by Marilyn Todd
‘I don’t know how to break this to Clemens,’ Iliona said, helping Claudia throw on another heap of branches. ‘But I can only play party music on my flute.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Claudia assured her, ‘the clients won’t complain.’ But it was only when she was quite alone, gathering the petals from wild dog roses to scatter on the corpses, that she began to wonder why the killer had needed to dispose of the hapless couple.
The brick-maker had been in such a state that to rob him of his deerskin pouch, assuming he had one, would have been child’s play. So edgy was he, it would have been simplicity itself to plant the suggestion that it had become lost during yesterday’s rout, especially by removing a few other items from his bag. There was certainly no need to kill him for it.
Unless…
Unless what? That in his agitation he was about to blab about it? Big deal. Only other couriers would have taken his ramblings seriously—and they (we!) were in no position to shout. Besides, who gives a damn? The brick-maker didn’t know it was part of a treasure map, so what if he revealed himself to be a smuggler? No, no, he couldn’t have been killed simply for the sake of his silence.
What then? Showering the petals, white to pink to rosy red, over the luckless pair, Claudia could not think of a single advantage that had been gained by their murder. Except—maybe—time. Another half-day tied up. Another detour. Another delay before they arrive in Vesontio.
Claudia stared at the cold, waxy bodies lying on the woodland floor. In the canopy, chiffchaffs warbled and magpies chattered, and faint snatches of sunlight filtered through to stipple the soft, dark pile of leaf litter. A ladybird alighted on one of the oak leaves in the woman’s hair, and even now, long after death, Claudia caught the sickly reek of laudanum.
You have died, she whispered silently, because the killer is becoming a fraction too obsessive. There was absolutely no need for this butchery. No need to tweak out this extra half a day. But it would appear that he (she?) cannot help himself. The opportunity was simply too good to miss.
And maybe this same obsessiveness, she thought, this need to overplay his hand, will also prove his downfall. This was his first mistake, and this mistake might just be sufficient to bring him (or her.) to justice.
XXIII
‘I say. Guide!’ Maria pounced on Arcas the minute he returned to the camp. ‘I presume you do know what you’re doing?’
Cold blue eyes met hers and he pushed past.
‘Rudeness,’ she sniffed, ‘is no substitute for a reply.’
Poor Arcas. He hadn’t known Maria long and therefore hadn’t learned that you simply couldn’t ignore her in the hope she’d take the hint. There was stoat blood in that woman’s veins. Once gripped, she’d never let go. She stepped in front of him to block his way.
‘You must think we’re stupid,’ she said. ‘But since we left your village, we’ve been travelling south-west, whereas Vesontio, according to young Theodorus, was north-west of you.’
He stared at her for several seconds, then said, ‘I don’t think any of you are stupid. Now you must excuse me. As much as I’d love to stop and chat, we need to get the pyre burning.’
‘Actually,’ Orbilio stepped forward, the axe held loosely in his hands, ‘Maria’s point is worthy of an answer.’
To his left, Theo glared at him, and pulled the scarf higher up his neck to disguise the flush of scarlet. ‘Yes, it is,’ he said, marching up to Arcas. ‘Why are we travelling south instead of north?’
The Silver Fox ran his finger lightly under the gold torque round his neck and watched the soldier’s face turn redder still. For a count of maybe ten his face was merely inches from Theo’s, then he turned to Marcus. ‘It appears I am not to be trusted,’ he said mildly.
‘That is not what Maria is saying,’ Orbilio replied, ever the diplomat, and before Maria could open her mouth to correct him, he continued, ‘she was merely requesting an explanation.’ He paused and shrugged. ‘These are difficult times for us,’ he added. ‘We’re nervous and on edge, words don’t always come out as intended.’
‘Then I must make allowances for stress,’ Arcas said, swivelling his glance back to Theo. The soldier’s lips pursed white. ‘And explain, to those of you who are not familiar with Sequani country, that the lifeblood of our lands is the River Doubs. This river, which rises in the place we call the Jura, runs for hundreds of leagues in a broad semi-circle and, except for the earliest section, is navigable. Certainly we could have worked our way to the river and travelled in perfect safety by canoe. The journey would have taken twelve, maybe thirteen days.’
‘We can’t wait twelve days!’ Volso exploded.
‘So you told me,’ Arcas said, crossing his massive arms over his chest. ‘Please let me finish my geography lesson. The river flows north-eastwards in the foothills of the Alps, where its gorges form a natural border with Helvetii territory, although I believe you are familiar with that part.’
He flashed a grim smile at Theo, who didn’t see because he was staring at his boots, fists clenched in anger. To be humiliated like a naughty schoolboy in front of the entire class…
‘However, the Doubs is not a boundary for the hills. As your weary legs have discovered, many steep crests run parallel with the river, stretching for many, many miles until’—he snapped his fingers—‘no more mountains. Just like that, the land levels out for pasture and crop growing. Where any group of thirty or so civilians which happens to include women and wounded are sitting targets for the Spider’s men. We’ve had one narrow escape already, getting free of here is our second challenge, so I ask you bluntly, madam.’ He turned to Maria. ‘Do you have a death wish?’
‘No. Of course not.’ She at least had the grace to blush. ‘L-like Marcus said, I was merely—’
‘The bandits won’t give up on us,’ Arcas pressed on, ‘Roman heads make good souvenirs.’ He grinned. ‘And you have jewellery, horses—and, I hope, at least fifty gold pieces with you.’
‘Don’t fret, you’ll get your money,’ Volso snarled. ‘But only once we’re safe.’
‘Was that the deal?’ Arcas frowned. ‘My price, surely, was for acting as guide?’
‘To Vesontio, you bloodsucking shyster. Not to an early fucking grave!’
Whatever response Arcas was about to make was interrupted by the arrival of a smiling priest. ‘All set,’ Clemens said cheerfully. ‘Titus has provided myrrh for the pyre, torches are burning on each of the four corners and—oh.’ His beady eyes darted round the group. ‘Something wrong?’
‘Not unless you’re averse to a spot of horse-stealing,’ Arcas said.
‘Theft?’ This was too much for Theo. ‘Oh, no. My job is to uphold the law and if we need horses, I shall requisition them in the name of Augustus and—’
‘Bring the bandits on us straight away?’ The Silver Fox puffed out his cheeks. ‘We do this my way or not at all, I made that plain before, and my way is to follow this river as far as Vertiginorix’s farm—’
‘Who?’
‘It doesn’t matter who,’ he snapped, ‘except that he’s a stock breeder with horses and saddles. After that, we follow the ridge to Serpent Point and then it’s a straight dash for Vesontio. The gods willing, we should reach the capital by midday tomorrow.’
‘How can we be sure the bandits won’t follow us?’ Theo said.
‘Because I’m a huntsman,’ Arcas barked back. ‘Setting traps, pretty boy, is my business. Now, are there any more questions? Or shall we wait here for the Spider’s men to come and make us several inches shorter?’
*
Horses, in Claudia’s opinion, looked most attractive be-ribboned in parades. They looked fine in front of a cart. But bloody awful when you’re stuck on top of one. They joggled you about and made you seasick. They chafed your knees red raw and stretched the tendons in some unbelievably delicate places. Worst of all, they stank.
‘Bet you’re glad of that divided skirt,’ Iliona trilled over her shoulder, as the
y frisked along the track, her bangles drowning the jangle of her horse’s harness, but her trademark oregano oil unable to counteract the animal’s pungent odour. ‘I can’t imagine why you didn’t take up my offer, Maria.’
‘One has one’s image to think of,’ Maria explained, gripping the reins with all the elegance of a camel sipping sherbet through a hollow reed. ‘Pantaloons are hardly befitting attire for the wife of a master bookbinder.’
‘More like too tight on the hips,’ sneered the glass-blower’s wife.
‘Speak for yourself,’ Maria retorted. ‘My hips are the same size now as when I took my marriage vows, the waist also, for that matter. Self-discipline is my motto, and you’d be wise to adopt it as well.’
‘Miaow,’ someone sniggered, but Maria was impervious. With a toss of her head, she cantered forward, driving her pony between her husband’s and that of the bereaved daughter he was comforting.
The incline began to steepen, and through the gaps in the trees, Claudia caught glimpses of the farm below. A solitary roundhouse set beside a tree-lined pond, where a gaggle of redheaded children squealed and scrabbled to feed the clamouring ducks and geese, the racket audible this half mile away. On a stool beside a wickerwork box, a teenage girl plucked by hand the wool from the tiny, dark brown sheep which were such a feature of this land, singing while she worked, and an old woman, probably her grandmother, scraped out a cauldron for a snuffling pig. Further away, in a distant field in the clearing, a man in red and orange striped clothing ploughed up wheat stubble with an ard, while a boy followed behind, forking manure into the freshly made furrow. How long, Claudia wondered, before the farmer noticed his stock was missing? An hour? When he took a break from his ploughing? Tomorrow? She looked at the little homestead. Thirty horses Arcas had stolen from them. Thirty of these stocky red and white beasts with their golden manes and tails, which the Sequani liked to keep cut very short. What would it mean to a farmer like Stripey, a loss on this scale? Seven children that she could count, and doubtless the grandparents, and possibly great-grandparents as well to keep. As industrious as he was, the stockbreeder, capitalizing on this patch of pastureland in the valley, how could he hope to keep the wolf from his door, come the winter? Because winters in these parts were as long as they were rigorous—
Grimly Claudia patted her mount and spurred it up the incline.
‘Move into single file,’ came the order, rippling down the line. ‘The track narrows up ahead.’
Claudia glanced over her shoulder. Six nags behind, bringing up the rear, Orbilio performed a silent salute. She spun round to face the front again.
‘I don’t mind it crowding in from the side,’ Volso called up. ‘So long as it doesn’t encroach any more from above.’ The unfortunate combination of being tall and skinny coupled with his being quite unused to riding a horse meant he was hunched over half the time as it was. Any second now, Claudia expected to hear a yelp, as his chin made contact with the horse’s skull!
‘It’s not as bad as you think.’ Titus laughed. ‘Like low doors, people always duck too far. Straighten up, man, or you’ll do your back permanent damage.’
‘I can vouch for that,’ said Dexter. ‘My neck and shoulders are in a terrible state, and as for my pelvis!’
‘I don’t need medical advice from anyone, thank you very much,’ snapped the hollow-cheeked astrologer. ‘Once I reach Vesontio, I’ll be fine.’
‘I’ll bet he will,’ bellowed the glass-blower. ‘He’s a sly one, is our Volso. Did I tell you about that tasty bit of skirt I saw him with in Bern?’
Volso’s face descended closer to his horse’s mane. ‘Really!’ he mumbled. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Don’t be coy, lad,’ said the glass-blower. ‘She slipped into your bedroom around midnight, and it was daylight when I saw her slip out…’
Gibes rang through the party.
‘That… That was none of your business,’ Volso spluttered.
‘It makes life all the more fascinating.’ Iliona laughed. ‘Other peoples’ affairs. Tell me,’ she asked the glass-blower, ‘did you notice whether this luscious beauty happened to wear a ring on her forefinger, with a distinctive amber stone?’
‘Hey, hey! Now you mention it, she did,’ he jeered back. ‘You were witness to this assignation back in Bern, were you, Iliona?’
‘Bern,’ she confirmed, throwing back her head, so that her ringlets bounced up and down like springs. ‘Also Novara, six days out of Rome. That inn where we holed up for the night in the Lepontine Alps. The tavern in the Emmental…’
‘Volso?’ The slipper-maker was amazed. ‘With a woman? Well, come on then. Tell us what she looked like! Was she a long, thin dollop like her beau, or a beauty bewitched by his charm and his charts?’
‘The description’s down to you, I’m afraid, Iliona,’ the glass-blower said. ‘I only saw this lovely from the side, pulling her wrap low over her face.’
‘She was veiled every time I saw her, too, so I can’t help you folks.’
‘That suggests she was a married woman, travelling with a merchant in the delegation,’ Maria concluded, drawn into the gossip despite herself. ‘Volso, how could you?’
‘She…she’s… Look, can’t you drop this?’ he whined. ‘Please? This is excruciatingly embarrassing for me.’
‘That’s why it’s such fun, old man. Watching you squirm is the most fun we’ve had since leaving Bern.’
‘Right,’ everybody chorused, but in the end it was Mother Nature who spared Volso’s further blushes, because the ground rose up steeply at that point and they needed to concentrate on the track.
Bare outcrops of rocks appeared, slippery under the hoof, and Claudia’s lip curled as she peered at her horse. Sturdy enough little devil, with its short ears and thick legs, but typically of these squat Sequani ponies it had rounded jowls which gave it an oddly sullen expression, and this one seemed sulkier than most. But then again, perhaps it was homesick? Again something twisted in her gut when she thought of the farmer and his family—
‘Shit!’
The voice was Volso’s, and it was pure terror. She glanced back over her shoulder, and saw that he’d pulled his horse up dead. Of course! Preoccupied with other matters, she’d forgotten his horror of heights. And this was certainly what you’d call precipitous. Hard to imagine that the river which gushed so forcefully out of the rock in a glorious triple cascade was invisible now, the only indication of its presence a twist in the tree cover below.
‘I c-can’t,’ Volso stuttered, ‘I can’t do this.’ Claudia reined in. Negotiating the treacherous path, the others had gone on ahead, leaving only Volso, Orbilio, two drivers, Junius and old Hanno. ‘Concentrate on the scenery,’ she said. ‘And look ahead, rather than down.’
The lines on the astrologer’s face had become deeply ploughed furrows, the hollow eyes caverns. His skin was sweat-beaded, tinged with yellow and green.
‘I can’t. You’ll have to leave me, I’ll find another way to Vesontio.’
‘Don’t be so daft, man,’ Hanno said. ‘See that rock?’ His gnarled old hand pointed two miles along the ravine to the tallest outcrop poking through the forest. ‘That’s Serpent Point. The gorge bears round to the left, but according to Arcas, and he should know, once we’re over the brow of Serpent Point it’s downhill all the way to Vesontio.’
‘I don’t care.’
‘Tch, stubborn as my mules,’ Hanno cackled, ‘but only half as handsome. Well, if you behave like a mule, I’ll have to treat you like one. Get down.’
‘W-what?’
‘Come on, come on, we haven’t got all day. Down, man. Off your horse. Can you two,’ he asked the drivers, ‘lead the horses on ahead, because we five need to walk the next bit.’
‘Walk?’ The sweat ran in rivulets down Volso’s face, and any trace of yellow in his skin had been swallowed by the green. His whole body trembled like an aspen in a gale.
‘Walk,’ Hanno reiterated. ‘And you
won’t need to bother about the pretty scenery, because’—he untied the kerchief round his neck—‘you’re going to be blindfolded.’
His mouth formed the words ‘just like a skittish horse’ to the others, and his wizened face broke into a broad grin as he tied his scarf tightly round the astrologer’s eyes.
‘I’ll take one arm,’ he said, ‘you take the other, young feller, and them two lovebirds can follow behind. Everyone set?’
‘I am not a lovebird,’ Claudia snapped to the muleteer’s back, and behind her a tall, dark-haired patrician tried unsuccessfully to turn a laugh into a cough.
‘Having fun?’ he quipped, and if looks were weapons, he’d have been charred to the bone with a fireball. ‘I think maybe we should take our honeymoon in Gaul, what do you think? The picturesque mountains surrounding Lake Geneva?’
‘Drop dead.’
‘Oh, you’d prefer the southern coast of Massilia and the Camargue marshes, would you? Well, that’s fine by me, we can—’
‘Orbilio, there’s a scientific term for your condition. Lunacy.’
Ahead of them, the blindfolded, quivering, but nevertheless trusting, Volso was being chivvied along by Junius and Hanno. Three jackdaws cast off lazily from the trees on the opposite side of the gorge and began to caw as they circled the valley.
Marcus pulled a sprig of valerian from the rock face and sniffed its heady bouquet. ‘You have trouble with that word, don’t you?’ He grinned.