Marilyn Todd - Sour Grapes

'Are you in the habit of apologizing for your father?' she asked Hadrian.

Never complain and never explain was the imperial armed force's motto. She imagined Rex would rather fall on his sword than have his son mop up after him.

'Well, I… er… I thought his observations were rather harsh,' Hadrian said, picking an imaginary hair off his spotlessly clean, zealously pressed, obsessively draped toga. 'In view of Candace's talents, I mean. It's, um, well, it's not everyone who can summon the spirits, is it?'

'Perhaps he's worried she'll summon Lichas.'

'Can she?' Something flickered across his pasty face which might have been hope. Or then again, might have been fear. 'Can she bring him back, do you think?'

'No, Hadrian, Candace can't bring the dead back.'

The predicament came in proving the point!

Pushing through the crush of healers and masseurs, it appeared that whether you suffered from dandruff or deafness, diarrhoea or delirium, there was a specialist here who could cure it. Lumbar pain? Bleeding gums? Tumour? Come inside my tent, dearie. And whether it was your nose that was running or an open leg ulcer, somebody somewhere had a poultice, a pill or a pessary that would put you back on your feet in a jiffy. Charlatans were on hand to prescribe weasel dung for your boils, wolf's fat for your haemorrhoids and spider's heads to help you get pregnant, while old crones sold mandrake and charms, aphrodisiacs and love potions alongside pompous astrologers who laid maps of the heavens over the pavement, the better to plot your future, my dear.

Rex was wrong. Claudia followed a path lined with willows and poplars towards the hot springs and thought, Lavernium wasn't the entrance to Hades. Lavernium was the gateway to immortality, and listening to these frauds one could almost believe that from here sprung the very fountain of youth.

Tapping her forefinger against her lip, she turned back. I wonder…

Three owl claws, two lion's teeth and one spider's head later, at least one piece of the puzzle had slotted into place, and as she approached the waterfall, she became aware that the laurels and rosemaries lining the bank had been planted deliberately so that their heady fragrance would overpower the sulphur to turn the valley into something that smelled more like the open sea than a deadly inferno. High in the sky buzzards circled, their cries drowned by the crash of the falls as the river smashed against the giant boulders in its path and splintered into a series of watercourses that plummeted down twenty feet of rock face in scores of racing warm torrents. Claudia picked her way down the wet, slippery steps using the rope handrail for support. Now and then, a tree had managed to root itself between the rocks and children used the overhanging branches as climbing frames from which to dangle fearless limbs in the surge. Below, anxious mothers prayed to the river god that he would spare their darlings from falling in and either breaking a bone or becoming trapped in the crevices and drowning, while beside them, carefree fathers splashed toddlers in the shallow saucers of rock and ducked the older children under the stream.

Kicking off her sandals, Claudia waded towards one of the rushing cascades and surrendered herself to its lush thermal waters. Darius was about the only man present who hadn't stripped to his loin cloth, but sat with his back to a rock while two attendants led Larentia into a swirling torrent and held her steady while the force massaged her arthritic hips.

'No offence, marm,' Orson said, splashing through the shallows to join Claudia under the waterfall, 'but Oi'll not be hanging about here, if you don't mind. Poncing about in healing springs might be fine for them that's used to it, but Oi need to be doing something constructive.'

'My dear Orson, what on earth makes you think I'd be offended?' Claudia lifted her head to let the torrent massage her face. 'Now do go back to your poncing, there's a love, because there's absolutely no question of you going home to the villa.'

'Not the villa, marm. Oi'm not particularly comfortable there… '

'Is the bed hard?'

'No… '

'Your room cold?'

'Course not.'

'Maybe the pillows are lumpy?'

'No, marm, it ain't that kind of uncomfy and Oi reckon you knows that.'

Claudia lowered her chin to its usual position, since that last jet seemed to run rather chilly.

'From the moment Oi stepped into your marble atrium, you knew Oi'd feel out of place. You're hoping that by sticking me and my Flavia together that she'll see me for the uneducated working man that Oi am, then she'll be ashamed of me and break it off.'

This time Claudia turned her whole face away. At first that was exactly what she'd hoped, but things had changed even in the short time since their arrival. Orson's acclimatization to luxury and abundance actually seemed further away, rather than closer.

'Dammit, Orson, can't you just bugger off and enjoy yourself for once?'

'Begging your pardon, marm, but Oi don't think you heard me right over the water. Oi ain't enjoying myself, and it's understandable, you not wanting the likes of me in your villa when you ain't there-'

'Orson, this has nothing to do with honesty-'

'Oi wasn't proposing to stay there anyroad. Me hands get jittery when they've got nothing to do, so Oi've asked at the toy-maker's if Oi can help out-'

'Lichas? For gods' sake, Orson, the boy was murdered!'

'Aye, and cause of that his sister's been left with a stack of unfinished projects and, me being a woodworker, Oi thought Oi might finish them off for her.'

'Well, that's very noble of you.' Now she had generosity of spirit to add to his list of fine qualities! 'But,' Claudia indicated to where Flavia was lying flat out in a shallow pool and being pummelled by a dozen foaming warm jets, 'in affiancing yourself to my stepdaughter, you have certain obligations — and moreover, until you are married, both you and Flavia fall under my guardianship and therefore you will both do as you're told.'

Pale blue eyes blinked. 'Oi, um, haven't actually asked Flavia to marry me yet.'

At long last Fortune provided Claudia with the edge she'd been looking for.

'What did you say?' It's not easy to look affronted when your clothes are dripping wet and your hair is plastered all over your face, but by drawing her shoulders back and lifting her chin, she made a pretty good stab. 'Good god, man, I've left you two unchaperoned for how long?' She threw in a shudder for good measure. 'Heaven only knows how far you've compromised my poor baby!'

'No, marm, there's been nothing-'

'Orson, you will make an honest woman of Flavia this instant, do you hear me?'

He shifted position and wrung his big hands. 'With all due respect, Oi'll propose to Flavia when Oi think the moment is right, not when you do, and… Here! Oi'm not under your guardianship.' Shrewdness tightened the plumpness of his face. For heavens' sake, where were three men with shovels when you needed them most? 'You're trying to box me into a corner, that's what you're doing. Forcing me hand when there's no need for it to be forced. Lord alive, you must think Oi'm daft.'

As a matter of fact, she thought Orson was anything but. She thought he was decent and honourable, mature beyond his years, a man who didn't suffer fools gladly and could be pushed only as far as he allowed himself to be pushed, which is why… Claudia drew a deep breath.

'My opinion is irrelevant, Orson. You will remain with my stepdaughter and that is final. Now kindly sod off and do your poncing elsewhere.'

For a moment, she thought he was going to say something. But he just pursed his lips and turned away, his bolsterlike thighs pushing the warm waters aside like the oars of a warship.

'Why don't you tell him straight out that you want to keep an eye on him for his own safety?' a baritone rumbled.