Black Salamander (16 page)

Claudia tiptoed down the path. Behind her, fitful snorts came from fitful sleepers, the beer and the roast heavy on their stomachs. One of the mares whinnied softly, scuffing the ground with her hoof. His head on a folded horse blanket, Hanno snored open mouthed and toothless and didn’t stir. Claudia passed on. Past the bright, white signposts of silver birch to the open space beyond, where the grass became springy underfoot and redolent with fragrant orchids and honey-scented clover, to the place where water seeped from a fissure underground in a series of soft clicks to form a deep, dark pool. Mice, voles and hedgehogs rustled unseen in the undergrowth around the little wooden shrine which had been built for a deity worshipped here since the very dawn of time.

The air pulsated with the heat, with the crickets, with the bubbles, with unknown pagan rites and with expectation overlaid with an irrational, unnamed fear…

She let her eyes grow accustomed to the gloom. No doubt the water from this spring picked up its skirts and ran full pelt once it was clear of its beginnings, but here, as though ashamed of itself, it crept away in silence through the grass. Claudia heard, rather than saw, bats flit across the pool and since only priests were allowed inside Sequani shrines, the infant river, its cries muffled by the grass, passed beneath the feet of a wooden carving as though crawling on its belly in obeisance. The nymph of the source, she presumed, for there was no question the figure was female. Even across the fountainhead, her silvered breast band glittered in the dark.

Crouching down, Claudia peered at her reflection, but such was the constant underground activity—ring after ring of tiny concentric circles, each one touching, overlapping several others—that the waters blurred her pale image, multiplying it, as though she was seeing double. Sweet Juno, she
was
seeing double!

‘Orbilio! Aren’t you ever off duty?’

‘They’ll be able to engrave “tireless to the end” upon my tombstone.’

‘They’ll be able to engrave it pretty damn soon, unless you ease up.’ Funny how her heart seemed to beat that little bit faster whenever he was around. Must be an allergic reaction to the sandalwood. ‘Talk about paranoia,
connecting this little group with Republican conspiracies.
From what I’ve heard, Tiberius will be named Regent any day, and with his stepson as deputy, Augustus will be sitting very pretty. Stable, one might say. Not that the word means anything to you, of course.’

‘Hmm.’ Orbilio scratched at his jaw, and above the sawing of the crickets, Claudia heard the faint rasp of stubble. And then, if further proof was needed that he was cracking up, Marcus knelt down, brought out a handful of wild strawberries from his handkerchief, laid them upon a flat stone then proceeded to arrange them neatly into a squishy, rosy cairn. ‘Do you know what I am doing?’

‘Yes. You’re going mad.’

‘I’m making an offering to Aveta, mother goddess of the Gauls.’

‘The diagnosis was correct.’

‘And the reason I’m making this particular oblation is this.’ He pulled off a figure-of-eight ring from his little finger and held it up. ‘The property of a girl with fiery hair and a spirit to match, with eyes as green as a summer-meadow, a girl, in short, called Remi.’ His voice grew wistful. ‘Because of Remi, I rode the fastest four hundred miles in history, travelling on horseback by day and catching what sleep I could in a fast trap overnight, I feared my bones would never fit neatly together again.’ He slipped the ring back on. ‘It’s because of Remi that I couldn’t bring the army along to rescue you, there’s no one—and I mean no one—I dare trust. And should you need any further convincing, Claudia Seferius, all I can do is throw myself at your mercy and ask: do people who are off their chump toss in words like “oblation?”’

Claudia stared at the grinning face, surrounded by its unruly mop, at eyes which twinkled like the morning star and felt a hammer pound the anvil of her ribs. ‘Are you telling me that it’s because of Remi you came to Gaul?’

The grin faltered, the stars fell to earth. There was a silence which seemed to stick like mud. He turned away to face the woods. Then finally he nodded.

Sparks flew off the anvil, hot and searing. Can’t even look me in the eye when you admit it. What arrogance. What bloody conceit. Claudia kicked the little cairn of strawberries over on the grass and squashed them with her sandal. Think I give a damn you’ve followed some redheaded floozy with eyes like, oh how corny can you get? Summer bloody meadows? She ground the last remaining berry into juice. I should bloody coco. A natterjack toad let out its harsh, craking call and she threw a stone at it. Six others started up.

‘She died,’ Marcus said quietly, his back still turned, ‘every bit a sacrificial offering as those wild strawberries there.’

Shit! Claudia scooped the pulp back on to the rock.

‘The situation is this.’ He spun round, and she thought she saw tears in his eyes, but it was dark and she was probably mistaken. ‘I’ve uncovered, at the very highest level, a conspiracy to overthrow the present regime by eliminating not only Augustus, but every leading general, magistrate, the lot.’

Claudia felt the weight of the knowledge slam into her stomach. Midsummer or not, she was cold.

‘Implying one barbarous sweep,’ he added.

Standing here, amid such holiness and peace, the prospect of so many good men, loyal men, despatched to Hades
on a single ferryboat seemed not simply an assault on
Rome, but on the gods themselves. By whichever name you worshipped them.

‘That smacks of poison,’ she said, and it was as though the icy Alpine winds were back, blowing through this sacred grove. ‘Bribe the servants, those with grudges…’

‘Exactly.’ He took it for granted she would understand. ‘But the problem facing the conspirators is that the army is one hundred per cent behind Augustus and would most certainly transfer that loyalty to Tiberius, they love him.’

A thought occurred to her. ‘You don’t think it might be him, do you?’ A full military coup?

‘Tiberius? Never. I suspect his name tops the death list, but more importantly, as Regent he could, if he wanted, work from within the administration to oust Augustus and spill not a single drop of his beloved soldiers’ blood. No, no, no, the brains behind this nasty scheme don’t have the army at their back, they’re reduced to buying mercenaries and heaven knows, the Treveri and the Helvetii are always on the lookout for a fight. Pay them for the privilege and you’re laughing.’ Orbilio sat down on the grass and snapped off a blade. ‘The idea is that Treveri warriors make trouble down the Rhine and the Moselle as well as on the border with a view to stretching our troops as thinly as possible. This has already resulted in legions being despatched from safe areas such as Aquitania, more are on the march.’

‘Won’t that leave whopping great holes in our defences?’ Claudia asked, and then she understood. ‘Of course. The Helvetii charge down Italy virtually unchallenged and march on Rome, which will be reduced to a state of chaos following the death of her imperial leaders.’

Divide and rule. The classic strategy. The Treveri head north, the Helvetii head south. In the aftermath they are united and invincible, because by then even subjugated tribes such as the Parisii and the Sequani would grab the chance to shake off their Roman yoke.

She thought about it for a while, then said, ‘I can see that, having uncovered the plot but with no idea who’s masterminding it, you’re unable to trust anyone with your findings.’ Even his boss. Whisper in the wrong ear and he’d be dead within the hour. ‘What I don’t understand is how you expect to thwart the conspiracy out here.’

Not entirely true, but let him explain anyway.

Orbilio chomped on his blade of grass for a while, listening to the gentle rustle of the aspens. ‘Neither the Treveri nor the Helvetii are friends of Rome, nor are they allies of each other. Put simply, both tribes hate everybody’s guts. Therefore, to amass several hundred thousand warriors will take some encouragement, and so far—’ He paused for impact. ‘So far, they haven’t been paid.’

Claudia’s breath came out in a whistle. Now
that
she hadn’t expected.

‘The amount involved is huge,’ he continued. ‘I don’t know exactly how large, but it has to be massive, to entice two warring nations to band together, and because no tribe can be trusted not to double-cross the other—remember, there are factions within factions, too—the treasure has been secreted away by the conspirators, the location of which was distributed among certain members of the delegation going to Vesontio.’

‘You’ve lost me,’ she said. Best to let him keep thinking she knew, or rather suspected, nothing of this.

‘Well, the map was so sensitive, they couldn’t risk it
falling into any one hand. The plan
would
fail immedi
ately.’ He leaned back on the grass and folded his hands beneath his head. ‘So the map was cut up.’

‘Why are you looking at me?’

He closed his eyes. ‘Can’t imagine.’

Damn. Claudia paced up and down the perimeter of the spring. Around the statue of the nymph, clay offerings had been left—figurines, doves, fruit, even imitation coins. (Cheapskates.)

‘Why are you telling me this?’ she asked. Something slipped into the water with a plop.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he said airily. ‘Perhaps I thought you might like to help me save the Empire or something.’

Good grief! ‘Orbilio, do I look the sort of girl who goes around performing great heroic acts? The sort storytellers talk about two thousand years from now?’

She thought she heard him mutter ‘actually you do’, but that bloody natterjack had started up again.

‘This Fido you asked me about—’

‘Libo.’ He grinned.

‘Was he carrying a piece of the map?’

Marcus eased himself up on one elbow. ‘Libo was with the Security Police,’ he said gravely, ‘so would you now care to remember something about him which you’d overlooked before?’

‘Sarcasm can never be beneath you, Orbilio, there’d be no room for it to fit.’ Claudia folded her arms with militant precision. ‘I told you before, I’ve never heard of this Fido chap, why should I lie?’

She didn’t like the way he looked at her, so she turned away. And maybe there was another reason.

‘Of course, I may have seen something along the course of our travels which might give you a bit of a pointer.’ She studied her thumbnail in the darkness. ‘For instance, does the seal of the black salamander mean anything to you?’

The wait seemed interminable, and she was left wondering what crickets
do
all the time. Do they just spend eight hours solid rubbing their back legs, and if so, don’t they ever chafe themselves?

‘Salamander?’ he said at length, rolling over on to his stomach. ‘No.’ His voice was bleak with disappointment. ‘The Security Police keeps an imprint of every seal in case of forgery, but…’ he clicked his tongue, ‘no black salamander.’

More time passed, and it occurred to her that this silence was a professional ruse, in which case Supersnoop was right out of luck. Claudia lay down on the cool grass at right angles to him and closed her eyes. Something else slithered into the water, she could hear it paddling across, while on this side of the pond, a weasel chattered and churred among the trees. Funny, but until now she’d imagined the countryside was silent during the night—not like Rome, whose streets rang with dray carts clattering over the travertine flags, forcing porters to shout over whores touting for business and barrows trundling out the dead under cover of darkness. Heaven, how she ached to be among the thick of it again! Asses braying at the dogs which yapped under their hooves, cats yowling their territories from the rooftops and brawls which spilled into the alleys. However, as long as there was at least some noise around, Claudia supposed she could put up with this fresh-airsy deep-breaths stuff. For a little while, anyway.

‘I give in,’ he said eventually, yawning. ‘Tell me why
you raised the subject of the salamander seal.’

Claudia shot a triumphant wink at the silvered nymph. ‘Now, it’s not that I was prying or anything—’

‘Perish the thought.’

‘—but during the course of our travels, I’ve had occasion to…help some of the others with their packing. There was a boy, a perfumer, I can’t remember his name, who carried a yellow deerskin pouch sealed with the salamander, although unfortunately he was robbed and turned back at Bern. But the curious thing is, Clemens is carrying an identical pouch. What do you make of that, Cleverclogs?’

‘Clemens robbed the perfumer?’

Claudia threw her sandal at him. He caught it in one lazy hand.

‘Tell me about your fellow travellers,’ he said, his fingers absently tracing the tooling in the leather. ‘The lyre-maker, for instance, who was swept away in the ferocious torrent—did anybody actually see him fall?’

No. ‘No idea.’

‘And Nestor. Hundreds of rocks raining down, what rotten luck he sustains a solitary blow, which kills him.’

‘Tragic.’

‘Mm.’ Orbilio tossed the sandal back to its owner and stood up, looping his thumbs into his belt as he gazed across the moonless glade, the heat throbbing with the beat of the cicadas. ‘My theory is this,’ he said. ‘Nestor, the lyre-maker, the perfumer, they were all carrying pieces of the treasure map, the same as Clemens and…well, let’s say at least one other person.’