Black Salamander (22 page)

‘Ceps, we call them, these dark forest mushrooms,’ he said, holding out the knife to Claudia. ‘You can dry morels, parasols, field mushrooms, earth balls, but always ceps are the best.’

Claudia inhaled the fiery, sweet aroma and let the combination of hot cheese and juicy mushroom dance upon her tastebuds.

‘With these,’ he said, ‘every meal becomes a banquet.’

Then suddenly he was on his feet, throwing out the contents of the cup and kicking over the little fire. ‘I must see to the horses,’ he said gruffly, and before Claudia had even swallowed her second mouthful, he was gone. Striding through the woods to where the mules were hobbled.

She watched his broad, strong back, the mane of white hair tied in a queue at the nape, the band of fox fur on his arm. Why ‘Silver Fox’? Simply because his hair had turned prematurely grey? Or was it more on account of his guile and cunning? When he’d told them about the Spider’s rebel forces fighting under the ancient insignia of red and gold (riches through blood, how barbaric!), his voice had taken on a slightly wistful quality, and yesterday, when he had looked around his little clearing, armed to the teeth and surrounded by dead sheep, Claudia had felt sure he intended to sign up with them. Guile and cunning were surely prerequisites for any insurrection?

And yet…

I’m a huntsman, he’d said, not a warrior. Hm. More Lone Wolf than Silver Fox, she mused, picturing the weather-beaten skin, the easy lope, the musculature straining through his shirt. Maybe his survival instincts earned him his nickname? Arcas was born to these wild tracts of forests, had bonded with them. A hunter, trapper, guide. Whatever was required, he’d turn his hand to, and he knows every inch of this stunning terrain, she thought. Like a young girl knows her lover—

Lover. She rolled the word around in her head. Lover. Arcas was an enigma, that’s for sure, but any commitment would be as deep as it was permanent.

The very opposite of Clemens! What made him yearn so badly for the job of Jupiter’s Priest? One thing. A smile lit her face, it would thwart the ambition of that weasel who headed the Security Police, and that, she felt sure, was why Orbilio so assiduously coached little Clemens. Anything to spike his boss’s guns.

Meanwhile, it was clear that the Salamander had lured Clemens into smuggling by offering him the money to pay for a dowry to a man desperate enough to want a son-in-law who was Jupiter’s Priest, and that the Salamander also had sufficient clout to ensure the fussy little list-maker got the plum job itself. All Clemens had to do was deliver a certain deerskin pouch.

‘That’s where you’ve been hiding?’ Orbilio’s mouth was smiling, although his eyes were not. ‘Junius was worried, he thought you were going for a dip.’

‘No, I’m taking my towel for its morning constitutional,’ she said, leaving him to make what he could of her sprawled leisurely across Arcas’s weaponry, munching chunks of his cheese. ‘Although I might manage a swim on the way back.’

‘I wouldn’t, if I were you,’ Marcus cautioned, ‘there’s something in the water.’

‘I’m not afraid of sharks.’

‘You’ve swum with enough of the loan variety,’ he granted her, ‘but I’m talking about fish.’

Claudia bit off another hunk of the nutty flavoured cheese. ‘I assume there’s some point to this story.’

‘There is.’ Orbilio knelt down and broke a piece off for himself. ‘You see, it would appear your faithful bodyguard gave you a head start to the waterfall then followed discreetly behind. Somewhere along the line you must have given him the slip, and from his tone I gather this is not the first time, but what concerned Junius more than the absence of his mistress was seeing two fish, floating face down in the pool.’

‘Orbilio, you have my undivided apathy.’

‘Then suppose I point out that the floating fish were the brick-maker and his wife?’

Cheese spluttered everywhere. ‘Dead?’

‘Very much so. Both of them. And the first thing Junius noticed, when he hauled them out, was a sickly sweet smell.’

‘Laudanum.’ No wonder Titus couldn’t find it.

‘Exactly. It seems the brick-maker and his wife had consumed the entire remnants of his supply.’

‘Good grief! Driven to despair, they drugged themselves stupid and made a suicide pact!’

‘Ah. Well. That was the first thing I thought. The instant Junius broadcast the alarm, your trusty investigator made a rapid examination of the corpses. Despairing, yes. Drugged, undoubtedly. But suicide doesn’t account for the bruising on their shoulders. The bare fact is,’ Marcus said gravely, ‘the brick-maker and his wife were murdered in the early hours.’

Whether they took the laudanum willingly or not he couldn’t say, but their heads had certainly been held under the water until they had drowned.

XXII

‘Drink this.’ Dexter pushed a grape-green phial at the brick-maker’s bereaved daughter. ‘No, Gemma, drink it,’ he said firmly, steering the liquid between her reluctant lips and holding her shoulders while she shuddered.

Gemma wasn’t the only one to need a shot of Arcas’s home-made liqueur, a golden distillation made from yellow grassland gentians, deceptively sticky and sweet until you swallowed it, after which, however, it was like swilling raw naptha. Nectar of the gods it might not be. Effective was another matter. Colour flushed Gemma’s tear-stained cheeks, albeit in two bright red splotches.

Out of sight, the heavy thwack of the huntsman’s axe resonated through the forest as the men cobbled together a double pyre for the funeral. Sniffing noisily, the glass-blower’s wife wove garlands of oak leaves to wreathe round the heads of the dead, while a couple of the other women dressed the brick-maker and his wife in a clean change of clothes and combed their hair. Maria slipped a coin under each of their tongues to pay the old ferryman who’d be rowing their souls to Hades, and Clemens, in the absence of cypress, was using spruce and fir to purify the cremation site, gentian liqueur in place of wine.

‘This rather buggers things up,’ Titus said to Claudia, stacking more logs on the pyre. ‘Sending out the biggest smoke signal imaginable to the Sequani headhunters—look-we’re-here, X marks the spot. And where’s our Silver Fox while this is going on? Marcus is the one swinging the axe, not him.’

‘He’s aware of the hazards,’ Claudia explained, tossing on a pile of twigs. ‘For the past two hours he’s been out laying a false trail, and believes that by the time the rebel forces spot the fire and then follow his bogus spoor, we’ll be well shot of the danger zone.’

‘I bloody hope so,’ Titus said, wiping the sweat from his brow, but nevertheless keeping sure that that single hank of hair remained over his eye. ‘He’s picked a good spot, right down in the valley, but this is going to be one hell of a bonfire.’

Claudia grunted noncommittally, because inside she felt sure the wily Silver Fox had no intention of leaving a giant blaze aflame. There would be no time to see the funeral through to the end, the area was too dangerous to linger until the fire died of its own accord, then wash and purify the bones, wrap them up and take them away for proper burial later. It would be dusk before this pyre burned itself out, and one more hour in this place was risky, much less another night. She suspected that, once the group was out of sight of the fire, Arcas would backtrack to douse the flames. It would be hard luck on the brick-maker and his wife, their remains ending up a grilled supper for wild beasts. But at least Gemma would be spared the grisly knowledge.

‘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.’