Marilyn Todd - Widow's Pique

However, when it came to relating the drowning of a twelve-year-old child, the clinical reporter found herself unable to look the father in the face when she recounted the circumstances of his daughter's so-called accident, much less when she rehashed the circumstances of his son's death, and may Juno forgive her, she was almost glad to move on to how his wife's 'suicide' was most likely assisted.

'If you know so much about my family,' Mazares said thickly, 'you will also know that Delmi was prone to bouts of depression. She'd tried to kill herself once before, but Rosmerta, for all her faults, stepped in and saved my wife's life. She never forgave herself for not preventing it the second time.'

'Maybe that's why Rosmerta was mur- given that overdose,' Claudia suggested.

It had to be something that had been done, or said, recently that triggered Nosferatu into action. His was a careful, coldblooded campaign which Rosmerta had somehow tripped

^u p.

'Nonsense,' Mazares said wearily, pouring two goblets of wine. 'A tile slipped, it gave her concussion and, in her confusion, Rosmerta took more than one dose of the poppy draught to ease the pain. We've all done it, but not with such tragic consequences, of course.'

Claudia sipped at the wine, but the heat had soured it, or perhaps it was nothing more than the bad taste in her mouth.

'What would you say if I told you Orbilio has verified that no tile was missing from the house roof?'

There was a glint in his eye as he watched her over the rim of his goblet.

'Has he?'

'Well. No. Not exactly.'

Dammit, it was impossible to lie to this man.

'But I'm sure if you ask him, he'll go up and confirm my theory, and anyway, what about the boat builder? His body bears out Broda's account, Raspor's body has also been washed up, which confirms what I saw, and now the young physician who rode in yesterday has suddenly disappeared off the face of the earth. How convenient, when he'd just announced his findings!'

'You're worried about the young doctor?' Mazares chuckled as he drained his glass. 'Don't. Pavan sent him back to Gora.'

Well done, Pavan. Very neat. Very tidy.

'Don't tell me. It was for the boy's own good?'

Twinkling eyes studied her from lowered brows.

'Actually, he felt there was more need for a physician in a town where the population is greatest, seeing as we have a perfectly competent mule doctor here on the island, who, I'm sure, will prescribe something suitably minty for My Lady's indigestion.'

Claudia was not finished yet.

'Surely, after hearing how your own physician met his end, you can see it?' she asked softly.

The lines round his eyes suddenly became gorges.

'What a waste,' he rasped, and there was no trace of laughter left in his voice. 'What a waste of a life, of a talent, but what you have to bear in mind, my dear Claudia, is that homosexuality is considered unnatural among the Histri. Imagine if a hot-headed tribesman mistook friendliness for a come-on, who knows how he might react? Obviously, I'm not condoning the killing, but I've long accepted that things can be said — and done — in the heat of the moment that are regretted in the cold light of day. Just,' he added with a disarming grin, 'as I have accepted the curse that lies on my family.'

'Which is precisely what I'm trying to drum into your thick skull.'

How the family totem wasn't the mule, she'd never know! Wasn't it Salome who'd called the Histri boneheaded? Stubborn wasn't the word.

'It's not a bloody jinx, it's a campaign to undermine you, eliminate your bloodline, bring a new order to this kingdom at the expense of everything you and your father have ever worked for and, Croesus, I'm so confused, I don't know whether he's planning to incite Histria to rebel against Rome or bring the kingdom closer to the Empire, but at the moment I don't bloody care. All that matters is that you're next, Mazares. You're top of Nosferatu's hit list, and whether you believe what I've told you or not, for gods' sake, be careful, will you?'

She finally ran out of steam and it was with a weary voice that she added her postscript.

'He'll want it to look like an accident.'

Mazares's tired eyes managed one further dance as he rested both hands on her shoulders.

'Is it just you and Salome, or is it a precondition of Roman citizenship that women bust their men's balls?'

'Which brings us to another point. You do realize that Salome-'

'Claudia.'

He leaned forward and planted a kiss on the top of her head as though she was three years old.

'Claudia, will you please, please, give this poor eunuch some peace? In case you hadn't noticed, I have the mother of all hangovers this morning, and I could really use a few moments to myself to groan quietly while my skin finds its way back to my body and the tingling in my mouth stops spreading up my whole face, because very soon I will have to step outside wearing the broadest of smiles and play king to my people, while, as you so kindly pointed out, Histrian virgins change hands like cooking pots.'

It was all that hair, Claudia supposed. Proof positive that, if left uncut, the follicles invade the brain and destroy it from the inside out.

'However, if it sets your mind at rest,' he added, sucking in his drawn cheeks, 'I will endeavour not to allow myself to be crushed by falling bridegrooms or smothered by auctioneers in the meantime.'

'In those pants,' she retorted, 'you're more likely to be mauled to death by rampant matrons.'

But the words did not get past her lips for the lump in her throat and the salt water that coursed down her cheeks.

Nosferatu had to be stopped, the question was, how? How could Claudia possibly hope to stop the carnage that was tearing this kingdom apart without help?

Clouds had begun rolling in from the east, turning the clear azure sea to grey sludge and trapping the heat under their soft, downy blanket, but the mounting excitement meant that nobody on Rovin gave a hoot about any downturn in weather. The noise was deafening, with everyone shouting at once as fathers strutted impatiently, virgins clustered together like newly hatched chicks and bidders inspected the goods. Claudia could only imagine how rich the pickings would be for those light-hands gliding artfully through the throng. The auction had attracted crowds from as far afield as Liburnia, Dalmatia and Venetia, and to jolly things up musicians in fringed jerkins played the pipes, acrobats tumbled and a thickset Illyrian danced a bored-looking bear. Claudia was dressed in keeping with local tradition, because, wouldn't you just know that in a country where men wear pants instead of tunics and have no use for a barber, they'd be contrary to the end and marry in black? Her hair also hung loose down her back and, since jewellery was banned (oh, please! — such baubles must not be allowed to influence a man's choice of bride!), at least she had no fear of being robbed.

But not all contracts today were for marriage. In the shade of the fountain, salt sellers negotiated deal after deal as their assistants hacked lumps off the block. A Phoenician in ruby-red slippers hawked mirrors, an Armenian ivory carver touted bangles and combs and a long queue stretched back for the visiting oculist, who was dispensing the same remedy for night blindness as for eyes that were discharging pus.

'Thought I might find you down here.'

Claudia smelled the sandalwood before she turned. He was back in his long, patrician gown, she noticed, and wore the toga as a mark of respect for the occasion.

'How did you recognize me?'

'Easy,' Marcus breezed. 'Like picking out a horse. First, one discounts distinguishing features, such as blondes, redheads, fat girls, slouchers-'