Marilyn Todd - Widow's Pique

'I say no to being sold off like cattle! No to being herded like sheep!'

'It's a funny thing,' Orbilio murmured, 'but I could have sworn I saw a flash of lemon cotton beneath the black when you bit that steward back there.'

'Tch, and you'd think the aristocracy would teach their children not to swear.'

'I would do more than swear, if I thought you were trying to sneak off the island.' He stepped in front, blocking her progress. 'This is a dangerous game being played.'

'Really? Because last time it was all in my mind.'

'You intend going to Amazonia, don't you?'

With Pavan, Kazan and Drilo stuck here for the auction, a ritual that not even the Terrible Twosome, Marek and Mir, would dare miss, there was no better time to go visiting, and although Claudia's money was still on Pavan as Salome's accomplice (or vice versa), she couldn't take chances at this stage. If she was to confront the lioness in her den, now was the moment — an opportunity made even more attractive, seeing that Lora had depleted the Amazonian workforce.

'Certainly not!' she retorted. 'It was a long night, I'm tired and I just want to lie down.'

Something came from his throat that sounded like hrrumph.

'Honestly, Marcus,' she said, and there was enough honey in her voice to drain a beehive. 'The combination of that fall down the stairs, the run-in with thugs at Salome's farm, and now Raspor's body washing up, has given me a terrible headache.'

He might be lighter than air this morning, but his scepticism remained firmly rooted.

'I have no intention of doing anything more strenuous than resting for a couple of hours in my bedroom,' she persisted smoothly. 'And since Mazares insisted on posting an armed guard at my door, I'm quite safe, and frankly, Marcus, the best place for you to be is at the King's side. He's in far more danger than I am.'

Another hrrumph, but at least this one seemed to be in a mood of concession.

'You promise?'

'Cross my heart.'

'Very well,' he said grudgingly. 'I'll stick with Mazares.' He turned, then turned back. 'But you give me your word?'

Claudia shot him her most radiant smile.

'Would I lie about something as serious as this?' she asked, frantically signalling behind her back for the ferryman on the other side of the channel to cross over.

The third hrrumph was somewhat reluctant, but finally, urging her to take care and trust no one, Orbilio fought his way back to the King, leaving Claudia to marvel at the aristocracy's ability to dish out advice which they themselves had no intention of taking.

Amazonia was eerily quiet, but the riot of perfume and colour was as explosive as ever. Herbs for remedies, flowers for market, trees for fruit, vegetables for the table. The fecundity of the farm bounced off in waves, and again she was struck by the deep sense of serenity that pervaded the land. They say it's a woman's touch that turns a house into a home. Imagine, then, the effect of several hundred women. Happiness and harmony pulsed from the soil and dripped from the blossoming trees. Claudia checked the dagger hidden deep in the folds of her pale lemon gown and the thin blade strapped to her calf.

Tethering her horse at the gate, she worked her way round to the farmhouse. Several fields were horribly blackened, the crops all but wiped out, but the majority of the land was remarkably unscathed, proving that Salome's Amazons had been well trained in their fire drill, and although the thatches on many of the storehouses had burned through, Tobias was busy sawing timbers to make a framework for tiles, not thatch, thus ensuring the buildings could not be destroyed so easily in the future.

He was, of course, assuming that this farm had a future.

She watched him, stripped to the waist, scowling as his saw rasped through the wood, and the muscles in his arms were corded and strong, and the flesh on his back tight and tanned. He would probably be handsome if he only smiled, and she moved on before he turned round to measure the next section of timber.

The thatch on the pigsty hadn't been touched. It lay where it had collapsed, but the black spotted sow didn't mind. She had used the scorched grass for her bedding and lay sprawled on her side, oinking away as five tiny pink piglets suckled and squeaked, blissfully unaware of the dark clouds that gathered above.

'Clever girl,' Claudia whispered, and suddenly she was gripped by an uncontrollable shuddering as images of that night came surging back.

Screams. Flames. The sow crashing against the walls of her sty in blind panic, resulting in stillborn piglets that she would have eaten the minute she'd birthed them, and rage shot through every inch of Claudia's body. How dare they? How dare they set fire to crops, destroy buildings, rape virgins, for no motive other than bigotry? Inflicting pain and destruction simply to exert some kind of control? The rapists were dead, the arsonists shunned, but their chauvinism had not been erased, and no wonder Lora fought so passionately for what she believed in. Rosmerta said Lora had loved Delmi like a mother. Claudia gave an affectionate tweak to the pig's ear and patted her spotted rump. Lora and Delmi. Two women who had been contracted into loveless alliances would have much in common, and if Lora picked up that baton when Delmi died, her zeal would have been further fuelled by Salome's obsessive commitment to equality. This would have escalated into contempt for the King's tolerance of what she considered cold, heartless practices, firing a desire to turn the situation about.

'What it is to be young,' Claudia murmured to the donkeys grazing the lush grass in the orchard. 'To have ideals you still believe are worth fighting for.'

Even if elfin-faced Lora didn't understand the finer points of anarchy! Such as how the King and Mazares are one. Bound by duty, the two are inseparable, and if Lora had loved Delmi, it was obvious that, in spite of herself, she adored Mazares as well.

'Ah, but the passion,' Claudia told the geese dabbling on the fringes of the pond. 'What passion beats in young hearts!'

Croesus.

She stopped short, watching bees buzz round the yellow iris on the margins, listening to the frogs croak in the shallows.

That was it!

Passion!

Passion was the key to this mystery.

Passion was at the heart of it all.

Her instinct had been to assume the killings were in aid of an uprising against Rome, but this was wrong. She saw now that this carefully planned elimination of anything and anyone who stood in Nosferatu's way was because Histria wasn't Roman enough. Stuff independence! Nosferatu was after closer links with the Empire, not fewer, and although the arch-ghoul would probably call it 'siding wholeheartedly', it was only by sucking up to Augustus that the country's influence and supremacy could grow at the speed Nosferatu was after.

Passion.

Passion for glory, passion for control, passion for Rome and all things Roman, like law, like trade, like progress.

But most especially, passion for power…

Oh, yes, Nosferatu sighed, it was passion all right. Passion for glory, passion for control, passion for Rome and all things Roman.

Like law.

Like trade.

Like progress.

But especially passion for power.

Sweet Janus, it was just a hair's breadth away, too…

The treatment room looked exactly as Claudia had left it.

Neat piles of petals and roots stood lined up on the table, seeds of celery, mustard and dill had been set aside in mortars to be pulverized later, while infusions of dewcup, soapwort and chamomile bubbled gently in cauldrons that dangled over red, glowing charcoals. On the workbench, in between a dish of grated horseradish and a jar marked agrimony tea, sat a heap of dried myrtle berries and, on the shelves, papyrus labels proclaimed decoctions of everything from rosemary to oak bark. Cloves and nutmeg fragranced the warm, healing air, enhanced by oils of juniper, peppermint, jasmine and ginger, and the instruments that hung from the wall gleamed. 'I had a feeling you'd come,' Salome said without turning. Even the black tomcat was snoozing on the same wooden stool.