Dark Horse (9 page)

'If only Leo were not so obstinate on the issue of assistance.' Silvia laid the lyre on her lap and fixed her big blue eyes on Claudia. 'Given the laurels he'd win for ridding the Liburnian Gulf of marauders, Marcus would not be sole to resist the challenge.'

Much less if his cousin got himself killed out there this morning! Dear Diana, a snapping turtle could sink that pathetic little crate, never mind a seasoned warship. What on earth was Leo thinking of? The only good thing that could possibly come out of it was that the death of his cousin at the hands of a bunch of pirate rebels would fire a crusade so strong, so fierce in his proud patrician breast, that Orbilio would comb every inch of this secretive landscape until he had the Scythian at bay. What's more, he would have the backing of the whole damn Roman Empire behind him, there would be nowhere for them to hide.

But for heaven's sake, there had to be a better way of making the seas safe than through Leo's martyrdom! Which, of course, there was. Provided Claudia could think up a way to prevent Leo from sailing.

The demon yawned, stretched and, had it been a cat,
it
would have purred. Like a leech, it had grown fat on the blood upon which it hadfeasted last night, but blood was this island's birthright. Why should it not be the demon's, also?

Of all the islands in the Adriatic, Cressia's history was the darkest. Inextricably linked with one of the most famous exploits of all time, that of Jason and the Golden Fleece, it was here, at the head of the Adriatic, that the
Argo
had dropped her anchor all those years ago.

Opinion on the Fleece itself was divided. One school of thought had Jason sailing through the Hellespont and round the Black Sea until he reached the land of Colchis on its south-west shores. The hypothesis was sound. Alluvial gold washed down from the Caucasus was still collected today by laying fleeces along the river bed in spring. Therefore to scholars in this camp, the Golden Fleece was exactly what it purported to be. A fleece of pure gold.

Colchis, others claimed, was Greek for Kolikis, a stronghold of the Liburnian tribes on the mainland north of Cressia and once an important station along the amber route which, in those days, ran pretty much in a straight line from the Baltic to the Aegean. This suggested Jason was more trader than raider, and that the Golden Fleece was that ultimate status symbol of wealth: a sheepskin cloak studded with thousands of tiny beads of amber.

But whether Jason was a gold-digger or an amber merchant was irrelevant to the demon. Cressia's dark history wasn't about Jason. It revolved round a woman.

Medea.

Voluptuous, beautiful, she was a princess of Colchis. She

seduced Jason, stole from her people, double-crossed her own father, murdered her brother, dismembered his corpse and threw his body parts into these very waters.

Perhaps the old Greek historians were right in that the goddess Athena refused to allow Medea to leave with her brother's blood on her hands. Then again, perhaps the
Argo's 
crew simply refused to take her on board without her repenting. Either way, before Medea could sail with Jason, she was forced to seek purification on this island, the Island of the Dawn, where Circe the enchantress dwelt in a sumptuous palace.

Except Medea did not repent. Her wickedness was never expunged. History records how she went on first to kill King Pelias, before butchering the king of Corinth and then how, when Jason wanted to divorce her, Medea burned her love rival alive and later went on to poison her own children. What made this story particularly interesting was the poison she'd used. Colchicum. The bulb of Colchis. From whom could she have learned such a skill? The demon knew the answer full well. Circe was the King of Colchis's sister, whose powers as a sorceress were well documented. She could tame wild beasts, turn men into hogs, conjure up the winds with her spells. And the bulb of Colchis flourishes all over this island.

The demon saw a very different scenario to the theory about Medea needing repentence. It saw this as a smokescreen, whereby she could engineer a call on the aunt who had been exiled by her father, the king. It saw two like minds, plotting and scheming far into the night. Medea, we know, sailed away with new skills, but Circe? What became of the king's sister?

The demon knew the answer to that conundrum, as well.

After Medea sailed away with her Jason, the Trojan hero Odysseus had been so captivated by the enchantress's beauty that he stayed seven years as her consort. She had borne him three sons and with each generation, that knowledge had been passed down. Fresh. Undiluted. Pure in its wickedness and guile.

For much of the time, the evil remained dormant. But every now and again the dark demon stirred.

Bulis had been a good start.

Psst!'

Claudia beckoned her bodyguard round the side of the weaving shed, and that was another thing she'd picked up about the Villa Arcadia. So many perfect places for someone to lurk with pots of lilies.

'Here's what I want you to do,' she told Junius. 'I want you to go and pick a fight with Leo.'

'You . . . you aren't serious, madam?'

'Any pretext you can think of. Only make sure you knock him out cold, there's a good boy.'

'You're asking
me,
a slave, to knock out a
patrician?'
The young Gaul had received many outrageous instructions since being promoted to the head of Claudia's bodyguard, but this, surely, took the honey cake. 'Madam, with respect, he'll have me fed to the lions a limb at a time.'

'Junius, you were asked to pick a fight with Leo, not with me. Now I don't wish to remind you that I could have been chargrilled in my bed last night because you were negligent in your duties—'

'Negligent?
But it was you who insisted I spend the night in town to find out what I could about—'

'Spare me the grovelling apologies, Junius. The
Medea
sails in less than five minutes.'

'And I'm supposed to stop him?' The young Gaul's Adam's apple was working overtime. 'Would you mind telling me how exactly?'

'With a strong right hook, you dumb ox. '

Funny chap, that Gaul. Tall, tanned and muscular, his most attractive trait as far as Claudia was concerned was his ability to keep his eyes wide open and his lips tight

shut. Oh, yes, and the fact that he always did what he was told. Eventually.

Claudia moved across to the steep-sided rock face to see how her bodyguard would handle this particular task. Although she had no idea what was going on concerning those messages impaled on the spears, she had a strong gut feeling about Jason. Like a cat, he enjoyed taunting his prey. Had he wanted to kill Leo outright, wouldn't he have set fire to the house? Done his dirty deeds at night and by stealth, the same way he'd delivered his notes? No, no. That slow bow said it all. The sick bastard was milking the situation for all it was worth, inciting Leo to give chase by taunting him with a warship that wasn't even primed to take flight. Leo has something Jason wants and so, in another turn of the psychological screw, Jason intends to humiliate him in the most public way possible.

Now, if Claudia could see this as plain as the nose on her face, then surely so could a highly educated scion of society like Leo. Yet he was walking straight into the trap, and why? Because Leo, the arrogant sonofabitch, thought he could win.

The scrubland on the cliff where she was standing had been laid to flagstones, affording a perfect view. Down on the jetty, a preposterously small and ill-armed boat was being made ready for sail. Leo, who had changed out of his patrician robes into serviceable boots and a short green working tunic, was galvanizing the
Medea's
crew into action. Further out, on the warship whose oars still remained firmly shipped, Jason mimed a slow sarcastic handclap.

Since taking over the Imperial reins, Augustus had waged war on every bandit, footpad, robber and pirate in the Empire. It was his belief that, day or night, winter or summer, every traveller on any main road or shipping highway had the right to make his journey in safety. Note the key words there.
Main 
road. Shipping
highway.
With the best will in the world, no army could patrol every square mile of an Empire which stretched from Iberia in the west to Syria in the east, and from Egypt to the North Sea. What hope a stretch of coastland so indented, so wooded, there were hidey-holes everywhere and islands too numerous to count? None! The only hope of

making these waters safe was to set a trap and bait it, and then for someone to inform Rome of the situation in order for reinforcements to be sent. A policy Leo was staunchly set against, suggesting only one explanation: Leo wanted the glory! Why else would he keep quiet about Jason's speared messages? If word spread that Jason wasn't half the threat he appeared to be, then his heroics would be seriously diluted, his authority undermined. Can't have that. In any case, he probably saw this as the perfect solution. Eliminate Jason, eliminate problem. Talk about tunnel vision!

Ah! There, at last, was Junius, trotting along the jetty. Claudia couldn't hear the actual exchanges from the clifftop, but judging by the hopping up and down and flailing arms and wild gesticulations down below, that was some row he had instigated. Leo might well be older than his cousin by a decade. But you wouldn't know it from the acrobatics.

Concerned that his verbal assault wasn't having the desired effect, Junius raised the stakes by jabbing Leo firmly in the chest with his index finger. In response, Leo leaned forward and snarled something nasty back. Junius bunched his fists. Terrific. Claudia clapped her hands in relief. I
knew
I could rely on that boy! All we need now is one good punch to lay him out - and that's precisely what happened.

Right on cue.

Wallop.

Unfortunately, it was Leo who swung it.

Violet-blue coral glimmered in the crystal-clear sea a hundred feet below and, when the sun caught a wave, its crest reflected the light like a mirror. Sea ravens croaked from precarious clifftop perches and, to the north, white-headed griffon vultures with wingspans greater than the height of a man soared over Cressia's peaks. The mid-morning heat turned the gravelly paths into a shimmering haze. Claudia had decided to take this walk on the basis that if at first you don't succeed, quit worrying. She'd done her damnedest to stop Leo setting off after a warship in a wooden hip bath. All she could do now was chew her nails and hope to glory that Jason's humiliating dance would lead the
Medea
away from the rocks and into open water where even Leo wouldn't be able to sink himself!

Strolling beneath the dappled grey canopy of the olive groves, her skirts released waves of fragrant pinewood scent as they brushed the yellow blooms of the pine-ajuga. Animal bells played a soft and melancholy tune as black-faced sheep and horned goats chomped noisily on the sparse clover patches. Bees droned round the tall spikes of the poisonous sea squills and explored the delphiniums, while crickets rasped in the coarse, dry grass.

Nowhere on the island had Claudia felt more isolated. More disconnected from civilization.

Settling down with her back against a gnarled trunk, she drew her knees up to her chest and stared across the sparkling Gulf, where the densely wooded slopes of the mainland slid like a wanton woman into the warm cobalt waters. Fishing boats like ink spots spattered the ocean, hauling home baskets teeming with lobster, crayfish and crab. How easy to picture the
Argo 
out there . . .

Fifty oars. A hundred oarsmen. Rich men's sons for the most part. There were famous boxers, wrestlers, swimmers on the expedition, though a few brought rather less obvious skills. The bee-master, for instance. What use had he been? Never mind. Luckily for the crew, the ship carried a shape-shifter on board, two winged men (obviously), a seer and a poet (naturally), one virgin huntress (who wouldn't?) and, of course, for those little everyday emergencies, a transvestite.

Gazing up at the heavy clusters of green olives swelling beneath their leathery, silver-grey leaves, the past and the present fused.

Jason and the Argonauts.

Jason and the brigands.

It could, of course, be coincidence that Leo's ship was called the
Medea,
but coincidences were stacking up fast. First we have a pirate called Jason, then we have the
Medea,
and let's not forget Colchis is a Scythian trading post on the Black Sea. The past and the present. Coiling together like snakes.

But one thing at a time.

'Here's the deal,' Claudia told Neptune. Sure he had an enormous territory to patrol and couldn't hope to be everywhere at once, but it was high time he swept the cobwebs out of this particular corner of his watery domain. 'You sink that galley flying the red flag of your brother' - Mars wouldn't miss one skitchy little trouble-maker, would he? - 'plus you dispose of any ships bringing tall, dark, aristocratic members of the Security Police to these parts, and in return I'll give you a beautiful white bull as a sacrifice. Not a black hair on its body, I promise.'

'Who are you talking to?'

Claudia had heard of woodland nymphs, dryads they were called, and nut-nymphs, caryatids. But she'd never actually believed in them. Much less olive-grove nymphs!