restless.
'Same bloody message,' Leo sneered, pulling the note off the lance. 'Give back what is mine.'
'I suppose you could always give it to him?' the Ethiopian ventured.
'I don't have anything belonging to Jason. It's just a ploy to provoke me.'
But there was a depressing lack of conviction in Leo's denial and a few more pieces of the puzzle started to slot into place. The arson attack, for one. Upping the stakes in whatever game was being played out on this paradise island. It explained the pirate's cool demeanour in the bay - that low insolent bow. It explained why he hadn't simply stormed the place, too. The Villa Arcadia might boast strong defences, but if Jason gathered a small pirate navy, they'd be no match for Leo's resistance and heaven knows there were enough spoils on this site to go round. Whatever it was Leo had and Jason wanted back, it was something Jason couldn't simply come in and take.
So why didn't Leo simply ignore the ship in the bay? Why bother to go after the Scythian?
'This remains strictly between ourselves,' he warned Qus. 'No one else is to know about these spears, understood?'
There was a slight pause. 'Of course.'
Leo leaned into his face. 'Cross me, boy, and I'll have you demoted to labouring before you can even say "sorry". Do I make myself clear on that?'
'Absolutely.' Pause. 'Sir.'
'Good man. Now let's go strip the hide off some pirates!' Flexing his shoulder muscles, Leo grinned and slapped his bailiff on the back. 'Show 'em what fibre we Romans are made of.'
Maybe it was a trick of the light, but Claudia could have sworn she saw the big Ethiopian flinch.
Three speared warnings, each creeping that little bit closer than the last, was the classic hallmark of the psychopath as he piled on the psychological pressure. Arson had probably been his original intention last night. So close to the villa, it had been meant as a warning. But then he'd found Bulis wandering about - and Jason didn't strike Claudia as the type to kiss an opportunity goodbye. Wrong man in the wrong place at the wrong time, poor sod, Bulis had been a matter of simple expediency. By killing the young apprentice, Jason's warning could not possibly be ignored.
And Leo, the blockhead, had taken the bait.
Every piece of ornamentation on that Scythian lance was a symbol of the warrior's courage and skill. The rattles represented the swiftness of his horse's hooves. The carvings reflected the tattoos on the warrior's skin: totems to protect him. The feathers were the feathers on his arrows, those deadly instruments of death that even Rome's finest bowmen couldn't match. The yellow ribbons exemplified the rays of the sun god. And the clumps of hair? Actually, they symbolized nothing. These were trophies pure and simple.
Scalps of the men the warrior had killed.
Sweet Janus, who did Leo think he was tangling with here? Hadn't he learned any lessons from history? You just do not mess with these people!
Scythia was the vast and rugged country to the north and west of the Black Sea. No matter what Rome had thrown at her over the years, Scythia had withstood every attack, had repulsed every advance, not an inch of territory had been conceded. Pity. Because Scythia controlled trade and shipping; a nice little earner for Imperial coffers if the country had fallen. But the point was, if the whole might of the Roman Empire couldn't defeat these superlative warriors, what hope had Leo in the Medea?
This, remember, is the race who scalp their enemies and use their flayed skins to cover their quivers. The race who gild the skulls of their enemies and use them as ceremonial goblets. The race where human sacrifice is still practised. . .
Leo, dammit, had not only chosen to go head to head with one of these barbarians but to hell with anyone caught in the crossfire.
Claudia slipped quietly through the gate which led to the herb garden, where the the apple fragrance of camomile mingled
'Same bloody message,' Leo sneered, pulling the note off the lance. 'Give back what is mine.'
'I suppose you could always give it to him?' the Ethiopian ventured.
'I don't have anything belonging to Jason. It's just a ploy to provoke me.'
But there was a depressing lack of conviction in Leo's denial and a few more pieces of the puzzle started to slot into place. The arson attack, for one. Upping the stakes in whatever game was being played out on this paradise island. It explained the pirate's cool demeanour in the bay - that low insolent bow. It explained why he hadn't simply stormed the place, too. The Villa Arcadia might boast strong defences, but if Jason gathered a small pirate navy, they'd be no match for Leo's resistance and heaven knows there were enough spoils on this site to go round. Whatever it was Leo had and Jason wanted back, it was something Jason couldn't simply come in and take.
So why didn't Leo simply ignore the ship in the bay? Why bother to go after the Scythian?
'This remains strictly between ourselves,' he warned Qus. 'No one else is to know about these spears, understood?'
There was a slight pause. 'Of course.'
Leo leaned into his face. 'Cross me, boy, and I'll have you demoted to labouring before you can even say "sorry". Do I make myself clear on that?'
'Absolutely.' Pause. 'Sir.'
'Good man. Now let's go strip the hide off some pirates!' Flexing his shoulder muscles, Leo grinned and slapped his bailiff on the back. 'Show 'em what fibre we Romans are made of.'
Maybe it was a trick of the light, but Claudia could have sworn she saw the big Ethiopian flinch.
Three speared warnings, each creeping that little bit closer than the last, was the classic hallmark of the psychopath as he piled on the psychological pressure. Arson had probably been his original intention last night. So close to the villa, it had been meant as a warning. But then he'd found Bulis wandering about - and Jason didn't strike Claudia as the type to kiss an opportunity goodbye. Wrong man in the wrong place at the wrong time, poor sod, Bulis had been a matter of simple expediency. By killing the young apprentice, Jason's warning could not possibly be ignored.
And Leo, the blockhead, had taken the bait.
Every piece of ornamentation on that Scythian lance was a symbol of the warrior's courage and skill. The rattles represented the swiftness of his horse's hooves. The carvings reflected the tattoos on the warrior's skin: totems to protect him. The feathers were the feathers on his arrows, those deadly instruments of death that even Rome's finest bowmen couldn't match. The yellow ribbons exemplified the rays of the sun god. And the clumps of hair? Actually, they symbolized nothing. These were trophies pure and simple.
Scalps of the men the warrior had killed.
Sweet Janus, who did Leo think he was tangling with here? Hadn't he learned any lessons from history? You just do not mess with these people!
Scythia was the vast and rugged country to the north and west of the Black Sea. No matter what Rome had thrown at her over the years, Scythia had withstood every attack, had repulsed every advance, not an inch of territory had been conceded. Pity. Because Scythia controlled trade and shipping; a nice little earner for Imperial coffers if the country had fallen. But the point was, if the whole might of the Roman Empire couldn't defeat these superlative warriors, what hope had Leo in the Medea?
This, remember, is the race who scalp their enemies and use their flayed skins to cover their quivers. The race who gild the skulls of their enemies and use them as ceremonial goblets. The race where human sacrifice is still practised. . .
Leo, dammit, had not only chosen to go head to head with one of these barbarians but to hell with anyone caught in the crossfire.
Claudia slipped quietly through the gate which led to the herb garden, where the the apple fragrance of camomile mingled
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