Stone Cold

Twenty-Four

'Mummy, why is it you can say something to one person and everyone laughs, then when you say it to someone else, they burst into tears and run off?'

Stella looked down into the puzzled eyes of her middle daughter and cupped her little round face between her hands. 'Luci, Luci, Luci. What horrible mischief have you been making this time?'

'It's not my fault,' the child protested. 'Blame Auntie Marcia! I was just handing over my spelling list, when one of her maids came-'

'Why were you giving your spelling list to your aunt?' 'Because she always demands to see our letters and numbers, silly! Anyway, this slave comes rushing in to say that the Governor's wife was seen in town wearing an…' Her face screwed up in the struggle to remember the long word, an identical robe to the one Auntie Marcia wore to the banquet. The red one.'

Stella sighed. 'I am obviously going to have to have another word with your aunt. She can't keep interfering like this, but go on. The Governor's wife copied her gown and Marcia was furious.'

'No!' Little blonde curls shook vigorously. 'You're not listening, are you? Auntie Marcia wasn't cross. She tipped her head back, like this. "Hardly identical" she said, and she sniffed. "Mine's half the size round the hips!" And that's when everyone burst out laughing.'

'Luci, where is this leading, please?'

'Well, when I said the same thing to the cupbearer's daughter just now, how her friend was wearing an identical tunic only a lot smaller, she burst into tears.'

'I see.' Stella brushed a wayward strand out of her daughter's eyes. 'I suppose it didn't occur to you that it might be rather cruel to poke fun at that little girl?'

'But she's just as fat as the Governor's wife! Fatter!

'That might well be true.' Mother kneeled down to look daughter in the face. 'But it strikes me that that little girl doesn't like being fat, and that you've made her even more self-conscious about her weight than before.'

'I wondered about that,' Luci said thoughtfully. 'Because when she started to grizzle, it reminded me of something Koros said while they were all laughing about the Governor's wife. That inside every fat person there's a thin one crying to get out, and so that's what I said to that girl just now. I asked her if that's why she was crying.'

'Well, I apologize, darling. That was very sweet of you.' Stella ruffled her daughter's head. 'What did the little girl say to that?'

'She said yes, so I repeated what Auntie Marcia replied to Koros. I said, "Only the one?" And that's when she ran off.'

Stella groaned. 'We'll talk about this later,' she said, burying her head in her hands. 'I really don't have the energy right now, Luci. You run back to the villa, there's a good girl, and keep to the path like I told you.'

'All right, but you won't forget you promised to play butterflies, will you, Mummy?' She picked up the hem of her little pink robe and made wings, which she flapped as she ran round in a circle.

'No, darling, I haven't forgotten.'

'But you forgot to put your wedding band on.'

'Eek, I've spawned a monster!' Stella grabbed her daughter and tickled her ribs. 'She has the face of an angel but, truly, the eyes of a hawk!' Eventually, she released the giggling child and they both collapsed on the grass, panting. 'I didn't forget to wear my wedding band.' She pulled on the leather thong that hung around her neck. 'I'm going to sacrifice it.'

She opened the tiny drawstring sack on the end of the necklace and tipped the ring into the palm of her hand. A flurry of fragrant petals fluttered on top of it.

'Is that why you came down here?' Huge blue eyes gazed round the canyon from which a small pool seeped water from a fissure in the rock. Lining the sides of the ravine, red valerian wafted its scent on the sticky autumn breeze as jackdaws cawed and lizards darted in and out of the crevices.

'See this?' Stella picked a small purple flower spike out of the fragrant assortment. 'Hyssop purifies the waters into which I drop the ring. Thyme adds strength to my prayers-'

'Are you praying for Daddy?'

'Yes, darling, I am.'

'But I thought that band was the only precious thing from Daddy that you had left. So why are you throwing it away?'

'Well.' Stella tipped the contents back in the bag and drew the string tight. 'For a start, your father gave me six very precious things, and you, my angel, are one of them.' She planted a kiss on the top of her daughter's blonde head. 'And, for another, since this is the only object of value that I can call my own, I'm hoping it will carry some weight with the spirit to whom I entrust it.'

'You're not throwing it away, then?'

'Far from it, darling. Now off you go.' She patted Luci's bottom. I'll be along in a couple of minutes, then we'll play butterflies.'

As the little girl skipped and sang her way up the twisting path to the top of the hill, the eyes of the Watcher returned to her mother.

From behind a rock, they watched as she unpinned the bun coiled at the nape of her neck and released a cascade of dark, glossy hair down her back. They watched as she removed a knife from her belt and cut a lock to tie round the ring to bind her life-force to the metal band and breathe her own spirit into it.

There was no doubt about it. Stella had reached the pinnacle of physical perfection. Another few years of living hand-to-mouth as the future grew more uncertain and lines would ravage her beautiful face. Hands that were today long and slender would compact and grow knobbly. The belly that housework kept as taught as a drumskin would quickly turn to ripples of flab.

The Watcher listened as her sweet voice charmed the spirits that flowed through the water and felt nothing but pity that those lovely long tresses, shining with health in the sunlight, would one day become dull and speckled with grey. What a waste. What a terrible, terrible waste…

As Stella kneeled on the soft, green moss that covered the stones in front of the spring and raised her hands in supplication, it was inevitable that the Watcher's thoughts turned to the others, who had been so vigilantly followed and observed with such discipline.

The first was the redheaded sister of a man who made millstones. Athletic and spirited, it would have been a tragedy of the most enormous proportions to see such strength and energy become sapped by the tedium of housework or trapped in the prison of poverty. But, lively as she was, even the redhead could not compare to the voluptuous charms of the root-cutter's wife. Passionate, vibrant and kind, the Watcher could almost hear the echo of her laughter as she took men to her bed and left them glowing with warmth, their hearts filled with memories that would last them a lifetime. To stand idly by while those generous breasts sagged would have been criminal, and it was merely a matter of time before the cheese-churner's snub-nosed perfection was disfigured by the rigours of her arduous work. How quickly, too, the ripe curves of the tanner's daughter would have ballooned after childbirth, or the basket-weaver's work would have crippled her, like it had her grandmother, turning dextrous hands into claws.

Young and perfect — so utterly, utterly perfect! — those young women had been spared the rigours of old age and poor health. Never would they be forced to experience physical hardship or endure the long ache of loneliness. Each and every one was set free.

The Watcher's eyes followed Stella as she consigned her ring to the spirit, then strew her petals and herbs over the waters. They watched as she lit a small oil lamp and placed it on a ledge, and they watched as she stood up and brushed the moss off her tunic before backing away.

In fur-lined leather boots, the Watcher's feet made no sound on the floor of the canyon.