After they’d finished their tea, Brocknor took Jahl past the small pool to the other end of the atrium, where he’d set up an easel. A piece of thin wood sat on the easel’s ledge, with a collection of paints, brushes and ceramic bowls on a table beside it.
“I’ve been saying I was going to paint you, and now I shall.” Brocknor posed Jahl with his legs slightly apart and his arms raised to the gods, his back arched and his chest out. “Perfect.”
He stepped behind the easel and, after mixing colours in a ceramic pot, dipped his brush and began to apply colour to the board.
“I painted the whole villa myself. Every image, every decoration.”
Jahl relaxed his arms and looked at Brocknor in readiness to reply.
“No, no, no.” Brocknor put down his brush. “You mustn’t move.”
He hurried to Jahl an
