Marilyn Todd - Widow's Pique

'My dear Claudia, you never cease to surprise me.'

Mazares was far too polished a statesman to let his expression slip when the Queen of Heaven returned to the table dressed as a woodpecker, but a range of emotions flickered in his catkin-green eyes, including, she could swear, admiration. Quite how much gaining the enemy's respect was important, she didn't know, but her new costume had sure drawn a crowd.

'Astonishing,' Pavan rumbled.

'Ravishing,' Kazan said.

'Refreshing,' said Vani.

'Dashing,' chorused Marek and Mir.

But it was the high priest who voiced the crowd's collective opinion.

'Inspirational, My Lady. Truly inspired.'

With one change of costume, he propounded loudly, the Lady Claudia had made public her loyalty to the King. Indeed, so effusive was he in his praise that, by the end of his speech, even she could almost believe that her perception had done her credit!

The royal emblem was, she had to admit, a lucky choice, but when you stack that against the masked stranger blocking her escape, it paled into insignificance.

Rovin was a beautiful island set in a paradise sea… but it was still her prison.

Mazares was as dashing and gracious as any man she'd ever met.. yet he was still her jailer.

It crossed her mind that Mazares might be keeping her here for her own safety, but if that was the case, Raspor would still be alive. No, he was keeping her because she was the live goat in the pen. Doubtless it was his intention for the King and his new bride to die in some terrible accident, perhaps the ship taking them to Pula would be attacked by pirates, who knows? But come on. Claudia Seferius a goat? He's the one who had to be kidding!

Daylight had swamped the festivities, revealing just how many spirals of smoke were being carried out to sea on the breeze. Bones and mussel shells littered the pavements, along with battered plates, shattered goblets, and a score of lost or trampled hats, a few broken toys and a baby's painted red rattle. One or two figures slumped in drunken repose, but the party was not due to finish until dusk, and while the sun blazed down upon the token livestock driven through a line of bonfires in ritual purification for the entire herd, Claudia set to plotting a means to escape.

Brae be nimble, Brae be quick, Brae jump over the candlestick.

After the sheep, the goats, the pigs and the cattle, it was the turn of the children to hurdle candles in order to burn off evil spirits.

Brae jump long, Brae jump high, Or Brae fall into a fever and die.

She blocked their chants out, but still plan after plan was thwarted by geography, logistics and the spectre of the masked Moon God by her side. She had just ruled out setting the whole island ablaze on the grounds that it was too problematic, considering all the buildings had been constructed of stone, when Mazares reached for his Taurus mask, adjusted the balance using the gilded horns, and offered his elbow.

'It's our turn next.'

Hurdling a couple of wax candles? No problem. She may have encouraged the whole of Rovin to drink itself stupid, but very little wine had passed her own lips and her co-ordination was 'We leap the Fire of Life.'

Too late she noticed that the crowd had moved back from the Zeltane fire, which had been banked up since she last noticed, and Claudia knew she had no choice. She'd nailed her colours to the King's mast, there was no going back, she needed to keep the islanders on her side as much as she could.

'Don't be scared.'

'Who s-said I'm s-scared?'

Croesus, the flames were taller than she was!

'Ready?'

The crowd was stamping and cheering them on.

'No.'

By the edge of the fire, a veiled nymph dressed entirely in blue tossed bay leaves, verbena, lemon balm and hyssop into the heart of the flames with studied solemnity. Mazares stared at the nymph and her purifying concoction for what seemed like eternity, then dipped his horns, let out a bellow and pawed the ground with his boot. Everyone laughed, and only Claudia heard him say: 'Really? I rather had you pegged as the type who enjoyed getting her feathers singed.'

He took her hand in his and the grip was firm.

'When I say run, you run like the wind, and when I say jump, you don't jump high, you jump one-two and make the third jump as long as you can. Trust me.'

She wanted to say that she might as well put her head in a lion's mouth, but her tongue had stuck to her palate.

'Run!'

Hand in hand, they hurtled towards the flames.

'Jump!'

One… two… She had never made such a leap in her life — or found anything more exhilarating.

'Told you.' Panting, Mazares pulled off the bull mask and grinned. 'And only a handful of burnt feathers to show for it!'

To take on fire and win…

'Is a charred woodpecker the same as a cooked goose?' she asked, but whatever retort he intended to make was overtaken by Marek (or was it Mir?).

'Hey! Mazares! Isn't it time you showed the pretty birdie your own wooden pecker?'

Pavan lifted a hand that would have swept him backwards off his feet, but Rosmerta stepped in front of her son.

'You will apologize at once for your vulgarity,' she boomed, her white face distorted with anger.

As he voiced his abject contrition, Claudia wondered whether Kazan wasn't the weak link after all, because he'd said nothing. Nothing at all.

'Good boy.'

Rosmerta glanced first to Claudia, then Mazares to establish that no harm had been done and, satisfied, said: 'Now then, who's going to escort me through this year's Fire of Life? Kazan?'

They made an incongruous couple, the Cat and the Sun God, and it struck Claudia how odd it was that, on his own, Kazan radiated confidence and strength, yet beside his wife he appeared weaker and somewhat diminished. Perspective, she mused. By her very size and nature, Rosmerta dominated every scene and Claudia's thoughts flittered back to her own wedding day. Also a marriage of convenience, but whereas Kazan and Rosmerta's was a political alliance, at least she and Gaius had thrashed out a pact for themselves. Did Kazan have any inkling of what he was taking on, when he accepted the Illyrian chieftain's daughter? Were there any hints in the young Rosmerta of the sourness and resentment that lay ahead? Or were those traits born of her husband's relentless profligacy? Neither Cat nor Sun God, Claudia concluded, deserved the other — and she meant it in the kindest sense.

In several places, makeshift bridges had been constructed across the Fires of Life to convey the sick, frail and elderly without risk, though for the majority of Zeltane's celebrants, the leaping was an important part of the ritual, with young couples jostling to race towards the flames. The masked stranger, she noticed, was among them. Hand in hand, he leapt with Vani, their muscular legs scissoring effortlessly across the flames. Vani, dressed as Goddess of the Night. Whose lover was none other than the Moon himself…

To the sound of pan-pipes, drums and flutes, the food and wine just kept on coming, with a seemingly endless succession of earthenware pots being pulled out of the logs in which this season's lambs had been slow-roasted during the night. Out in the plaza, a human chain linked hands to weave in and out of the crackling bales, swaying and singing as they danced, their shadows casting a parallel ballet.

'Why do you suppose there are no Romans at this banquet?' the masked stranger murmured.

If Perun was truly God of Justice, he'd have him sweating like a pig under the weight of so much metal, the heat turning it into an oven inside, he'd make it cut into his flesh and rub his skin raw, leaving a rash.

'Remind me to lend you a ruby,' she breezed. 'If you hold it next to your eye, all things become magnified. An excellent aid for short sight.'