Marilyn Todd - Widow's Pique

'Apart from you, then.'

Easy. The Histri were underhand, they were sneaky, they were all double-dealers. Even without the conspiracy angle, they'd managed to convince Rome that they were perfectly capable of governing themselves without intervention. Doubtless they were right, and although Gora probably bristled with imperial flunkies, such was the propaganda they'd been drip fed for so long that it wouldn't have occurred to any Roman to be on the invitation list for local festivals.

'I have no idea,' she replied, helping herself to a piece of succulent lamb. 'Why don't we ask Mazares?'

The rumble under the mask was reminiscent of the sound Drusilla made when she heard a strange noise in the night. Two minutes passed, in which the Moon God tapped his fingernail on the table.

'I don't suppose you'd care to dance with me, would you?'

He supposed right.

It was only as the sun began to sink again and the exhausted revellers collapsed to watch the Zeltana — the play in which Winter (dressed in grey) battled Summer (all in green) — which ended in a comic turn, with Summer setting fire to Winter's tail and Winter running down the island howling at the top of his voice — that Claudia wondered whether she hadn't been looking at this problem the wrong way round.

Clearly, there was no way she could steal away from this island

… so why try? Why not let them think she'd escaped and lie low until the heat had died down? She couldn't be sure it was 'them' and not 'him', just as she couldn't be sure Mazares was spearheading this campaign, but who else had the patience, drive and grit to execute a plan that would take years to come to fruition? As a soldier, Pavan certainly had the ability and tactical knowledge, but no general worth his salt would sit back for that long. Were Pavan the lone orches-trator, he'd have acted swiftly and decisively, and would undoubtedly have come unstuck long ago. Kazan was too selfcentred, Drilo too self-important, Marek and Mir too immature and self-absorbed.

She watched as archers fired volley upon volley of flaming arrows at the setting sun in a last-ditch attempt to keep the light alive, and thought, yes indeed. Smoke and mirrors, that was all it was… yet it was enough to reverse nature for the duration of the Zeltane Festival. Why not make smoke and mirrors work for her?

All she needed was the right spot in which to go to ground.

'My dear, what a wonderful surprise!'

The tints in Salome's hair glistened like rubies beneath the blazing sun.

'And you've saved me a trip to Rovin, as well.'

Leading Claudia away from her armed escort, she took her to a cool shed packed with a fragrant display of oleanders, pinks, larkspur and hibiscus, orange blossom, lilies and orchids, all arranged with breathtaking artistry.

'The day after Zeltane and in celebration of the Earth Goddess Maija, Histrian women pack flowers into the baskets that they've spent all winter weaving, which they then give away. This tradition is known as the Goodwill Basket and the idea is to distribute luck and good fortune to those who need it the most.'

There were scabious and verbena, sweet periwinkle, heads of fluffy, white peonies…

'Tobias's handiwork?'

'That's the beauty of the men who choose to stay on,' Salome said. 'They stay, because they fall in love with this land.'

The thought of the scowling Tobias in love was hard to imagine. Lean and wiry, with a head of thick, springy hair, he struck Claudia as a young man tormented by demons, not angels. But who knows? Perhaps he exorcized them in horticultural perfection?

'Teamwork,' Salome explained. 'Tobias produces these beautiful blooms, Lora fashions them into works of art.'

Lora: the girl with the cascade of waves that fell to her waist, who helped Salome in the treatment room. The same Lora who'd thought to add a remedy for the battered wife's bruises to the preparations she'd been asked to make up. Who'd tickled the chin of a playful grey kitten and stroked a snoozing tomcat. And whose elfin face set like cement when Salome said, Lora, this is Claudia, who's come all the way from Rome to consider the King's proposal of marriage…

'It's a generous gesture,' Claudia said. 'Perhaps the locals will think better of you after this.'

'Bigots are like leopards, they don't change their spots,' Salome replied. 'But in any case, I can't afford to give them the opportunity. Money's far too tight to simply give away such an expensive crop. No, my dear, these are for you to distribute.'

'Me?'

'Mazares thought you might like to continue the May Day tradition of sending Goodwill Baskets to those who might need them…'

'Jarna, for instance?'

Salome smiled. 'You're learning!'

She fixed a chaplet of tight pink rosebuds, pale blue nigella and some feathery white flowers over Claudia's hair, slipped a sprig of myrtle into her own foxy mane, then pursed her lips.

'Just a suggestion, my dear — and this is entirely up to you, of course — but now that you're aware of the custom, have you considered presenting one of these baskets to Mazares?'

'What a splendid idea. Which one contains the poison ivy?'

She diffused her barb with a smile and selected a sumptuous arrangement of yellows and golds with a splash of purple iris thrown in.

'I hope he paid you the full market price,' she added, changing her mind in favour of a display of dazzling blues.

'Better than that. He sent us a pig.'

'Did you say pig?'

'Plump and spotted, not a bit like the crusty old boars you find in the hills, this one's gentle and funny, an absolute darling, and just what I've always wanted. Come along, I'll introduce you.'

'I must be losing my sex appeal,' Claudia grumbled. 'In the past, people introduced me to eligible bachelors.'

'Isn't that the same thing?' Salome giggled.

'It is in Mazares's case,' Lora rasped, stomping in with another basket of blooms under her arm. 'He paid with a pig, because he is a pig.'

'Lora, please.' Salome looked as though she'd been kicked.

'What? I can't speak my mind now? You said it yourself, only a few men can handle the concept of equality and Mazares is not one of them.' Elfin features rounded on Claudia. 'A point you might want to consider, since you'll be marrying King Chauv-'

'That's quite enough, Lora.'

Salome's tone didn't change, but the steel was unmistakable. The girl shrugged one finely plucked eyebrow, laid down her basket then swept out of the shed. In the silence that followed, dust motes danced in the sunshine and bees, spoilt for choice, buzzed industriously round the fragrant displays.

'I apologize for Lora's outburst,' Salome said at last, 'but there's something you need to understand.'

Outside, an army of young girls milked goats and churned cheeses, spun wool and chopped vegetables, while others drew game birds or plucked poultry, and an old woman ground mustard grains with a pestle and mortar. Salome paused to give orders regarding the preparation of dyes and the sharpening of ploughshares before leading her visitor to a seat on the terrace at the back of the house. Shaded by cool, fragrant pines, a fountain gurgled contentedly, butterflies fluttered between urns of valerian and small birds twittered in the canopy above. Across the way, a bed of commercial lilies wafted their scent on the gentle warm breeze.

'Lora labours under the misapprehension that it's because of her that the King's taken against what I do here. It isn't, or, more accurately, it's only part of the problem, but the trouble is — ' the Syrian fixed her green eyes on a gap through the trees to where the sun glistened like diamonds on the sea in the distance '- Lora was married to the King's son, his only heir, you remember. After her husband was killed in the hunt, she came here.'