Marilyn Todd: Stone Cold

A plump Indian, who had been hidden by his taller counterparts in the crowd, stepped out of the squeeze, placed his little fat palms together and bowed. Arguably it was the most obsequious bow Claudia had ever seen.

'Mistress Marcia?'

His voice was soft and lisping, reminding Claudia of a snake slithering through the long grass.

'This stream is blessed, is it not?'

'Exceedingly blessed, Mistress. The rods speak of the long-lasting happiness it brings to all those who drink it and the stones-that-talk assure me good fortune runs through it.'

'See?' With a dismissive wave, Padi was relegated back to the ranks of liveried lackies.

Claudia looked into this babbling bringer of luck and contentment, gurgling blessedly over the rocks, and said, 'Doesn't this stream supply that hamlet over there with water?'

'So?' One finely plucked eyebrow twitched in disdain.

'Well, I thought it might bother you that the villagers will be forced to abandon their homes, now that their water supply's been cut off.'

'Bother me? My dear girl, it's time these people realized they have to take responsibility for their own lives. Complacency is not a virtue, not by a long chalk, so instead of grousing about what they haven't got, they ought to be looking at this as an opportunity to make a new start.'

Charity might begin at home, but only in Marcia's home, it would seem.

'Anyway, there are hundreds of these little streams for them to live by. They all feed the Carent, that's what makes it so wide and so navigable; who knows what prospects are in store for them?'

Claudia considered the prospects of poverty and family upheaval.

'When you talk about "these people",' she said, 'aren't you a Santon yourself?'

'One must move with the times or risk getting left behind with the dross,' Marcia snapped in her deep, masculine voice. 'In marrying a Roman, I acquired full Roman citizenship. Even gave myself a new Roman name.'

Her thin mouth twisted sideways.

'In fact, I make it a rule never to look back.'

Not entirely true, Claudia mused. This powerful woman was constantly looking over her shoulder. Witness Tarbel. For heaven's sake, Marcia was only taking a walk through her own grounds, yet she was shadowed by the big, Basc bodyguard, whose hand permanently hovered over his dagger. But then you don't grow this rich without making enemies and, gossip had it, she'd made more than most.

'There!'

Marcia pulled up abruptly and Claudia realized they had reached the edge of the clearing.

'My tomb! Built entirely of Numidian marble. I intend to have a gilded chariot winched on to the apex, with a statue of myself at the reins.'

She didn't ask what Claudia thought.

She knew exactly what her reaction would be, long before they approached the clearing.

That was the point of the exercise.

That was the reason she'd spent a million sesterces — and what a way to spend them! For a start, the word tomb was misleading. Far from being a larger version of the stone slabs that lined the main roads into Rome (or any other city for that matter), this was a temple by any other name. Rectangular in shape and sited on a platform approached by a flight of steep marble steps, the columns were for decoration rather than support, and the interesting thing about them was that they ran all round the building in a Greek-style portico, instead of just at the front, in the way Roman architects favoured.

'It's incredible,' Claudia said. 'Truly incredible.'

'Wait till you see the front,' Marcia replied.

Here, fluted columns gave way to an exquisite line of sculpted nymphs that supported the entablature with their heads and, although only half of them had been carved into likenesses to date, the sculptor's skill stood out a mile.

'Paris! Paris, come here, will you.'

A blond head bleached almost white by the sun nodded acknowledgement from the top of his ladder, but made no effort to lay down his chisel.

'Not the Paris?' Claudia whispered.

'Yes, of course the Paris,' Marcia retorted, as he continued to chip away. 'My dear girl, if this monument is to outshine every other, then one has no choice but to commission the best. It's the same with the interior.'

She led her inside, where frescoes of the most astonishing colours had already covered two-thirds of the walls in scenes of breathtaking authenticity, though it came as little surprise to note that Marcia featured in every one… or that the artist had knocked twenty years off! There was Marcia greeting — not meeting — the Governor. Merchants lining up to do business with her. Marcia on her own boat. (Did that make her barque worse than her bite?) And Marcia throwing banquets at which the most exotic delicacies were being served.

'As you can see, I've combined the very best of international styles in this tomb,' she said. 'Doubtless you've heard of Hor?'

An airy hand indicated the young man dressed in a linen kilt mixing paint on a palette, but, before Claudia could come up with an answer that belied the fact that she hadn't a clue, Marcia was sweeping on, intent on showing her visitor every last detail of his work.

'Hor's famous throughout the whole of Alexandria and, frankly, I consider myself lucky to have him. Mind you, I did have to compromise.'

From his kneeling position, the young Egyptian shot his visitors a wholesome, if rather toothy, smile. Not bad looking in a sanctimonious sort of way and, although his skin was pale from working indoors, his muscles were manly enough.

'Not on the artistry, you understand.' Marcia was quick to make that clear, as the two women returned to the sunshine. 'But Hor was adamant. He would only accept this commission on the strict understanding that his older brother came too, and whilst Qeb wouldn't be my first choice for equipping a menagerie, he does come from a long line of Royal Keepers. The job's handed down father to son, you know. It's not as though he has no experience. Paris! Paris, can you please spare us a moment!'

Again the blond head nodded diligently, and again he made no move to descend from his ladder, but continued to chip at the nymph's pretty snub nose, pausing only to blow the dust away.

'Oh, that boy! Still, I wanted a perfectionist.' Marcia sighed, running her hand down the stylus-sharp pleats of the latest Roman fashions immortalized in stone. 'Can't complain now I've got one! Tomorrow, if I have time, I'll take you to the menagerie, and then I'll show you how Semir's landscaping is coming along, but right now I have correspondence to see to. Come.'

She clapped her hands and the slaves sprang into line as she set a cracking pace back along the riverside path.

'See here,' she told Claudia, coming to an abrupt halt. 'This is the spot where I intend to build a bridge over the river. There'll be arches on both banks, marble of course, and a marble path leading up to my tomb-'

The arrow came out of nowhere.

A soft hiss. A strangely musical twang. Then a dull thwack as it embedded.

'Get down!' Fast as quicksilver, the chiselled bodyguard threw himself over his mistress. 'You too,' he growled, pulling Claudia on to the path beside him and somehow contriving to cover her body with his, as well.

The leather of his breastplate was warm on her back, and he smelled of dense, cedary forests while his eyes, she noticed, were the colour of chestnuts.

'And stay down,' he rasped. 'Both of you.'

His sword was drawn before he'd even stood up, while, behind him, screaming slaves were scattering in every direction, though no one, thank Hades, was hit. Twisting her head, Claudia could see the arrow protruding harmlessly from the trunk of a silver birch, its feathers quivering with menacing grace.

'Padi predicted today would be a day for vigilance,' Marcia said, as though it was commonplace to be lying with her nose pressed against the forest floor. 'But don't worry. If the bastard's still out there, Tarbel will get him. He's from the Pyrenees, and Bascs have a reputation for not giving up.' A deep, almost feral growl came from the base of her throat. 'How I despise cowards who take potshots from a distance, instead of fighting in the open like men!'