'Both, may your gods and mine will it.' Tall, tanned and leathery, he was the same age as his adversary and had the same playful glint in his eye. 'The only difference, dear lady, is that you will find my worth higher than this poor brute's.' He leaned rakishly towards her, and Claudia thought, dear me, ships could be sunk in that cleavage. 'So what do you say, then? Forty?'
Dancing eyes assessed the snickering horse tied to the post. It was no Arab stallion, but even Claudia, whose knowledge of horseflesh extended no further than the bookies' tables, could see it was a fine, solid mount.
'I'll give you twenty-five, Hannibal, and no more.'
One eyebrow rose slowly. 'Surely you can stretch a bit further for such a, ahem, strong, handsome creature?'
The landlady chuckled. 'Well, I suppose I could manage thirty, if you press me.' She winked. 'Which I can see you're dying to.'
'You would not be wrong,' he drawled back, stroking the bunch of feathers pinned into his cloakpin. 'Suppose we say midnight, and you leave the side door unlocked?'
'Rogue,' she laughed, shaking her head. 'Now sit down, will you, before I forget I'm a grandmother. I'll bring you your money when I've finished serving this lady.'
Hannibal bowed. 'It is a pleasure doing business with you on all, er, fronts, and as for the little matter of age, I say again. Midnight! And be sure to leave the door ajar, dear lady. I have no desire to waken the whole district with my knocking, for it is my intention to inflame you, not your neighbours.'
'Men,' she tutted to Claudia, although it was obvious from the shine in her eyes and the bloom on her cheeks that the landlady was not altogether unimpressed with the horse-seller's attentions.
'Now then.' She glanced across to where Hannibal was in the process of hooking a stool from under a table with one leisurely foot and it seemed her breath grew that little bit shorter. 'What can I get you, my lovely?'
'Information,' Claudia replied, laying a kidskin pouch on the table, which chinked when the contents settled.
'Indeed.' The merry green eyes were suddenly serious as the tavern-keeper settled herself at the table and leaned forward. 'And what kind of information might a lady of quality like yourself be after, exactly?'
'Not that kind,' Claudia told her, although she was willing to bet that if she'd wanted a backstreet abortion, the woman would recommend a physician oozing compassion and skill. 'I'm trying to trace a man who disappeared from here fifteen years ago and-'
The landlady couldn't have jumped higher if she'd been stuck with a pin. Her face turned as white as birch bark.
'F-fifteen?' Her laugh was unconvincing. 'My, my, that's an awful long time to be going back.'
On the contrary. Judging from her reaction, it could have been yesterday they were talking about. The hairs on Claudia's scalp started to prickle.
'Why?' she asked bluntly. 'What happened fifteen years ago?' '
'Nothing!'
But the answer came too fast for Claudia's liking, and the woman's blinking was too rapid.
'Nothing happened. Why should it? No, it's… it was, well… why, that was the year I married my second husband, so it was. The memory caught me by surprise, that was all.'
Claudia nudged the purse across the table. 'You're an awful liar, do you know that?'
'Aye.' The tavern-keeper nodded glumly. 'Reckon I do, but I will say this. You won't find anyone around these parts willing to talk to about what happened back then, not a soul, so my advice is don't waste your time trying.' She pushed the purse back across the table with a gesture of finality and stood up. 'I'm sorry for you, honest I am, because you wouldn't have come all this way if it wasn't important to you, but there are some things that are best left in the past and that's one of them.'
First Rome, now the locals…
'Look, I'm not interested in politics,' Claudia assured her. 'It's just one man-'
'No, it isn't. It's never just one man,' the woman retorted. 'It's always somebody's father and somebody's son, a brother, a lover, a friend. Let it go.' She drew a deep breath, and the next time she spoke it was gently. 'Because the way I see it, love, if the man you're looking for's dead, then he's dead, and if he's alive — well, I reckon he don't want to be found. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to see a man about a horse.'
The twinkle returned to her eye as though nothing had passed between them.
'Might slip him a plate of food while I'm at it.' She adjusted a finely dyed curl, then patted her awesome embonpoint. 'Many a good man's been lost to my veal and ham pies — and a few bad 'uns, as well.'
The speed with which she bounced back left goose pimples crawling over Claudia's skin. The woman hadn't been faking. Her reaction had been a hundred per cent genuine, which meant something was going on in Santonum — something dating back to the time of her father's disappearance — and if one thing was guaranteed, it was that the smell of fish in the air wasn't rising up from the river.
Let it go, she had said.
Let it go…? This was only the beginning, goddammit, not the end! Claudia hadn't come all this way to give up now, and the woman was right. It was somebody's father they were talking about. Hers! And whilst she had no idea whether he was involved in whatever funny business both sides were determined to paint over, she had no intention of leaving without knowing the truth.
The only question was, if Rome wasn't talking and neither were the Gauls, how on earth was she going to find out what happened?
Three
The air throbbed with late-summer heat and cicadas rasped in the long grass as Claudia returned to the villa. Set north and east of the town in a landscape of soft rolling hills, gentle rivers and wooded valleys dappled with light, it was an imposing edifice two storeys high set round a central courtyard that had been designed to capture every last drop of winter sunshine. As Junius helped her down from the cart and grooms bustled over to unharness the horses, Claudia was at least able to console herself that one of the few saving graces about this frustrating investigation was that she'd landed on her feet in terms of accommodation.
Dwarfed by the soaring marble columns that flanked its portico and soothed by the fountains that rippled, danced and sang in every corner of its peristyle, she reflected that she had not, in truth, been unhappy in Santonum. Just off the Forum but nevertheless right at the heart of the basilicas, the Public Assembly and all the other institutions crucial to her enquiries, she'd found the Lyre Street Inn comfortable, clean and able to serve up good honest wholesome food. But then, two mornings ago and quite without warning, her chamber door was flung open and a woman marched in, dismissing Claudia's maidservant with one wave of her manicured hand.
'I gather you are also a widow in trade,' she said, helping herself to a stuffed date.
Pointed, painted, and with her beauty long faded, only a faint trace of accent remained in her deep, almost masculine voice, and, frankly, if you didn't know, you would have taken her to be Roman through to her marrow. But Claudia had both seen and heard about the legendary Marcia. Many times during her treks around town, she'd caught glimpses of the distinctive gold and green drapes of her litter as liveried bearers carried it shoulder high through the streets, and on one occasion she'd even been close enough to catch a whiff of the balm of Gilead in which Marcia's cushions had been drenched. Rumour had it Marcia was the richest woman in Aquitania. That was probably stretching it a bit, but her wealth was renowned and, in the male-dominated, dog-eat-dog world of commerce, this was no mean feat. Especially for a Gaul.
'Wine,' Claudia had told her. 'I'm in the wine trade.' Then, noting the cut of her visitor's gown and the twinkling gems that adorned it, added, 'Vintage, of course.'
'Plonk, vintage, who cares?' Marcia retorted. 'There's no embarrassing way to get rich.'