Mazares to Claudia and back again.
'I appreciate the compliment, but I really don't feel a lowly Syrian farm widow is qualified to comment.'
'I beg to disagree, but...' Mazares stroked his goatee beard pensively. 'That's your prerogative, I suppose. The King still intends for you to change your practices, you know.'
'The King Salome turned the word into a cross between a laugh and a sneer - 'can intend all he likes. He has no jurisdiction over me.'
She turned to Claudia and took both her hands in hers.
'I do hope you enjoy your stay on Rovin, my dear. There's lots to explore in the area and I know Mazares will ensure you have a wonderful time here, but if you'll both excuse me, there's a little girl I need to see before the ferryman closes up for the night, leaving me unable to get back to the mainland.'
'Nothing serious?' Mazares asked, indicating Salome's basket, which also contained several phials among the lavender, yarrow, chamomile and mint.
Salome's expression changed. Became sad. 'Poor child,' she sighed. 'For the last couple of weeks, she's been unable to sleep. The little mite's convinced she's seen Nosferatu.'
'Nosferatu?' Claudia asked.
'It's nothing,' Salome said, with a shake of her head. 'Nothing at all. Little ears pick up tales of shroud-eaters who suck blood from human veins, men who transform themselves into wolves and fire-breathing, serpent-tailed giants, and their childish imagination runs riot.'
Mazares laughed. 'Even if there were such an arch-ghoul on the prowl, I'm sure the ferryman would have picked Nosferatu out of a crowd of passengers. I mean, we're an ugly bunch, us Histri, but we're not that ugly!'
Ghouls? Vampires? Werewolves? This was yet another example of the diametrically opposing faces of this little kingdom, with Histria selling itself as the home of the Nymphs of the West, whose sweet songs lulled folk to sleep. But then, under the circumstances, promoting the gentle offspring of Night and the Evening Star, who lived in the Gardens of the Hesperides, which had been walled by mighty Atlas and were washed by the waters of purity would be preferable to owning up to home-grown nocturnal monsters!
'Whether Nosferatu exists or not,' Salome said, looping her basket over her arm, 'he's real enough to the shipwright's little niece. I only pray my remedies can help.'
With a broad smile of farewell, she turned and marched confidently down the narrow steps, even though they were pitch-black and in shadow.
'What practices?' Claudia asked.
Mazares stared down the hill for several seconds. Far in the distance, a dog began to bark.
'I beg your pardon?' he said.
'What practices does the King intend Salome to change? She doesn't look the sort to use her herbalism to practise the black arts, but then again, if you told me she was five hundred and eighty-two last birthday, I might be prepared to revise my opinion.'
Mazares didn't laugh.
'This is Salome's thirtieth summer,' he murmured. 'Ten years ago, she came here with her husband. He was newly retired from your army and you don't need me to explain how the Histrian mainland is being parcelled up by your illustrious Emperor and our land distributed among your war veterans, now do you?'
The bitterness in his voice was raw, and he regretted it. Ever the diplomat, he apologized at once, but not before Claudia had glimpsed how differently people viewed things from the opposite side of the imperial fence.
In Rome, it all seemed so expedient. The reward for twenty years' hard slog was to allocate fertile plots of land to retiring soldiers, shipping in slaves to work the fields and bring home the harvest. Such was the efficiency of these agricultural practices that high yields were guaranteed, thus increasing the retired warrior's profits as the surplus was sold on, and Augustus had been lauded to the heavens for introducing the scheme; a win-win situation as the Senate liked to say. Win-win for everyone, it would seem, except the poor sod
'I appreciate the compliment, but I really don't feel a lowly Syrian farm widow is qualified to comment.'
'I beg to disagree, but...' Mazares stroked his goatee beard pensively. 'That's your prerogative, I suppose. The King still intends for you to change your practices, you know.'
'The King Salome turned the word into a cross between a laugh and a sneer - 'can intend all he likes. He has no jurisdiction over me.'
She turned to Claudia and took both her hands in hers.
'I do hope you enjoy your stay on Rovin, my dear. There's lots to explore in the area and I know Mazares will ensure you have a wonderful time here, but if you'll both excuse me, there's a little girl I need to see before the ferryman closes up for the night, leaving me unable to get back to the mainland.'
'Nothing serious?' Mazares asked, indicating Salome's basket, which also contained several phials among the lavender, yarrow, chamomile and mint.
Salome's expression changed. Became sad. 'Poor child,' she sighed. 'For the last couple of weeks, she's been unable to sleep. The little mite's convinced she's seen Nosferatu.'
'Nosferatu?' Claudia asked.
'It's nothing,' Salome said, with a shake of her head. 'Nothing at all. Little ears pick up tales of shroud-eaters who suck blood from human veins, men who transform themselves into wolves and fire-breathing, serpent-tailed giants, and their childish imagination runs riot.'
Mazares laughed. 'Even if there were such an arch-ghoul on the prowl, I'm sure the ferryman would have picked Nosferatu out of a crowd of passengers. I mean, we're an ugly bunch, us Histri, but we're not that ugly!'
Ghouls? Vampires? Werewolves? This was yet another example of the diametrically opposing faces of this little kingdom, with Histria selling itself as the home of the Nymphs of the West, whose sweet songs lulled folk to sleep. But then, under the circumstances, promoting the gentle offspring of Night and the Evening Star, who lived in the Gardens of the Hesperides, which had been walled by mighty Atlas and were washed by the waters of purity would be preferable to owning up to home-grown nocturnal monsters!
'Whether Nosferatu exists or not,' Salome said, looping her basket over her arm, 'he's real enough to the shipwright's little niece. I only pray my remedies can help.'
With a broad smile of farewell, she turned and marched confidently down the narrow steps, even though they were pitch-black and in shadow.
'What practices?' Claudia asked.
Mazares stared down the hill for several seconds. Far in the distance, a dog began to bark.
'I beg your pardon?' he said.
'What practices does the King intend Salome to change? She doesn't look the sort to use her herbalism to practise the black arts, but then again, if you told me she was five hundred and eighty-two last birthday, I might be prepared to revise my opinion.'
Mazares didn't laugh.
'This is Salome's thirtieth summer,' he murmured. 'Ten years ago, she came here with her husband. He was newly retired from your army and you don't need me to explain how the Histrian mainland is being parcelled up by your illustrious Emperor and our land distributed among your war veterans, now do you?'
The bitterness in his voice was raw, and he regretted it. Ever the diplomat, he apologized at once, but not before Claudia had glimpsed how differently people viewed things from the opposite side of the imperial fence.
In Rome, it all seemed so expedient. The reward for twenty years' hard slog was to allocate fertile plots of land to retiring soldiers, shipping in slaves to work the fields and bring home the harvest. Such was the efficiency of these agricultural practices that high yields were guaranteed, thus increasing the retired warrior's profits as the surplus was sold on, and Augustus had been lauded to the heavens for introducing the scheme; a win-win situation as the Senate liked to say. Win-win for everyone, it would seem, except the poor sod
Similar Books
