Marilyn Todd - Widow's Pique

'Has the balm helped?'

She was referring to the white alabaster pot that had appeared in Claudia's bedroom yesterday evening. The pot had been tied round the middle with straw, into which a small posy of chive flowers and forget-me-nots had been artfully arranged. 'Enormously,' Claudia assured her. She hadn't touched it. 'Good, because it contains basil, cypress and marjoram, and if you rub it in twice a day, morning and night, as I instructed, the stiffness in your muscles will be gone in no time and it will help the bruises to fade.'

Deft hands continued to mould the macerated remains of horehound, aniseed and cardamom into a paste.

Salome paused in her task and looked round. The glint in her eyes was too bright, Claudia thought. As though she'd been laughing or crying, or something else she wanted to hide, and the smile on her face wasn't right.

'I didn't thank you for saving my pig the other night,' Salome said. 'It was a brave thing you did, my dear, and, great Marduk, you had a lucky escape. Pavan told me what nearly happened.'

Did he indeed?

'Are you all right?'

'After tumbling down a flight of stone steps, I barely noticed the extra bruises,' Claudia said.

'I meant mentally.' Salome returned to her paste, rolling it into a long sausage. 'Psychological bruises take longer to heal and they are much harder to cure,' she said quietly, cutting the sausage into tiny pastilles to counteract the coughs that would unquestionably result from the change from dry to wet weather. 'It's the emotional scarring I'm worried about.'

Claudia didn't doubt it, and she pictured an eight-year-old girl with raven-black hair, traumatized by what she had seen. Who better to keep an eye on the witness than the owner of the shadow whose murderous hands had throttled the life out of her uncle? Who better to pop in with healing herbs, to check that Broda didn't know more than she was letting on?

'Your emotional scarring or mine?' she asked, and something jolted inside.

This wasn't right.

Dammit, this wasn't right.

She pushed the tomcat off the stool and sank on to the warm wooden seat. Sure, the evidence pointed to Salome — but her gut said the evidence was wrong. It was, she thought, as the cat jumped back up and began to knead dough on her lap, a question of exactly what evidence they were talking about…

Salome stopped slicing the cough-mixture paste, wiped her hands on her apron and pushed her long, red hair out of her face.

'I was fond of him, you know. My husband, I mean.'

She drew up a stool next to Claudia and the cat immediately transferred itself to her knees.

'In fact, I thought I loved him until…' her voice trailed off.

The pieces fell into place with a click so loud Claudia wondered the whole world couldn't hear it.

'Until you met Mazares.'

Pain clouded Salome's eyes. 'How did you know?'

Mazares, Mazares, it was always Mazares. Every question centred round him, and she remembered the Zeltane Feast. With more work on the farm than they could possibly cope with, Salome still made the time to watch him when he wasn't looking. She watched over him, as well. She disguised herself in blue robes to strew healing herbs as he jumped the Fire of Life and, although Salome tended Broda, it was not out of self-preservation. She did it in the same way she tended the tanner's wife and all Mazares's people, because she cared for him most of all. If his people were healthy, his heart was content. His happiness was all that she wanted.

Shit.

'Does it matter?' Claudia replied.

Suddenly she understood why Salome hadn't married again. Such were her feelings, she couldn't face sleeping with any man other than Mazares. It's why she was so reckless with the numbers of slaves she helped to escape. With no heirs to this land, she had nothing to lose. Claudia swore softly again.

'We need to destroy the evidence, Salome, and there's no time to lose.'

'What evidence?'

'Oh, for heaven's sake, you know damn well that Rome's on to you,' she snapped. 'What on earth are you hoping to achieve? The chance to smuggle another couple of slaves out before the troops close your operation down?'

'Claudia, I won't turn away a single soul who asks for refuge, and when it comes to numbers, my dear, you can't begin to imagine how many poor wretches have been brutalized by their owners. Whipped, beaten, raped, it's horrendous, but thanks to our Freedom Trail, these people can have new papers and start a new life.'

It explains why there are so many women, Claudia thought dully. It's always the women who end up as victims, and only those young enough and brave enough can run off, because the older ones would have babies, and no one can hope to flee 300 miles with children in tow and the slave catchers not hunt them down.

'I'm not questioning the morality of your actions, Salome.'

Although frankly she doubted that even a quarter of the hard-luck tales were true. Once word got out that there was a rabbit run open, it's surprising how slick a lie can become when you have 300 miles to practise it.

'It's the legality that concerns me, and the consequences, which will ruin far more lives than you've repaired.'

She had no idea. Dammit, the silly bitch had no idea what would happen once Rome got wind of her racket.

'You think I care if this goes to trial?'

Salome tossed her red mane with defiance.

'Great Marduk, the evidence I'll lay before the court will open people's eyes to the realities of enslavement. My Freedom Trail will become an inspiration for others. Next year, there'll be twenty such organizations, the year after that fifty…'

Sweet Janus, she honestly believed it would reach trial.

'Salome, we don't have time to argue,' Claudia told her.

Orbilio had already sent off his dispatches. The rider left at first light. The damage was already done.

'Start a bonfire in the yard, burn all the forgeries, destroy every testimony you've kept and anything that connects this place with runaways, because once word reaches Augustus, you can forget about justice and martyrdom. The army will have you put down like a dog, and it's not just a case of Bonni, Mo, Silas and Tobias being sacrificed to the cause. Not even Lora's exalted status will save her. The Emperor will have everyone on this farm executed whether they were participating or not.'

'They can't!'

'They can and they will, and you might be able to carry that on your conscience, but I certainly can't, now get going.'

There wasn't even a pause. Salome might have shoved reality to the back of her mind in the name of righteousness, but she knew enough about Roman reprisals to remember that examples were always made. She knew enough about slavery, too. The rules were straightforward. If a slave killed his master and didn't confess, then the whole household was deemed guilty and put to death. Ashen and shaking, she piled logs on the cobbles as Claudia used the coals from the treatment room to get the bonfire burning. How long before the rider reached Pula? How long before the soldiers marched north? They would be here tomorrow, she calculated, turning this farm upside down… but another fire on top of the damage already done would not be questioned. She was fanning the flames with her skirt when a hand clamped over her wrist.

'What the hell's going on?' Tobias snarled.

Claudia told him.

'Oh.'

She wrenched her hand away, but his scowling eyes pierced her for several long seconds.

'I thought you were a spy,' he said at length. 'I thought Rome had sent you, masquerading as the King's bride, because it was obvious you'd never marry Mazares.'

Oh, was it! She was tempted to take him to task over this, but her mind had already flashed back to the night of the attack, when she'd overheard him and the others at the feast. Silas had suggested it was too far-fetched for Claudia to be a spy, arguing that if Rome wanted to send one, surely they'd have sent one undercover. With icy clarity, Claudia recalled Naim's reply.