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you’re just here on holiday?’
    Tom shakes his head. ‘Not
quite
what I said. I
am
American. I
no longer
live in LA, and I’m
not
here on holiday, I’m just passing through.’
    ‘Through to where?’ The question comes out more aggressively than she meant.
    He thinks about telling her it’s none of her business. Contemplates explaining that recently he’s been to hell and back and now just wants to go to his hotel and have a long bath.
    Valentina repeats herself. ‘
Where
? Through to where?’
    ‘I really don’t knowyet. Maybe London. Maybe Paris. I’ve not seen much of the world and I’m going to spend some time putting that right.’
    It’s the kind of comment ex-cons make when they’re just out of the slammer. Valentina makes a note to come back to it. ‘So what about LA? That’s not home any more?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Then where is?’
    ‘For tonight and the next seven days, home is gonna be here. Then I’ll see.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘What I said. Home is pretty much – in the words of the song – wherever I lay my hat.’
    Her face shows she’s not in the mood for a sing-along. ‘Why did you leave LA, Mr Shaman?’
    Tom leans back. This is a tough one to explain. Though he knew it was coming. It was inevitable. And judging from the scepticism in her eyes, she’s not going to buy anything but the full, checkable truth. So he’s going to give it to her. Or at least, most of it.
    ‘Because, some months back, I killed someone.’
    He tries to sound casual, but guilt sticks like tar to every syllable.
    ‘Actually, that’s a lie – I killed two people.’

CAPITOLO V

    666 BC
    The Sacred Curte, Atmanta
    Teucer thinks of many things on the long ride back to his home. Relief that he and Tetia have not been discovered for what they are. Murderers. Even greater relief that they are not to be subjected to the brutality of Larth. And of course he thinks about what he must do to satisfy Magistrate Pesna. Most of all, though, he is thinking about Tetia.
    He is worried about their relationship, and about their unborn child. A gap is opening between them. He can feel the distance. Day by day, degree by degree, it grows. He knows it’s foolish, but he blames the baby.
    The stronger the childgets, the weaker the love between him and his wife. Almost as though it’s draining affection from her.
    Teucer wishes that fateful day eight moons ago in the woods had never happened. It has changed so much. Tetia hasn’t let him near her since. She changes and bathes out of his sight. No longer looks at him in a way that stirs his blood and unchains his desires. The rape has traumatised her. Made her feel dirty. Used. Unclean. Any effort of his to get close to her only seems to bring back those painful memories.
    The seer suffers a mental flash of the man in the grass bent over his beloved wife, thrusting at her, his face contorted by pleasure. He’d stab him again. Gladly. He’d hack him into even smaller pieces than Tetia had done and feed him to his pigs.
    And then there’s the child.
    The baby they’d both longed for. The final piece to make their family complete.
    But
whose
is it?
    His?
    Or the rapist’s?
    Teucer thinks he knows the answer. He suspects Tetia does too. The very fact she will not discuss the matter with him tells him so. More than that, there are signs, clear signs that he has the power to understand. Tetia gets excited when it kicks. Begs him to feel it moving. But when he puts his hand there, the child stays still, like it’s afraid to move. A guilty thought hits him:
What if she lost it? If the gods decided in their wisdom it were to be stillborn? Would this not be a blessing?
    Teucer rests his old horse in the sagging hammock of the valley and tries to clear his head of bad thoughts. The autumn day is already drawing to a rosy close and the air is cool like a mountain stream. He feels guilty as he walks the animal up the hillside towards his hut and imagines Tetia tending the