Black Salamander (26 page)

‘Suggesting how many are involved at top level?’

‘No more than two or three.’

A vague thought flickered on the edge of Claudia’s mind. Something Dexter had said. Dexter. Dexter. What was it? Connected with his work. Binding senatorial archives. Ah, yes! The State Treasury. Suppose the State Treasury had been raided?

‘The whole lot moved under cover to pay off the tribes?’ He shot her a do-me-a-favour kind of smile. ‘Impossible,’ he said, ‘Absolutely im—’ He stiffened. ‘But it’s funny you say that, because Senator Galba is in charge of the Treasury—and Senator Galba also organized this delegation to tie in with the inaugural ceremony of the temple in Vesontio.’

‘Four years ahead of the actual half-century to celebrate the Roman/Sequani peace deal.’

‘It
will
take four years to build a temple to Castor and Pollux,’ he said, although for an objective opinion, it came over as pretty unconvincing.

Down below, angry male voices rang out from the wine room. Theo, shouting that they should just pay the man and stop quibbling, while Volso argued back that it wasn’t that simple, was it? Five thousand sesterces were to be handed over, daylight bloody robbery in itself, but why should he, Volso, have to pay more than his share? For crying out loud, Theo yelled, where can the drivers, let alone the bloody horses, find that kind of money? This was a co-operative venture, why couldn’t he bloody co-operate. Co-operative? Volso was on the verge of apoplexy. Whose fault was it they took that sodding shortcut? Get the army to cough up, if Theo felt so strongly about co-oper-bloody-ration.

‘Unfortunately,’ Orbilio said, upending his goblet, ‘we’re on the wrong track. Galba’s personal seal is a burning torch, not a newt, and to start an investigation into his private affairs would be the best thing that ever happened to my boss. It would give him the supreme pleasure of sacking me without a reference.’

‘Unless you were proved right.’

‘I’d never get the chance to—hang on! The night I left Rome in such a goddamned hurry, I was due to dine with Senator Galba. I remember thinking at the time how my father would have seen this as a real feather in the family cap, and yet, even then, I thought it strange that Galba had heard about my investigation into rebel uprisings, and that he should be interested in the progress I was making.’

‘Then go back to Rome,’ she said. ‘First thing in the morning.’

‘You can’t get rid of me that easily,’ he replied, reaching for a duck and venison pie. ‘What we have here is speculation at best, slander against Galba at worst.’

‘Does it matter, providing the coup is foiled?’

‘Not in the least. Providing we are right.’ He caught a dribble of gravy before it splashed on his spotless white tunic. ‘But what if we’re jumping to conclusions? Galba has an unblemished reputation in everything he’s done. He’s ambitious, most senators are, and he’d be the first to admit he covets the role of consul, to be one of the three most powerful men in Rome. Quite frankly, the case against him is thin to the point of transparency. Think about it.’

He dabbled his hands in the warm water of the finger-bowl, scented with basil and balm.

‘Point one. I heard a rumour that the Treveri and the Helvetii were banding together. Is there evidence of this? None whatsoever, since the alliance is about
not
fighting side by side. Point one laughed out of court. Point two. Who’d believe the line about a plot to overthrow Augustus using foreign mercenaries? Without proof, and we have none, point two is ridiculed as untenable.’

‘What about Remi’s testimony?’

‘A dead Treveri rebel? Who, I, incidentally, killed? It’s turning into farce.’

Claudia scratched her head. Tricky, but surely not insurmountable? She had to talk him into returning home
somehow…

‘With vital pieces missing, the map is useless,’ she reminded him—and fell straight into the trap. Of course! That was why he wanted to deliver it! To ingratiate himself with the rebels by pointing out that they’d been double-crossed, hoping they would reveal the names of the ringleaders in Rome. Bugger! Think, Claudia, think.

‘According to certain eastern cultures,’ she said slowly, ‘the salamander is a mythical creature born and living in fire.’

‘Holy Mars!’ Orbilio slammed his fist into the palm of his hand. ‘Why didn’t I think of that? It all makes sense. His burning torch—the salamander. Same thing, different depiction. Galba’s skin won’t be fireproof like his fabled reptile, I shall personally see to that.’ He turned round and grabbed Claudia by both wrists. ‘We’ve got him,’ he shouted. ‘We’ve bloody got him, don’t you see? All we need now is confirmation from the rebels.’

‘Not necessarily.’ Claudia jerked her wrists away. Dammit, he didn’t have to get that close. She didn’t want to feel the power of his hands, smell the goddamned sandalwood on his tanned and gleaming body, let alone see the excitement dancing in his eyes. ‘They’d be loathe to take your word for it,’ she snapped. ‘All that would happen is that the rebels would hold you hostage.’ Whichever way it goes, he’d be dog food. The instant they discover they’d been double-crossed, they’d kill the Roman pig. ‘Which would be sod-all help to Augustus.’

Exultation drained from his face. ‘You have a better idea?’

‘Tell your boss,’ she said. ‘At least you can trust
him
.’

‘I can?’

‘Oh yes.’ As far as one can ever trust that oily creep. ‘The Salamander promised the job of Jupiter’s Priest to our friend Clemens,’ she said, sinking her teeth into another spicy bun. ‘Don’t you think the gods would move house from Olympus before your boss allowed Clemens to usurp the role he’d earmarked for his brother?’

Orbilio threw back his head and laughed. ‘Claudia Seferius, you are sneaky, devious, cynical and underhanded, and those are just your good points! Worse than that, though, you are a veritable genius. Thanks to you,’ he made a gracious bow, ‘I can send word back to Rome to keep a close eye on Galba, based on the evidence I have accumulated, not to mention suggesting they make an inventory of the State Treasury which, or I shall eat my hunting boots, has undoubtedly been spirited away to Gaul. So with the Rome end all but tied up, what I need now is a list of rebel chieftains to wrap up this whole conspiracy once and for all.’

Bugger, bugger, bugger. Me and my big mouth!

‘Now then,’ he said cheerfully, ‘it’s none of my business how or why you’ve been drawn into this wretched courier lark, but whatever reward has been offered, I shall ensure you do not lose by it, so come on, Claudia. Be a good girl, give me the map. I know you’ve got it.’

Claudia sighed loudly. ‘You’re right, Marcus.’ You could almost see his little heart lift. ‘As always, you are absolutely right.’ She waited for the full beam to light his face. ‘It
is
none of your business. Now get out of my room.’

‘Goddammit, woman, don’t you understand what’s at stake here?’

‘You’d prefer I have Junius throw you out?’

His expression darkened, she heard him swear under his breath, but without another word, he turned on his heel and strode off, slamming the door to within an inch of its life.

Down in the street, a bow-backed donkey laden with panniers of cherries clip-clopped wearily in the direction of the river, a young redheaded boy following with a switch which he used to run along the walls. Claudia inhaled the bouquet of the roses and picked a lily from the pot.

‘Typical! Come home, now I’ve done your dirty work,’ she told Drusilla, who had taken advantage of the lull to sail over the balcony rail.

‘Prrrrr.’ Pausing by the window, sharp claws began to scratch splinters out of the frame before the corner of her slanty eyes remembered the reason behind her sudden departure. ‘Grrrr. Grrrrrrr.’

‘That is a cage, not a prison,’ Claudia reminded her, setting down a bowl of thick creamy milk.

‘Hrrrow.’ The squint became exaggerated, because this cat wasn’t stupid. She knew quite well what bars represented, thank you very much! On the other hand, the cook
had thrown a ladle at her before she’d had a chance to
scrape her long, pink tongue along the butter and boy, did that cream look appetizing. ‘Slup, slup. Slup, slup.’ She would drink it, but only as a favour to her mistress, and to make this clearly understood she stuck a decent show of hackles in the air. ‘Mrrrr.’

Claudia knelt down by the bed and fished out the yellow deerskin pouch. ‘What?’ She glowered at Drusilla. ‘Hand this over to Hotshot? No way!’

‘Bloop-bloop, bloop-bloop.’ Tiny splatters of white splashed on to the polished wooden floor.

‘Providing the rebels don’t get their hands on the actual gold itself, no harm can be done by keeping the appointment with the middleman,’ Claudia said, patting her wayward curls into place. ‘Especially when a whole year’s vintage rests on this.’

There was just time, she thought, to polish off that last remaining pastry.

‘Besides,’ she told the cat, ‘Claudia Seferius is a girl who always keeps her word.’ Particularly when it suited her. And as Drusilla sat washing her whiskers, Claudia wondered whether that little black thing which had just jumped through the air might be of any interest to the landlord.

‘Mrrow?’

‘Oh, don’t be silly. Saving Hotshot’s life by not allowing him to become embroiled in rebel politics is no big deal, poppet. I’d have done it for anybody, it doesn’t mean I give a fig for him personally.’

He’s just a man. Nothing special. The way the light reflects off the flecks in his hair doesn’t mean a thing. Or the way it felt, when he’d gripped her hand on the road yesterday—

‘Right.’ Claudia kissed the yellow pouch. ‘Time to make a move, I think.’

And for this—she pulled the shutters closed and latched them tight—she needed total privacy. No chambermaids. No room service.

‘And now.’ Ten minutes later, she shook the folds of her gown and inhaled the sweet smell of peach blossom. ‘The finishing touch.’

She slid her hand deep into her satchel and extracted a thin-bladed knife.

‘Mrrrrrr.’

‘Don’t look at me like that, poppet.’ She stroked the cat until, pacified, feline ears flattened hard against her wedge-shaped head. ‘This is simply a sensible precaution. Junius will be with me at all times, nothing can go wrong at this stage, trust me.’

‘Rrrr.’

‘Nonsense. That business with the saddle strap? All settled.’ Didn’t she say at the time it felt like the wrong horse? Later Volso made the very same point and it was obvious, with hindsight, what had happened. ‘The astrologer was the killer’s target, poppet. Not me.’

‘Prrrrr.’

‘Exactly! The worst is behind us, it’s plain sailing from now on, and I can see no reason, Drusilla, my girl, why tomorrow morning the three of us, you, me and Junius, are not heading straight back to Rome.’

‘Prr.’

Although had Claudia Seferius thought to consult a Sequani dictionary at that stage, she may well have discovered that the Celtic definition of the word ‘worst’ differed considerably from the Latin interpretation.

XXVI

Apart from a pair of cresset lights burning on either side of the doorway, the house was total darkness by the time Claudia returned to her lodgings. One or two stars twinkled between the scudding clouds, but the night was warm and the river smelled sour, even from here. Down at the waterfront, where she’d spent several hours, the stench was considerably worse. Raw sewage, stale beer, the lingering odour of stevedores’ sweat. But at least there was life down there. Vitality. The shrill laugh of whores, drunken singing, brawls which spilled from the swillpens into the streets. Back here, in the dark, sinister shadow of Black Mountain, only the silent footfalls of a cat revealed the scene was not a still-life painted fresco.

Looking up at the bolted shutters, Claudia was suddenly conscious of the two distinct categories which divided her fellow travellers. On the one hand there were those, like Titus and Iliona, who’d found stimulation from their unplanned adventure and whose limbs would be intertwined, naked and sated, as they slept in one another’s arms. Then there were the Dexters and Marias who had not, and now lay side by side, awake and unspeaking, in the hollow emptiness of their room, separated by a hand-span and a gulf of understanding. Involuntarily, Claudia shivered. Then, dismissing Junius, she slipped into the tavern. What a night!

‘I’ll light you to your room, miss,’ the porter said, hobbling out of his cubbyhole.

‘You’ll do no such thing,’ she retorted, snatching the oil lamp from his hand. ‘I can manage perfectly well by myself.’

With a suit-yourself shrug, the porter retreated to his jug of ale and game of odds-and-evens, stubbing his toe on the table in the darkness and cursing as his counters scattered over the floor, ruining the run of play.

With an eerie flicker, the lamp lit Claudia’s way up the stairs. Wretched bloody Gauls. Can’t they build with anything but timber? Talk about gloomy. And even between the beams, they’d made no attempt to paint the lumpy plaster. All you got was a clumsily fashioned statue of some silly bitch riding side-saddle stuck in a niche in the wall halfway up this rickety staircase. Epona, didn’t they call her? For a goddess, Claudia thought, you’re not much of a rider. She was tipped sideways, rather like Claudia when she tumbled over the edge yesterday. Pausing to straighten the statuette, she realized that the sculpture had a thick stone spike on the bottom, which fitted—or in this case, did not—into a socket. Curious, Claudia peered into the hole and saw that it contained several bronze and silver coins, and it was this munificent offering which kept Epona offbalance. Easily remedied…