're a pretty little wench, aren't you?' When the merchant inched closer, she was engulfed by a tidal wave of stale wine. 'My wife'sh in Rome, y'know. If you and I were to-'

'Trust me, I wouldn't, even if you were sober and went by the name of King Midas.'

'Midash? I'm Piso!'

'As a newt. Semir, would you mind changing places?'

'For you, Lady Clodia, eet iss a pleasure,' he murmured, with a bob of his immaculately black, immaculately oiled, immaculately beaded and braided curls.

In fact, there was so much oil on his body, not to mention his tongue, it was a wonder the Babylonian didn't slip off the couch. A peacock of the very first order, Semir had no intention of fading into the background. Whereas in the gardens he wore nothing but a skimpy loincloth, tonight he'd chosen a long yellow robe embroidered with griffins, and if that wasn't enough it was bordered at both hem and neck with a band of deep blue edged with silver. On his feet he wore soft fabric slippers, and round his ankles and wrists the same bangles he'd worn in the garden. Claudia noticed him swatting a hand off his thigh, where the drunken Piso had mistaken him for a girl. How wrong could he be, she mused. Semir might be an extrovert, but a ladyboy? Never!

'Tell me about Babylon,' she said, as a plate of cheese buns was laid down.

These were what the kerfuffle was about earlier, when she was approaching the banqueting hall after searching Orbilio's room to find Marcia haranguing her chef.

'How can I possibly serve cheese and cep buns if there are no ceps, you imbecile!' Marcia's eyes glittered coldly as she'd outlined the amount she would dock from his pay for this outrage.

'Don't you think a month's wages is a bit steep for what, after all, is only an oversight?' Claudia suggested.

'Don't go soft on me, girl.' Angry, her voice grew even deeper. 'These bastards will bleed me dry if I don't keep a close watch on them. I won't tolerate slackers and I won't tolerate pilfering, because in my book they're both the same, and I don't tolerate whingers, either.' She rounded on the chef. 'Tell that oaf who left the mushrooms behind in the woods that I'm selling him at the auction tomorrow.'

'He's a good worker, your ladyship-'

'Bollocks! He was tasked with one simple job and what did he do?'

'The Scarecrow panicked him, your ladyship-'

'I do not argue with minions, neither do I repeal my decisions. Consider the oaf sold, and for heaven's sake, man, try and get something right with the banquet!'

Claudia bit into the cheese bun. Marcia had flown into a rage because she'd wanted ceps added, but ceps were too strong for these little dainties. By accident or design, they were perfect.

'Ah, yess, Babylon,' Semir was saying. 'But iss so big, so exciting, where do I start?' He made an airy gesture with soil-stained hands that even his herbal oils couldn't disguise. 'Would you like I tell you about the spring in the mountains, where the water that burst from the rock iss so hot, no life can survive? But! As eet crashes down the hillside, so the water cools in each leetle cascade, and thus more and more creatures make their home there.'

'Sounds interesting.'

'Or shall I talk of our salt lakes and salt glaciers-'

On the adjacent couch, Orbilio was reclining next to Stella. With her glossy hair pinned up in a mountain of curls that framed and flattered her oval features, and in a gown of the finest lavender-blue cotton adorned with gems that no doubt came from her cousin's jewel box, she looked every inch the Roman matron. Smart, elegant, clever and attractive, with her freckles covered up with white chalk, the only thing missing was the essence of Stella. Marcia's grooming had completely tidied it out.

'… our lush green deltas, where the mangroves grow tall and where our people build housses of reed up on stilts. Ah, but look. The ross petals!'

As a contraption from the ceiling began to shower blossoms over the diners, expert eyes scrutinized the fragrant snow.

'It iss as I commanded,' he said, picking one up, turning it over, then sniffing it carefully. 'White rosses gathered in early summer then stored in linen cloths that have been soaked in ross oil. Thiss way, the fragrance is preserved through the winter?'

'You really advocate watering the bushes with wine?'

Black eyes flashed sideways. 'Eef you grow garlick beside rosses, eet enhances their scent. The rosses, of course. Not the garlick.'

'Why white wine and not red?'

'And eef you grow mint underneath, you will not see a single greenfly all season? Ah, but look. My gracious hostess iss beckoning me.'

Strange, but Claudia hadn't seen Marcia snap her manicured fingers. But off he oiled, Semir and his beads and his bangles, leaving her alone with Piso, who, praise be to Juno, had fallen into a snorting, open-mouthed sleep.

'My dear, you mustn't be alone at a party, I absolutely forbid it.' Stella's hand reached across the divide. 'Come and join us. There's just Marcus and I on this couch, and — ' She leaned over and whispered — 'he's divorced, you know.'

Claudia smiled prettily at Orbilio. 'I'm not surprised.'

'I think you're missing the point, dear,' Stella continued under her breath. 'I mean, here's you. A widow… young… pretty. And here's Marcus!'

'I'm not his type, Stella. He likes girls with big chests and small drawers, don't you, Marcus, and, besides, we're just about to move round for the pears stewed in wine and the almond-stuffed dates that Marcia tells me comprise her dessert course.'

She fluttered her fingers, but Fortune, the bitch, had it in for her. (Dammit, that was the last time she'd leave that goddess a bracelet!)

'Glad you could join me, after all,' a rich baritone murmured, as the usher escorted her to her new seat. Orbilio's eyes danced as he raised his glass in a toast. 'Did you find what you were looking for, by the way?'

'Yes, I did, as a matter of fact.'

'I knew the lock on my satchel wouldn't deter you.'

'Lock? Satchel? Orbilio, what on earth are you wittering about?' The lock was no problem, it was his notes written in Greek that she'd had trouble with. 'I thought we were talking about seating plans? And, dear me, if that isn't the couch I was looking for. That one over there by the fountain.'

Sweeping over, she leaned down and hissed in the occupant's ear that this was her bloody seat and would he kindly sod off, she was sitting here for dessert and that was final. Too late, she realized who the occupant was. Under the floral crown that each diner wore, she hadn't noticed that the hair was long, or that it was neither red nor brown, but some point in between, like the colour of a kestrel's flight feathers.

'Well, well. Claudia Seferius,' drawled the most powerful Gaul in Aquitaine. 'If we're not back on your favourite subject of hospitality.'