‘That’s Mosul, the priest,’ Cal explained in a voice so oozing with poise that it cut short further imaginings. ‘Hates Jews so much you’d think he was a Babylonian, but my word, what a perfectionist. He won’t allow Leon-that’s who he’s railing at now-to go near the spring in case the young acolyte upsets Carya and her holy waters dry up.’ Cal’s arm found its way round Claudia’s waist. ‘I’ll let you in on another secret.’
Using the closed fan, Claudia swatted him away, though not before they had both registered the five-count delay. It felt good, a man’s touch, she reflected. But then it had been a long time…
‘Come.’ His hand closed round her wrist and Claudia found herself spinning between the trunks of the walnuts and into a clump of dank elders before being plunged into a steep, descending darkness. Cool! It was cool! She gasped with shock as her back connected with the chill of the rock face. He’d led her to a cave, where the stone was cold but not slimy, to a world which was dark but not damp. And at a time when sheets soaked through in the night and grey mould covered the bread, this was surely the Elysian Fields.
Against the far wall, serpentine lights danced a horizontal shimmy and water plink-plink-plinked into a pool. The spring. Cal had brought her to the sacred spring, where the shadows were the reflections of ripples on water and where the drips were the tears of the nymph.
In the darkness, Cal moved closer and the suddenness overwhelmed her. ‘Cal,’ she warned.
But a husky voice whispered, ‘Come to me, Claudia. Love with me.’
‘Cal, I-’ Her own voice was as ragged as his. Sweet Jupiter, how long since she’d felt release with a man?
Again he was reading her mind, sensed her desires, her pent-up frustrations. ‘I know what you want,’ he said, and by all that was holy, she did.
His hands cupped her chin, she could smell the freshness of mint on his breath. Sex with a stranger, wasn’t that every woman’s fantasy? Who would know? A young man, handsome and confident, in a place hidden by sanctity? Who would ever find out?
‘This will be the best ever, I promise,’ and she knew it was no idle boast. From the moment she’d set eyes on him, Cal had oozed sex.
Claudia fought for control. Her pulse raced, her flesh was on fire. This was no callow youth fumbling his way over her breasts or trying to press up against her. Cal’s seduction was moulded. A shudder ran through her body. His touch, when it came, would be light and exploratory. Take its time…
‘Go with it,’ he urged, and still he had not so much as kissed her. ‘Don’t fight what’s inside you.’ When his thumbs moved up to caress her cheekbones, she knew he was aware of her trembling. ‘Let me give you,’ he rasped, ‘super sex.’
‘In that case, Cal.’ Was that strangled voice hers? ‘I’ll have the soup now and take a raincheck on the sex.’
He laughed, and the laughter was good, and Claudia found herself respecting the man who backed off when he knew the answer was no. Indeed, her heart raced that little bit faster.
‘Oh, Claudia, there are so many things I must show you,’ he whispered. One finger hooked a wayward curl and gently released it. ‘But for now, let me impart one more mystery.’ He pointed towards the back of the cave. ‘Do you see it?’
She blinked at the yawning blackness to the right of the cistern. ‘A tunnel?’
‘Apertures have been gouged in the rock to let in light and once you acclimatize to the gloom and that rather steep slope, you’ll be fine. Trust me.’
Claudia hesitated. That passageway looked less than inviting…
‘Chicken!’ Grabbing her hand, he raced towards the gaping hole, leaving her no option but to tumble behind him.
The tunnel smelled of mildew and copper and had a faint whiff of fish, but Calvus was right. Once you got used to the punctuations of light then dark, light then dark, the way was smooth, being tamped earth-and it was also exciting. A secret underpass, he explained, a shortcut from the temple down to the lake, passing directly beneath the sun porch and emerging…
‘Ta-da!’ He gave a theatrical flourish of the wrist.
‘Ooh, a thicket of alder and willow, how lovely.’
Cal aimed a mock punch and pointed upwards through a gap in the greenery to where, forty feet above, rose the colonnade which surrounded the little domed loggia which in turn led off the famous Athens Canal.
In spite of herself, Claudia was impressed. ‘How many secrets have you uncovered here, Cal?’
‘Me, I know everything,’ he said with exaggerated loudness. ‘In fact as long as one understands the golden rule here, one understands everything.’
Claudia tilted her head on one side. ‘And what, pray, is this golden rule?’
‘That whoever owns the gold, rules. Now.’ With the back of his hand, he shooed her away. ‘Off you go, Claudia Seferius, get the exploring out of your system and when you return, we’ll settle down to some serious flirting.’
Will we, indeed?
‘I’ll be waiting,’ he said, ‘right here, on this spot.’ He leaned his weight against the rock and crossed his arms over his chest. ‘With a picnic of lobsters and mussels, peaches and cherries, which we’ll wash down with a jug of chilled hyssop wine, and as the sun sets over the lake I’ll tell you why Pylades named this place Atlantis.’
‘You’ll be wasting your time,’ she warned, working her way out of the thicket to where, across a rough patch of grassland, a tethered flotilla of fishing boats bobbed on the lazy blue water.
In the shade of his upturned coracle, a fisherman snored open-mouthed, the net he’d been mending half submerged in the water, his heather needle slack in his hand. From the reed-beds, a single moorhen croaked, and flies buzzed round a dead fish washed up on the shingle.
The spell had been broken back there in the cave. Claudia was no longer tempted by the touch of Cal’s flesh-furtive couplings were not the answer to either her problems or his. But all the same, she knew with full certainty that, despite the numerous paths which led back to Atlantis, Claudia Seferius would return to that tunnel to share a jug of chilled wine with a young extrovert who knew too many secrets.
Including (who knows?) her own.
IV
Phew, it was hot! You’d think a stretch of water five miles by six would afford at least a modicum of relief, but no. On the foreshore it was as sticky as ever and Claudia’s fan turned out to be a waste of seven sesterces. The humidity transformed crisp parchment into limp lettuce and Claudia lobbed the folded fan like a javelin into the lake, but the margins proved shallow and its boxwood frame lodged in the silt, sticking out like a defiant childish tongue.
Still. If one cave had been gouged out of the rocks, by heavens, there’d almost certainly be a number of others.
Unhooking a small grey boat from the jetty, Claudia headed for the island closest to the promontory and whose slopes, like the cliff on which Atlantis was perched, rose almost vertically from the water. According to the man who’d carried her luggage, the island had remained uninhabited until, attracted by Pylades’ development, a rich banker decided this would make a perfect place for retirement. Clearing the wooded slopes along the southern shore, he built himself the sumptuous Villa Tuder (modestly named after himself) and systematically indulged the place with riches including a fifty-foot-high statue of a man, his hand outstretched in supplication to the dawn, although from this distance it was impossible to make out more than a hazy glimmer of the villa, let alone any embellishments.
However, Claudia had no desire to mingle with bankers, retired or otherwise. That north shore, she suspected, would be deep in shade right now, and undoubtedly oozing with caverns, cool and dark and running with water.
The blades sucked and slurped as the rowboat cleaved a course across the still, blue waters. Some idiot on the road said the island was dangerous, a place to avoid after a group of yobs set loose a boar a couple of days ago as a joke. Clearly he was winding her up, otherwise he’d know, as she did from experience of the creatures which roamed her own estate, that boar were timid beasts. Granted they got a little humpy when they had a litter to protect, but the only problem Claudia had experienced was keeping them away from the vines, whose tender young shoots appealed so wholeheartedly to their taste buds. So no. One hairy pig was not a problem. It was this stifling, unbreathable heat.