Stone Cold

Twenty-Six

Claudia, too, was watching the sun set. Every time Marcia instigated a manhunt, the Scarecrow outwitted the trackers, who quickly attributed his ability to send dogs round in circles to supernatural powers. Possibly. But unless Claudia missed her guess, the answer was much more prosaic. If he could outsmart the hounds, it was because he was lacing his trail with a substance that confused them, in which case a certain herb sprang to mind, whose properties regarding canine attraction would be unfamiliar to Gaulish huntsmen. Anise, bless its little white feathery flowers, was a very recent Roman import! However, on the latest manhunt the huntsmen had nearly caught him. It was only beside the banks of the Carent, when the dogs went spectacularly wild, that the Scarecrow's spoor was lost.

The trackers put this down to the gods no longer favouring him. To Claudia, it smacked of a last-ditch attempt of a man in the throes of panic to throw them off the scent, and she pictured him racing down to the river, the crashing of his pursuers growing ever closer, the baying of the hounds ringing louder in his ears. She saw him tossing the last of his precious aniseed water over the river bank, then diving in and swimming like an otter for his life. In fact, she almost felt sorry for him, as he hauled himself on to an overhanging branch and clambered high into a tree. But only almost.

With the soft scents of sage and parsley billowing on the breeze, she shifted position and wondered where Orbilio had got to.

'Rome's famous for its spectaculars and the "Scarecrow Special" is one I wouldn't miss for all the ghosts in Hades.' He had laughed, insisting that he be back at the villa by the fourth hour after noon, no later. Yet still he hadn't shown.

'Just make sure you're camouflaged,' she'd snapped back.

A pair of sandalled feet appeared at the end of a row of smallage. The skin was tanned deep olive, and it glistened with fragrant oils.

'The Greeks used thiss herb to crown the winners of the Nemean Games,' Semir said, and if he thought noblewomen dressed in green lying in the herb beds was unusual it didn't register on his expression. 'I grow eet because mixed with cheese and pine kernels it makes tasty stuffing. This batch iss not ripe for harvest, though,' he added, with a sad shake of his braids. 'Germination slow has been this year.'

'You're very good with plants, Semir. Knowledgeable, conscientious, you have a keen eye for the topiary…'

'Thank you.'

'It's not the compliment you think. As a plantsman, you can't be faulted, but you're no landscape artist

The gardens were neatly laid out and perhaps to an untravelled Gaul they were breathtaking in their design, but there was nothing remotely original about the planning, while the paths and water channels were little more than a geometry lesson.

'… and you're not a Babylonian, either.'

That night at the banquet had proved he knew an awful lot about Mesopotamia in general, but sod-all about Babylon itself, suggesting he'd boned up, though sadly not well enough. Also, no Babylonian would touch baked bread or meat on a Saturday, yet he'd wolfed them both while he planted Trojan irises as Claudia and Stella took lunch in the garden.

'I see.' He chewed his lip for a while. 'But since you hef not given me away, you are either very discreet or you want to blackmail me.'

A streetwise horticulturalist. Whatever next?

'I only blackmail the aristocracy and civil servants.'

His mouth relaxed into a broad, white smile. 'I am gardener not landscapes eet iss true, but you know, Lady Clodia, eef I do a good job here, eef I make a really good impression in Gaul, my reputation iss made, no?'

'Why the skimpy loincloth, though? Why the bangles and beads?'

'You not think eet iss good idea that people notice me?'

'Fair point.' She laughed back. 'But a word of advice. Go easy on the scented oils.'

'Better to smell like ladyboy than be eaten alive by mosquitoes!'

As he continued his inspection, Claudia was reminded of the Greek king who was killed by a snake concealed among smallage, and shivered. 'Be careful, Semir. Marcia might, just, accept that you're not a landscaper, but she'll never forgive you for ripping her off.'

That wasn't wine the slave was watering her roses with, it was pond water, and that's why Semir avoided discussing the subject with a wine merchant. He was afraid of being found out.

'That woman hef no idea about plants. To Marcia eet's another way of showing off, telling her guests that she waters her gardens with wine. Wine would kill them!' A sly grin escaped from the corner of his mouth as he plucked off any yellowing leaves. 'But she iss happy, and what the slaves do with the wine iss not my problem, though eef you look at the quality of the leather some of them wear on their feet you might be forgiven for thinking that maybe they sell some of eet on the side. Like the fish, eh?'

'Fish?'

'Marcia sends slaves to buy fish at the market, but — ' when he shrugged his olive shoulders, the bangles round his wrists jangled melodiously — 'she forgets two rivers and three streams run through her estate!'

Slowly, the sky turned six shades of crimson, bats took to the wing and nightingales trilled. Where are you, Orbilio? It's not like you to be late, and the Scarecrow wouldn't wait until darkness covered the valley. Fearful as he was, he couldn't afford to thrash around aimlessly in search of aniseed. Having heard the manhunt would be starting at dawn, and aware of the numbers involved, he would creep down at dusk, where the risk would far outweigh the consequences. No anise meant no luck. Without it, the Scarecrow stood no chance.

Wriggling on the warm, compacted earth, Claudia brushed the dust from her robe. Now there was a funny thing, she reflected. When she had returned to her room after her visit to Qeb, there was a box on her bed. Just a small wicker box a handspan in width, it wasn't from Orbilio, because it was empty and he would have left her a note. If she remembered, she'd ask one of the maids in the morning, and if she forgot, well, it was hardly the end of the world, was it?

Gradually, field hands filtered back to their quarters and the herb garden settled into quiet and stillness. Something rustled, perhaps a shrew or a snake, and a fox skulked along the hedge by the orchard. Then another pair of feet hove into view, peeping beneath a long, white, floating robe.

'Wrong time of day to be gathering leaves, Koros.'

The old man's lined face creased even further when it sneered. 'Do you presume to know more about herbs than me?'

'My cat knows more about herbs than you,' she retorted. 'She knows you collect them after the dew has evaporated, but before the heat from the sun has allowed the essential oils to escape. She knows you only harvest plants up to flowering time, before their energies are diverted into seed heads. And she knows that any herbalist worth his salt wouldn't dream of collecting more than one variety at a time.'

He snorted in derision. 'If you have any doubts as to the efficacity of my purges and linctuses, you only have to enquire of my patron.'

'And what a recommendation that is! You give Marcia syrup of figs to make her run to the latrines. You grate rhizomes of Basc peony to make her throw up.' Jupiter alone knows what the pepper enemas did. 'You're a fraud, Koros. Nothing but a fraud.'

'I'll have you know I'm a trained physician-'

'You're a fraud and a charlatan, and what's more I don't give a damn.'

His wizened jaw dropped, but it was true. Any woman who relied on quacks and potions, instead of taking responsibility for her own health, deserved every uncomfortable minute. Provided Koros wasn't poisoning the silly bitch — and a search of his room revealed nothing more than incompetence — Claudia had no complaint.

'On the other hand,' she shot him a radiant smile, 'I do object to your mischief-making.'

'This is monstrous!'

'Huff and puff all you like, you old fake, but Vincentrix didn't tell Marcia about the missing girls. You overheard Hannibal telling me, then you took the information straight to your mistress, knowing that she'd instigate a manhunt to catch the Scarecrow and claim the credit herself.'

'Why would I do that?'

'You mean apart from wanting to ingratiate yourself with your mistress, boosting your credibility and increasing your power over the other slaves?'

'I will collect my herbs another time.' The white beard jutted forward in anger. 'I don't have to take this from you.'

'Well, that's the funny thing, Koros. Actually, you do.'

Rheumy eyes flashed hatred for perhaps ten seconds, then the shutters came down. Placing his hands together, he pasted on his meaningless smile and bowed so deeply that his long white robes swept the dust. 'Your servant, my lady,' he said, backing away, and she made a note to test any foodstuffs left in her room.

Taking the doll from the folds of her robe, Claudia combed its hair with her fingers. Could Orbilio have sneaked in while she was sparring with Koros? Unlikely. He didn't believe the Scarecrow would come, so he'd want to do his gloating face to face, and maybe that was the answer. Maybe Marcus Cornelius was so sure of himself that he didn't see the point of turning up, full stop!

As the sky began to darken, her thoughts turned to her father. Where he was. What he was doing. Whether there were half-brothers and sisters of hers running around somewhere. Claudia still had absolutely no idea whether he was dead or alive, living in Santonum or even in Gaul. Would she recognize him, after all these years, she wondered? Would she even like him? And what would he make of her? She fingered the quality of her green linen gown, examined the rings on her fingers. Nothing of her old life remained, not even her slum accent, for him to recognize. What would he feel, when she eventually caught up with him? Happiness? Contrition? Guilt? Resentment at being hunted down like a stag? Despite the jitters in her stomach, Claudia was prepared for any, and all, of these things. Emotions didn't matter. All that mattered was the truth, because rich or poor, young or old, everyone reaps what they sow. Twenty-five years ago an army orderly sired a daughter. He made his home with her and her mother, a home that lasted ten years, and, no matter what prompted him to move on, no action is without consequence. A man cannot absolve himself of responsibility and pretend the past didn't happen. Like it or not, he would have to face Nemesis. As, indeed, would his daughter…

When the owl flew out of the tree, Claudia gave it no thought. It was the time of day owls set off hunting. Why not? Then she heard footsteps and was glad of the dagger still strapped to her calf. Crouching, the figure emerged from the woods. Keeping low to the ground, he moved cautiously, but unerringly, through the long rows of herbs. So then. He knew where the anise seeds were.

'Looking for this?' she asked.

There were many things a frightened man living rough in the woods might have bargained for, but a woman in green rising up from the tall ferns of fennel and tossing a doll at his feet wasn't one of them. He was literally too stunned to move.

'Who are you?' he whispered. ’What are you?'

'Who I am doesn't matter. What I am is a friend of Luci's. Oh, and, if you're interested, I'm a friend of Stella's, as well.'

'Is… is she here?' Troubled eyes searched over her shoulder. 'Is Stella with you?'

'No.' Now he mentioned it, she hadn't seen Stella for several hours, nor Hannibal for that matter. 'And Luci's tucked up in bed.'

You mean Belisana?'

'Luci, Belisana, what's the difference? She's an endearing little thing, isn't she? Full of life and vitality, just like her mother, and with big blue eyes and blonde hair, the spitting image — ' Claudia drew a deep breath — 'of her father.'

She hadn't been prepared for the resemblance to be quite so striking. Right down to the fair curls and dimples…

'I shouldn't have walked out on them,' he rasped. 'But there were too many children too quickly and I couldn't cope.'

'You were the one who pushed for a large family.'

'I know.' He rubbed his face with weary hands. 'But I was young, such an idealist in those days. I didn't realize babies would be such hard work or make so much noise. From the word go they demanded not just my time, but my energy. They sapped it all, night and day, until there was nothing left.'

Well, poor you.

'I couldn't sleep. One of them was always wanting something — a drink, a cuddle, reassurance after a nightmare. They drained me like a vampire drains blood and I couldn't stand being stifled by their lack of conversation. The sheer bloody repetitiveness of their games was driving me mad. Their endless questions and mindless chatter, I just had to get away.'

Sorry, he'd said in his note. Sorry. Never mind Stella. Never mind what she'd had to put up with (and twenty times over once he was gone). Never mind five tiny tots who cried themselves to sleep, waiting for Daddy to come home. Or number six on the way, whose mother would have no support with the birth, no money afterwards and what little strength she had left needing to be diverted into six demanding kids. No, you just feel sorry for yourself, chum.

'By walking out, I was released,' he said. 'Like a bird, I suddenly found I had wings. Without an identity, without a past, without responsibility, I was free! Free to live as I chose, go where I wanted, see places I had only dreamed of.'

'What places?'

Pain clouded his huge blue eyes. 'Well, that was the problem. It didn't take long to realize what I'd done. I honestly believed Stella would manage. She's such a strong, capable woman that it seemed natural that she would simply take over the business. After all, I'd left her the house, the estate, everything!'

'Everything except experience, freedom, the lack of demands of a young family.'

'I know, I know.' Tears made runnels through the grime on his face. 'I didn't get further than Massilia before my stupidity hit me, but it was winter and I fell sick. By the time I was well enough to travel, it was too late. Debt had forced her to sell and she was living here, under Marcia's protection.'

There were serious flaws with his arithmetic, Claudia mused. Stella didn't fall on hard times overnight. But she let him continue.

'I want to come home,' he wailed. 'I am so sorry for what

I put them through, dear god, you have no idea how sorry I am, but now I… I just want to come home, and I'm scared.' He wiped his eyes. 'I see the children playing. Laughing. Living Roman ways with Roman names. And I don't know how to tell Stella I'm here.'

Oh. Shit.

I'll do anything she asks, anything! I'll never leave again, I swear. Only…' Pleading blue eyes as big as the Aegean turned to Claudia. 'I want us to be a family again. Can you understand that?'

She picked up the broken doll. Smoothed its ragged tunic and ran her hand over its carefully washed hair. Orbilio was right. This was a treasured possession. Probably Luci's (she was always leaving things behind). The Scarecrow had cared for it as though it was his own daughter.

'You're asking me to have a word with Stella? You want me to plead your cause, as a husband, a father, a sinner who repents all his sins.'

His face lit up. 'You said you were her friend.'

'I am,' she said softly, 'and that's why I cannot speak for you.' She handed him back the doll. 'There's only one person who can clear up this mess. You. The responsibility of fatherhood never goes away, and you can take my word for that.'

He drew a deep breath and she was surprised how much it was juddering. 'From the moment I moved into these woods, I knew the day would come when I had to stand up and be counted.' The Scarecrow put his head in his hands and waited until they stopped shaking. Finally, he looked up and this time when his eyes locked with Claudia's his gaze was steady. 'Will you help me?'

'I told you, I'm Stella's friend. Of course I'll bloody well help you. Only for heaven's sake let's get out of this field while we can still see where we're going!'

High in the hills, in the cave from which the Spring of Prophecy bubbled from the rocks, the Arch Druid Vincentrix stretched the long night out of his muscles and kicked over the traces of his fire in which his magic herbs still burned. Dawn was breaking in the east. The four horses that had galloped so despondently as they carried the Shining One on the last leg of yesterday's celestial journey had replenished their energies in the Paddocks of Plenty on the far side of the horizon. Now they were itching to be harnessed to the chariot that would light the last day before the autumn equinox, and Vincentrix smiled. Come midnight, the power of the gods would be restored. Come midnight, the blood that was owed them would be theirs.

One by one, the Druid pledged obedience to his gods.

First, he kneeled at the dainty feet of the Silver One, who sees everything from her star-studded chariot of night. Then he turned to face the Gentle One, who heals the sick and brings comfort to the dying, then the Flower Queen, the Horned One and the Thunderer. Finally, he made obeisance at the feet of the Ancient One, from whose tongue hangs fine gold chains from which the Knowledge of the Universe falls in tiny drips. Vincentrix closed his eyes and begged that one of these droplets might fall upon his unworthy head.

Far below, a cockerel crowed.

A cockerel crowed, and Hannibal stared at the figure before him. Mesmerized by the sweet bloom of youth, his eyes travelled over the curve of her breasts, the narrowing of her tight waist, the slenderness of her hips. Was any skin more flawless? Any eye more clear? A tentative hand reached out to touch the texture of her long, heavy hair. Captured at her peak, age would never raddle her internal organs or time brittle her bones, and the sun would never brown and wrinkle her perfect skin.

He placed a shaking hand against her cheek. The sweet bloom of youth was cold to his touch. Cold and stiff and unyielding. Soon, though, the sun would rise to warm this latest study in perfection…

As dawn cast her pink mantle over the sky, Hannibal held his head in his hands and wept.