‘So he gouges out a tunnel by which lake water is ferried up in secret and stored in a cistern in the cave? No,’ Orbilio scratched his head, ‘it can’t work. Carya’s waters are a cloudy white.’
‘Only because Mosul makes regular additions. Chalk, I think.’ While she was hiding in the cavern, she’d watched the mole-eyed priest stir the waters with his hand and when she’d tried to drink it, the water was bitter where he’d overdone it. ‘That’s the real reason he won’t tolerate acolytes. He makes excuses to get rid of them before they discover the scam.’
‘Which suggests Mosul and Pylades are both in on the secret of Atlantis, but not rich enough to be associated with the extortion racket. Hmm.’
‘Unless they’re salting it away. What about Kamar?’ Sweet Juno, please let it be Tortoiseface sent to a slow and painful death, if only on account of that poor infant he all but murdered the night before the Agonalia.
‘Whilst our physician friend has plenty in his coffers, it’s not sufficient to arouse suspicions, and since they’d have no call to imagine they’d be under surveillance, there’s no reason for any of them to stash their money away.’ Orbilio combed his hands through his hair. ‘Which brings us right back to where we started,’ he said sadly. ‘Who’s behind all this? Who is pulling these unseen strings?’
Claudia sat down on a tuft of grass and drew her knees up to her chin. Marcus tossed more stones into the water. Two swans skimmed the surface of the lake and disappeared around the headland. The only sounds were the gabbling of the stream, the gentle drone of bumblebees and a cuckoo in the distance. The little pastry boat had disappeared. Dinner for a pike.
‘Don’t you think it odd,’ Claudia said eventually, ‘that no one has approached Pylades for protection money?’
‘We don’t know they haven’t,’ Orbilio said, settling beside her, one knee straight, the other bent. ‘But if I was masterminding this operation, I’d wait until I had the whole of Spesium in my hand before making my move. By then, Atlantis will be an island in a sea of corruption — Croesus, that’s it! That’s bloody it. The island!’
He jumped to his feet. A thousand cockroaches began to abseil down Claudia’s spine.
‘That little lump of rock,’ he said, ‘is in danger of sinking into the lake with the weight of gold and marble and its treasures of antiquity.’
Claudia’s teeth began chattering. He could be wrong, of course…
‘Who else,’ Marcus said, ‘could afford to finance that racket?’
He had to be wrong. It was Pylades behind it. Pure coincidence that Tuder’s villa was bursting its seams with rich treasures. Clever investments, that’s all. Nothing to do with the fruits of extortion…
‘Perhaps Lais rumbled him, maybe she’d simply outlived her usefulness, but Cyrus is so deep in Tarraco’s pocket that between them they decide to stage that fiasco on the lakeshore yesterday.’
Claudia wondered whether she might be physically sick. ‘Fiasco?’
‘Don’t you think that “dirty dago” routine was just a smidgen over the top? Can’t you see, the whole damned thing was a put-up start to finish? It struck me as odd at the time that Lais just happened to turn up like that-and wouldn’t you know it was Pul, of all people, who suddenly plays helpful citizen and lends his hand to pulling Lais from the water? Even then, it smacked of a stage set.’
Tell me about it.
‘But Cyrus arrested him,’ she said feebly. ‘Had him thrown into jail.’
‘Sure, the tribune goes through the motions, but you wait. Tarraco will be set free on a legal technicality or else a fake suicide note will turn up beside some poor vagrant’s body, confessing to the murder.’
‘Why…go to those lengths?’
‘Because not only will the outcome be made public, thus clearing Tarraco of any suspicion, it will give the two of them the perfect excuse to be seen together afterwards. No hard feelings, eh, old chap? No, no, none at all-a man has to do his duty, what? Then guess who’s the best of friends? No skulking around, it’s all open and seemingly above board, what more perfect cover? That’s when I suspect the squeeze will be made on Atlantis. Once their armour plating is in place.’ Orbilio kicked over the remains of the picnic, now crawling with reddish-brown ants. ‘Well, he’s clever enough, and greedy enough, to get away with anything, including premeditated murder-except this time our friend Tarraco has overstretched himself.’ He sprinted over to the boat and untied the rope. ‘Come on.’
‘What are you going to do?’ Claudia asked, and wished with all her heart that she could make time stand still so she wouldn’t hear his answer.
‘Bring the curtain up on this vile trade, of course, and even if it means pulling his toenails out to obtain a list of his confederates, you can be sure that by the time I’m finished, not only Pul and Cyrus, but every rotten apple in the pile will have been rooted out and pulped. Hop in.’ Claudia’s legs could not have moved if they’d wanted to. ‘Orbilio…’
‘That’s me.’ Only the top of his head was visible as he stashed the basket underneath the seat.
‘What would be the consequences of not compiling that list?’
‘Hmm.’ He puffed out his cheeks as he considered the prospects. ‘I suppose the extortion would ease up for a while, but with so many mechanisms still in place and built on such solid foundations, even with the army being vigilant, I don’t see how you could stop it opening again two or three months down the line.’
As the light began to fade, pictures appeared before her in the water. The tear-stained faces of women forced into prostitution. Children, made old before their time, stripped of their innocence as they slaved in sweatshops to pay off the thugs.
A flash of white lightning shot down the valley.
‘Nothing to worry about,’ Marcus breezed. ‘We’re quite safe on the water.’
Like Virginia was safe? Claudia leaned over the stream and brought up the pies and the apricots and quite possibly yesterday’s breakfast. When she held out her arms, they were quivering. Holy Jupiter, what had she done? Not only had Spes, the goddess of hope on whose virtues this town had been modelled, abandoned her people, Claudia had contrived to kick them while they were down. Her stomach turned somersaults.
The evidence had been there all along and she had chosen, yes chosen, to disregard it and for what reason? Simply because she hadn’t believed Tarraco capable of cold-blooded murder. Well, at least there was a core of truth in that. The bastard employed minions to do his dirty work.
She leaned over and was sick a second time. From the outset, Tarraco had manipulated her to lure her in and win his trust. His trust!
Barbed lightning flickered, reflecting double in the oily waters of the lake and thunder echoed, low and distant, round the wooded crucible. Her tunic was sticking to her body like a second skin, but despite the heat from the celestial inferno, she found herself shivering. Sometimes, Claudia Seferius, you can be a very silly cow.
Her memory clock flipped back to that first night on the sun porch to where, out on the island, shortly before dawn, a light had sprung up. Instinct told her at the time it was a signal and sure enough, shortly afterwards wasn’t Tarraco hauling on the oars of his little grey rowboat, heading home? Right back then, Claudia had sensed he’d been visiting some kitchen wench with dimpled cheeks and a heaving, ample bosom, the pair of them rolling like puppies in the hay, and now it made sense more than ever. To counteract the shrill and desiccated Lais, Tarraco would tumble with girls who asked for nothing in return and left behind only a smile, to restore the masculinity and pride sucked out by women such as Lais and Virginia. But suppose his wife had got wind of the affair? How would that make her feel?
To try and comprehend what made him flip and snuff out her life with such brutality, Claudia put herself in the other woman’s shoes. Tuder had brought her out to Plasimene, and in an instant Lais had been upheaved from a bustling, lively environment in Rome to an island on which she was virtually marooned. With Spesium not yet in existence and Atlantis in its mere infancy, what desolation must Lais have felt? Then, when Tuder dies, she sees in the mirror a middle-aged woman with twenty long and lonely years ahead. Desperation sets in. She tries to turn back the years with dyes and cosmetics and girlish attire-and then, whoosh, Tarraco drops from the sky. Brooding good looks apart, Lais is charmed by his attentions, flattered by the court he pays her. He’s rich. He can’t be after her money. Which leaves only one scenario. Tarraco must love her for herself.