Black Salamander (6 page)

Even with the life beaten out of her, bones broken, face pulverized and probably internal tissue damage as well, there was more animation in this lovely redhead than you’d find in half this supposedly sophisticated seat of the Empire.

‘The picture is this.’ She tucked one long leg under the other, showing off a very shapely calf ending in a bronze anklet, etched with dots and Celtic whorls. ‘The Treveri and the Helvetii have sworn an alliance and that’s why they’re planning that attack.’

Orbilio thought of the two legions who’d been despatched to the trouble spots. ‘That much was in your’—he couldn’t bring himself to say the word ‘confession’ so he changed it to—‘statement. They’re banding together to, quote, “fight the oppressors”.’

‘Oh, it’s not only you Romans they’re after,’ Remi said sharply. ‘The idea is that once Rome has been taken—or rather toppled—the tribes will use the opportunity that the chaos will bring in its wake in order to break out on their own. We have expansion programmes, too, you know!’ There was almost a sparkle m her eye, and a knife plunged into Orbilio’s heart. He could have crawled under the door. Was any man more of a heel? Jupiter, when people talk about treachery—

‘However,’ she said, ‘for old enemies to be conquered, new campaigns to be organized—they’ve set their sights on Britain, Scandinavia, even the Isles of Thule, can you believe that?—well, this requires weaponry and armour, siege engines and so on.’

As she paused for another ladleful of water to blot the drying wounds on her chest, Orbilio felt a jab of consolation. At least his hunch was on target. Croesus, he fumed, why hadn’t those goons outside listened to Remi?

‘Apparently there’s a large cache of treasure in the form of gold and silver, jewels and gems, and I swear on the life of my babies, I don’t know where it is, whose it is, or even how it got there,’ Remi said, ‘but as far as the Treveri and the Helvetii are concerned, it’s got their name on it. According to the chieftain’s son, there’s a map on its way to Vesontio which shows the exact location of this treasure—’

‘Wh-what? Did you say…on its way to Vesontio?’

‘In a trade delegation, from what I overheard. Only the map is so sensitive, the risk so substantial, that it’s been cut up and distributed among several separate couriers, so no one can double-cross anyone else on a sum of this size. I assume this is worth something to you, policeman?’

Orbilio’s mind was spinning like a child’s top. Admittedly there were large gaps in this puzzle, but a picture was beginning to form in the mist. First there was the someone in Rome planning a coup by making the northern tribes side with him. Now Marcus saw the bribe was not only a prominent role in the new order, but sufficient funds for them to go off making wars of their own. (Very clever. Keeps them on your side, but out of your hair, because while they’re busy making trouble elsewhere, they’re not bothering you.)

Moreover, Marcus was also beginning to see why Claudia Seferius might be along on the trip to Vesontio. The word coincidence never applied to that woman.

That the treasure map was part of the convoy didn’t trouble him unduly. The delegation had been given an armed escort for the entire length of the route, and by now they should have arrived safely. If they hadn’t, he’d have heard. An undercover agent was travelling with them.

‘I said, policeman, is this worth anything to you?’ Orbilio was propelled back to the present, to the young woman broken in body, but never in spirit and his conscience slammed into him. He stared at his thumbnail and wished he was somewhere—
anywhere
—else. Just as he wished he was someone—
anyone
—else. The weight on his chest threatened to crush him.

‘Your information,’ he said thickly, ‘is of vital importance to the Empire.’ Suddenly he was a worm again. The most abject creature on the planet, and dust mites looked tall at the minute. He felt sick. Physically, emotionally, to-his-boots sick.

‘I’m free to go, then? I swear that’s the lot. It was the only snatch of conversation I overheard waiting outside the chieftain’s son’s window—’

‘Remi,’ he said gently. ‘It’s not as simple as that.’

‘Now what?’ She turned her agonized face towards his. ‘Look, I really want to get this over with, so I can go home to my bairns.’

Orbilio felt a tidal wave of nausea blast into him, and some of what he felt must have shown on his face. Her face went as white as birch bark.

‘Mother of Dis, I’m not going back, am I?’

He counted slowly to five. ‘No.’ He barely recognized his own voice. ‘I’m sorry, Remi, but’—Remus, he felt old—‘you’ll never see your chil—homeland—again.’

The lamplights seemed to flicker, the cresset light blurred.

‘Treason is treason,’ he said hoarsely. ‘You were caught passing on plans against Rome—’

‘I don’t give a toss who runs the country.’ She was shaking. Her voice was querulous and low. ‘Romans, Treveri—the administration can be made up of donkeys for all the difference it makes to my land. All I care about is my kids and the sowing, the reaping… Can’t you explain to them pigs how it is?’

Orbilio pinched the bridge of his nose. Oh, he could explain all right. And be laughed right out of the building. The army had acted immediately, swooping on the roundhouses belonging to the chieftain’s son, his confederates and co-conspirators, and well, well, well, guess who’d flown the coop? Without a shadow of a doubt, if they’d been able to get their hands on the plotters and planners, Remi would have escaped with a public flogging.

Instead, Rome needed a scapegoat…

‘For pity’s sake,’ Remi gulped. ‘What about the treasure map?’

Who’d believe her? Or him, come to that? Desperation, they’d say. One final attempt by a traitor to slur us, and she conned you, Marcus, old man. Good and proper. His career would be washed down the drain, but he’d risk that, and happily—were he given chance to investigate further. The instant the rebellion’s mastermind was alerted (and certainly before the allegations could be made public), Orbilio would feel a knife between his ribs down some dark alley, silencing him for ever, and the girl would somehow die in her cell. No witnesses would remain. There was nothing in her confession about any great cache of gold…

‘Please!’
Her wail rang raw in his ears. ‘You have to tell them how it is with me!’

A million visions flashed through Orbilio’s head. Execution. Public. Gruesome and protracted. A spectacle. Messy. The strength and resilience that Remi possessed by the bucketload, those very qualities would be used against her, to prolong her public agony.

‘What of my bairns?’ She was sobbing openly now. ‘Who’ll care for them? Once word gets back…’

She didn’t need to finish. Once word got back that their mother was a traitor, the occupying Romans would have little pity, the children could starve in the gutter for all they cared. And as for the Treveri! Knowing Remi had grassed on their chieftain’s son…well, let’s just say the children would fare better under the Romans.

Orbilio stared at a large iron poker on the wall, splattered with flaking brown spots, and swallowed hard. ‘There—’ It was no good. He cleared his throat and started again. ‘There’s only one way I can help you, Remi,’ he said, keeping his eye on the poker. Around him, the tiny chamber seemed to dissolve. ‘I can’—
shit!—
‘send in hemlock.’

From the corner of his eye he saw her arms fling themselves round her body as she started rocking, forwards, backwards, forwards, backwards, that lustrous red mane covering her face, and the hairs on his nape prickled. During this whole interview with Remi, not a single sound had intruded from the catacombs outside. None of the carpenters’ hammering, no laughter from Big Buckle and the warder, no hobnailed boots echoing down the corridor. These thick stone walls and solid door had made the room soundproof, but not to obstruct sounds coming in, to prevent anyone outside, from hearing what went on in this squalid, dark chamber…

The silence dragged into eternity—‘To think,’ Remi said, and her voice was muffled, ‘that an hour ago I believed the worst that could happen was ending up some fat old man’s bedmate.’ She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and her tortured eyes bored into his. ‘I trusted you, policeman. Goddammit, I actually trusted you.’

The room swam. ‘You’d never have told me about the map if I’d levelled with you.’ Something wet ran down his cheeks, and when he licked it away, it was salty.

‘Well.’ She gulped back a sob and drew herself upright on the floor. ‘Maybe that’s why it’s the Roman Empire and not the Treveri Empire.’ Her breath came out in a series of staccato sighs. ‘After all, you were only doing your job. I know.’

He thought of Augustus, and of Claudia, and rasped, ‘It’s not that simple, Remi.’

‘So you told me before. Think I don’t listen?’ It was a courageous stab at defiance, but her trembling lower lip gave her away. There was a pause. A long pause. Then finally, ‘I appreciate your offer, policeman. About the hemlock, I mean. But let’s be realistic. The chances of my receiving whatever you send in here have to be slim, and if one of your own men dies accidentally…well, I don’t need to draw pictures, do I?’

An eagle ripped at Marcus’s gut. Despite everything, it was
his
safety she was concerned for! Tears dripped unchecked on his tunic. How could he face himself after this?

‘On the other hand.’ She closed her eyes and her lashes quivered like reeds in a gale. ‘There is one favour you could do me.’

‘Name it.’

She fought for breath, and eventually won. ‘You could put that thumping great dagger in your scabbard to good use.’

‘I—’ Around him, the walls closed in like a bearhug. He couldn’t breathe. ‘Remi. I beg you. Don’t ask that of me.’

‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘If you care one iota for justice, you won’t hesitate.’

His limbs had turned to stone, his muscles to rock. To move even his eyelids was painful, and he was cold. Icy cold.

She swallowed hard. ‘If you have any feelings for me—’

‘Sssh.’ With his thumb, he wiped away the tears which dribbled down her battered cheek and drew her to him, his mind running over the manner in which he’d betrayed her, knowing all the while that she was doomed, yet deliberately giving her the impression that if she talked about the treasure map, she might walk free…

He thought of the way she’d been singled out in Treveri, desperate for cash to keep her farm and family alive, only to be sold out by one of her tribesmen… He thought about her stoic acceptance of her fate, and that, having understood she was destined to die in this alien place, still had compassion left over for him… Then Orbilio thought of how she ought to be. Nineteen and alive, those green eyes dancing with laughter, singing to her children and feeding the chickens and baking bread as field hands brought in the barley…

‘Give me the names of your children,’ he rasped. ‘I’ll see they’re fostered anonymously and won’t want for money.’

The silence was broken only by the sound of the blood thundering past his temples. Then a voice like gossamer said, ‘You’re a good man, policeman.’

Her arms were shaking when she held out her wrists, soft side upwards but Remi didn’t wince once when his blade sliced the veins.

For what seemed an eternity, they watched the life pump slowly, inexorably, out of her body as the lamplight flickered and cast dancing shadows on the stone walls.

‘Will you pray with me, policeman?’ Her voice was growing faint, her eyelids flickered. ‘To Great Father Dis? He’s—’

‘—god of the underworld, the great hammer god, the god from whom all Gauls are descended. I know.’ He couldn’t see her for the salt water in his eyes, but as he stroked the fiery red braids he prayed to Dis and his consort, Aveta to be kind to this girl, who had been caught in the crossfire when she’d only been trying to keep a roof over her head.

He did not know at what stage in his prayers he noticed the blood was no longer pumping.

‘Remi?’ Her skin was whiter than parchment, almost blue, and her bruised and battered face had been made younger in death. It was as though he cradled a child in his lap. And he shook his head that a girl so full of life and living, joy and giving, could have been designated a traitor—

Gently he leaned over and kissed her pale cheek, begging her forgiveness, even though he knew she’d given it, and promised that he would remember her every day of his life by leaving, in Gaulish tradition, fresh fruit out every day for Aveta.

For perhaps another hour he remained seated on the bloodied floor, remembering again Remi’s courage, her bravado, her indomitable selflessness, even at the end, and knew in his heart that the vows he’d sworn today were sacred.

And he thought of another silent vow he’d once made. To Claudia Seferius. And he thanked mighty Jupiter, King of Heaven and Deliverer of Justice, that she was safe.

‘Orbilio?’ The hammering at the door made him jump. ‘Orbilio, there’s a message here from Helvetia concerning a man called—it looks like Libo, is that right?’

Libo. Libo? Oh, the undercover agent accompanying the delegation to Vesontio.

‘What—’ Orbilio’s larynx couldn’t function properly. ‘What does it say?’ he asked wearily. Presumably confirmation that they’d arrived safely. He stroked a strand of red hair away from Remi’s lovely, battered face and slipped her figure-of-eight ring on to his own little finger.