Black Salamander

XXV

Never were rooftops more welcome than those of Vesontio! True they were not all tiled, like Rome. But rapid progress was being made in converting from timber to more solid structures-you could tell by the number of construction workers, as small and as industrious as ants, beetling over the scaffolding and operating cranes, whose giant wheels winched up timbers, stone and marble. Looking down over the city from the Black Mountain which protected it, the broad loop of the River Doubs sparkled like a silver ribbon as it all but encircled the Sequani capital and where the river failed, a sturdy wall stepped in to fill the breach. The armour of the sentries on the Neptune Gate glinted whenever the sun stepped out from the clouds.

Since the long legs of an aqueduct marched down from the hills with its arms full of spring water, it seemed the people of Vesontio used the Doubs for the same purpose as Romans used Old Father Tiber, namely to dispose of their rubbish and their sewage. No doubt the same old hoary joke applied to it, that anyone who fell in died of plague before they had the chance to drown. In the centre of town, to the left, the circular dome of the bath house shimmered lazily. Across the river, where woods had been cleared centuries before, both to obtain a clear sight of enemy advances and to provide lush pasture for the stockbreeders’ herds, work was underway to build a theatre so that next summer the bowl of those gentle grassy hills would ring with laughter from a musical farce by Plautus or maybe a bawdy pantomime.

Principally, however, what was plain to see as the weary travellers paused on the brow of the hill, was that there were no dignitaries or welcome party about to greet them, no trumpet fanfares to usher them through the city streets, no roll of drums or cavalcade, and that it looked like it was down to the group to find their own lodgings.

Claudia’s room was simply but adequately furnished, and at least boasted a beautiful balcony bedecked with roses and martagon lilies which, if you hung over the side and stretched your neck like a giraffe, almost afforded you a glimpse of the river. Voices filtered up from the wine room two floors below from those keen to make up for a regimen of nothing more civilized than beer and water. Clearly the drinking was hard, judging from the strong smell of wine which drifted upwards as well.

‘This is an utter disgrace,’ fumed the distinctive mournful tones of the astrologer. ‘I shall make a formal complaint to the governor about this.’

‘Why?’ Titus said. ‘Because we were destined to reappear as ignominiously as we vanished?’

‘Bet that wasn’t in his scientific calculations,’ sneered the glass-blower.

‘Come on, a week late?’ Volso screeched. ‘You’d think they’d send some kind of committee.’

‘I need to make my report,’ Theo muttered.

‘I’ll take payment now,’ Arcas said.

Sluicing water over her body, Claudia smiled to herself.

Funny how they were never happier, this group, than when they were bickering! Drying herself on a towel, she pulled on a fresh cotton gown smelling of peach blossom and thyme and dabbed perfume liberally round her neck and wrists. Apollo’s celestial light flashed out her reflection in the mirror and while the new frock she’d picked up that afternoon hung well and accentuated all the right curves, there was no disguising the thousand curls which tumbled round her shoulders. Dammit, she ought to have hired a maid, a girl capable of dealing with a tangle like this, but time was too tight and thus Claudia delegated the task of defying gravity to a dozen ivory hairpins. Satisfied with the result, she slipped on a pair of gold earrings shaped like leaping dolphins and reached for the satchel which, no matter what these past few days, had never left her side.

‘Scuse me.’ The door creaked open and a dumpling of a girl shouldered her way into the room, a leather bucket in one hand, a sponge and a heather broom in the other.

‘Out!’ Claudia ordered. For what she was about to do, she needed to be entirely alone.

Water sloshed out of the leather bucket in the servant’s red, chapped hands. ‘Can’t,’ she said, kicking shut the door with a fat clog of a foot. ‘My orders are to scrub this chamber.’ She gave a combative sniff. ‘Thoroughly.’

Claudia followed the girl’s narrowed eyes to the newly delivered crate beside the bed. ‘And my orders are for you to skedaddle.’

‘Sorry.’ She wasn’t. Not a bit. ‘The landlord insists. No cats in this inn, he says.’ Her gaze settled on the counterpane, still warm and hollow and furry from Drusilla’s recent sleep. ‘They moult, bring in fleas and scratch up the furniture, and the landlord says to tell you he’s very sorry’- he wasn’t; not a bit-‘but you can’t stay here. Not with cats.’

Claudia knew that if Drusilla was around, there’d be no question of any collision course with the management. One glance at that blue-eyed, cross-eyed Egyptian form advancing sideways across the floor, spitting like a cobra and yowling like a sphinx-dear me, not only mine host, but every member of his staff and distant family would be tumbling over themselves to extend the invitation. However, Drusilla wasn’t here. She had accepted without complaint the rigours of the journey, the company of strangers, even the smell of roses from the balcony. But the instant that carpenter delivered a new crate, she had made her feelings very plain indeed.

You can tame my spirit, her arched back screamed, but you can never cage it. And off she’d gone, no doubt stalking in the kitchens in a huff. A roasted quail here, a stuffed sardine there, she’d show them who was boss, and in fact any second Claudia half-expected to hear a terrified wail from the cook.

But that didn’t solve the problem of Miss Zealous Brush here.

In the street below, Arcas glanced left and right, then headed off towards the river like a man who knew his way around this town, but not, Claudia noted, like a man weighed down with several thousand silver coins.

‘Very well, you scrub the room. I’ll pack,’ she said cheerfully, waiting until the girl had set down her broom and bucket before adding, ‘only mind that satchel, won’t you?’ She timed her pause carefully. ‘Not that snakes are particularly active in the late afternoon.’

‘S-snakes?’ The servant eyed the satchel warily.

‘Only two,’ Claudia breezed. ‘And being pythons, they’re not very fast-oh, I say,’ she called after her, ‘you left your sponge behind!’

Down in the street, the Silver Fox was nowhere to be seen. Three youths, still drunk from their lunchtime binge, wove a zigzag path, their arms clamped round one another’s shoulders as they sang a loud and vulgar song. All right for them, Claudia thought. Rich fathers, you could tell by the cut of their clothes, the rings and the boots they were wearing. Probably taking the scenic loop home from university in Massilia, their futures all mapped out for them, jobs, wives, the lot. But when you’re born to the slums and orphaned young, it’s a different game you play, requiring skills no teacher in Massilia can ever impart or pupils would be jammed in to the rafters. Claudia ran the deerskin pouch lightly between her fingers, felt its velvety softness in her hand, inhaled the rich, warm smell of leather.

Now she knew that it was part of a treasure map she held, it seemed so much heavier somehow. She rattled it again, listened to the familiar chink. He was one smart squeeze, the Salamander Rat-a-tat-tat.

‘Go away.’

She was in no mood for come-and-join-us. What she had to do next required total concentration and no small degree of privacy.

Rat-a-tat-tat, tat, tat, tat, tat.

Hardly Iliona’s style. It must be that bloody landlord! Try to evict Claudia Seferius from the premises, would he? Ha! Well, next time his wife sees him, he’ll be wearing ears where his kidneys once sat The latch lifted. ‘Room service,’ carolled a familiar baritone, the scent of sandalwood preceding him into the chamber. His firm grip held a silver tray containing two stem goblets and a decent-sized jug of wine, together with a heap of steaming pastries.

Shit! Claudia dropped the pouch, kicked it under the bed and leaned against the door frame, as though too busy enjoying the roses on the balcony to notice tavern slaves. ‘Leave it on the table,’ she said haughtily, flicking her wrist.

‘House rule,’ he said. ‘New guests have to take a drink with the staff. Here.’ A glass of fragrant vintage red appeared in front of her. Strange, she’d never noticed that little scar on the inside of his wrist, white and old, but… ‘Now, now, don’t snatch,’ he chided. ‘Or I’ll suspect I have an alcoholic on my hands.’

‘Orbilio, I am about to go out for the evening. Kindly get the hell out of my bedroom.’

‘Anywhere special?’ He leaned his weight against the door frame opposite, their shoulders nearly touching.

‘Frankly,’ she said, ‘I don’t give a hoot where you go.’

‘I’-he focused on the building opposite, a warehouse, newly built and partly empty-‘was referring to you, actually.’

She didn’t need to look at him to know he was grinning. She took a sip of the wine, then another, then another. It was far too good a plonk to be sold in a smoky dive like this, and the pastries seemed somewhat superior, too. Especially that cinnamon bun…

‘Me?’ she replied. That bun had almonds in it, she could smell them, along with raisins and just a hint of apple. ‘Ooh, just out. See if I can’t find a decent place to eat.’ Since the better lodgings had been snatched up by the main body of the delegation days ago, he could hardly pick holes in that argument.

‘So how come you’ve taken two buns?’

Damn! ‘I dine late,’ she said, licking the honey from her top lip.

‘Then why are you going out early?’

Somewhere, Claudia could hear teeth grinding. Hers. ‘Orbilio, it’s a lovely summer’s evening, in case you hadn’t noticed. Who in their right mind wouldn’t want to explore this beautiful city?’

‘Mmm.’ He frowned in concentration. ‘Well-’

‘That was not a serious question.’

‘Maybe not,’ he said mildly, ‘but it deserves a serious answer. And I can think of at least one category of person whose thoughts wouldn’t be on exploring this particular town, where the Sequani tongue predominates, where the buildings are nothing to write home about, being mostly timber framed and thatched, and where organized entertainment is painfully thin on the ground. The person, for instance, who has an appointment to keep?’

‘Is blue blood a prerequisite for tunnel vision?’

‘An appointment, moreover, for trading certain packages?’

‘Marcus, Marcus, Marcus.’ Claudia fluttered her eyelashes. ‘Surely if you, as one of Rome’s leading investigative lights, believed a certain citizen was conveying treasonable information, you would do your utmost to ensure this was not passed to the enemy?’

‘I would.’

Still they stood side by side, leaning against opposite doorposts, sipping wine and not looking at each other.

‘Therefore you would be confident that said citizen was actually in possession of said document?’

‘I would.’

‘And to acquire said information, you’d have had to make a search of said citizen’s belongings?’ Breathe in. Deep breath. Cross fingers. ‘Therefore you must know by now I am not a courier.’

There was a beat of six. Had the bluff worked? ‘I haven’t searched your belongings,’ he growled.

Yes!

‘And you know damn well why.’

Don’t I just! Not because he couldn’t. Even though the satchel had been attached to Claudia tighter than a barnacle, a professional like Supersnoop had the nous to find a way, and neither was it because he feared Claudia would notice. His hands were far too deft for that. No, no. Marcus Upright Orbilio had not searched her satchel because it breached his code of ethics.

‘I have absolutely no idea,’ she said, topping up their glasses with a guileless smile.

Orbilio rubbed a weary hand over his face. ‘Time is running out for silly mind games,’ he said eventually. ‘So I shall spell it out.’

Although clearly the alphabet was not his strong point. Several minutes passed, in which Claudia could feel the heat from his body shimmering across the handspan which divided them. There were moments, she thought she could hear his heartbeat, even above the clamour of chariots rattling over the flagstones below, above the incomprehensible jabber of Sequani hucksters and the pleas of beggars, unmistakable in any language. Noises filtered up from the wine room below, the clink of plates, the chink of goblets, laughter, banter, and tantalizing aromas of roast boar and sucking pig, of garlic, leeks and fresh baked yeasty bread.

‘Jupiter alone is privy to what happened in your past,’ Orbilio said, so quietly she had to strain to catch the words. Then he cleared his throat, and his baritone was crisp and level once again. ‘I could have searched your bags,’ he said, turning for the first time to face her. ‘Any time I wanted, and you’d have never known. But I would.’ He would never know the strength of mind it took to keep on staring straight ahead, so he might only catch her profile. Unblinking and unconcerned.

‘And I am not prepared to live with that deception.’ His voice rasped. ‘On the other hand,’ and suddenly there was steel in his voice, ‘neither am I prepared to stand aside while you profit from Rome’s downfall.’

He could not see the hand at her side which clenched so tightly that her nails drew blood from the palm as they dug into the flesh.

‘Cheap shot, Marcus. Which, incidentally, has failed to hit its target’-my integrity-‘if only for the simple reason that, had you felt it prudent to remove and presumably destroy the various sections which comprise the map, you would have done so. Therefore your strategy must be to allow the rebellion to continue right on schedule.’

It was not enough that he nipped this plot in the bud. He wouldn’t rest until he’d brought the conspirators to book, and he could only do that by letting the couriers hand over their precious deerskin pouches and following the middleman, in the hope it would lead…where? The middleman was working for the rebels.

And then, as though snow had come blasting down from the Alps, Claudia understood why Orbilio was here, in her room this afternoon. It was his intention to be part of the plan. To relieve her of her portion of the map and hand it over in her place, to inveigle himself with the rebels. She wondered why that should make her sick to her stomach. After all, he ran risks every day, why should this be any different? Wasn’t he always putting himself in the firing line? It’s his job. He chooses to do it. She shouldn’t feel queasy with worry ‘Assuming our conclusions are correct,’ he said, and Claudia was glad she remained in profile, because without intending to, one renegade eyebrow shot skywards when he said ‘our’. Something kicked inside her stomach, too. ‘The conspirators in Rome are out to double-cross the rebel chieftains.’

‘Who must keep on believing that payment for their role in the overthrow of the Empire is still coming, even when it isn’t, because the conspirators need that money to keep the Roman soldiers sweet.’ Don’t think I haven’t been paying attention, Marcus Cornelius! ‘However, if the bribe is so vast,’ she said, ‘why don’t you trace it from source?’ Why join forces with the rebels, why put yourself in so much danger?

A wry smile twisted his face. ‘Tried that-and guess what? No single individual has moved the bulk of his assets within recent weeks, and believe me, we’d know about financial shifts on that scale in the Security Police-oh, and before you say it, a whole group of them couldn’t have moved bits and pieces of their fortunes-you’d be talking about a hundred conspirators, and even if there was just a fraction of that number, we’d have heard a whisper through informants.’

‘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.