Black Salamander

XXX

The back streets were as silent as they were deserted. The good folk of Vesontio had packed themselves into the Forum, secretly delighted that part of the delegation got lost. Now their children had a second opportunity to goggle at rope walkers and perhaps pluck up the courage this time to pat the elephant and feed it a bun. Mothers could once again openly covet the racy, elegant costumes of their Roman counterparts, wondering how they themselves might look in rainbow-coloured tunics shot with silver and gold, their hair pinned up with ribbons and ivory pins. They could sigh in envy, aware their menfolk would never think to buy them alabaster pots filled with exotic Eastern perfumes. They spent too much time swilling free liquor and passing snide remarks about ‘men wearing skirts’.

Later, of course, the shops would buzz like honeypots. Trade would double-no, treble-now the sun was out, because when people were in a good mood, filled with the holiday spirit, they liked to spend money, and by the time night fell, everything from baskets to bangles would be stripped off the shelves and more than one girl would go to her bed tonight wearing a token of amber, silver or jet from a chap too buoyed up by drink to have properly considered the consequences of that rash impulse buy.

Except that would only happen once the procession was over. Right now, dogs draped themselves over doorsteps, barely lifting an eyelid as Junius and Claudia sped past. Once or twice a goat bleated, a hen clucked. On they ran. Hooking left, spinning right, careful to avoid the treacherous ruts in the roads. The tantalizing aroma of hams smoking high in the rafters filtered out of the houses, along with less appetising smells of animal straw, unripe cheeses and boiled lard. Wrinkling her nose, Claudia considered the olive-oil merchant in the delegation would have his work cut out, converting the Sequani from their attachment to solid animal fats.

Unlike Rome, where soaring tenements and lofty basilicas blocked out the light, the preponderance of low buildings allowed the rutted alleyways to fill with sunshine, which sparkled off the metal chains of the goats, the collars of the dogs.

‘This way.’

Claudia frowned. ‘Surely the Neptune Gate is ahead.’

‘It is,’ Junius said, flashing a glance over her shoulder. ‘But I have the strangest feeling we’re being followed. Just like the other night, you can’t see him, but goddammit, I know he’s there.’

A shiver ran through her body. It had never occurred to her, until now, that the Spider’s man might be after her for her piece of the map.

‘I’m hoping that by doubling back, we can give him the slip,’ Junius said. ‘Since only you and I know which way we’re headed, he won’t be lying in wait.’

‘Can I sell you folks a cup of hydromel?’ a cracked voice asked, and they spun round. One filthy, bare foot on the threshold, an old crone with her left eye socket sewn down held out a flagon in a palsied hand. ‘Made from honey.’ Her accent was thick. ‘Mead?’

By the time Junius had shaken his head, Claudia had already whipped round. ‘Love some,’ she gushed. ‘It smells divine.’ Sweet and fragrant, you could almost hear the bees buzzing round the wicker hives, although after the brilliant sunshine, this building without windows was as dark as the Styx. Stank like it, too.

‘Five quadrans a cup,’ the old woman wheezed, thrusting a rough wooden bowl into Claudia’s hand.

‘Cheap at half the pri- What’s that?’ From deep inside the hut came a scuffle. She could see two burly figures. ‘Junius?’

‘Get out,’ he hissed. ‘Get out! It’s a trap.’

Claudia ran to the door, but less than halfway across, a wrinkled, dirty and callused foot flew out. She went sprawling. She heard a grating sound-steel coming loose from its scabbard. Scrambling to her feet, Claudia saw her bodyguard’s dagger flash in his hand, but before he could strike, a figure filled the doorway and another, larger blade rose through the air. She screamed. The blade fell.

Junius groaned as he crashed to his knees. ‘Run-’ he rasped, sagging forward. ‘Run-’

‘Junius!’ She sprang to his aid, but before she was halfway across, a sack was flung over her head, her hands pinioned tight to her back with a rope as she was crushed to the floor.

‘Help?’ she screamed. ‘Somebody help us!’

Muffled by sacking, her voice didn’t carry, and in any case, who in Vesontio cared? Even knew? The streets were deserted.

‘Junius?’ Her voice was hysterical, but she had to know. Was he still alive? She tried to reach where she thought he might be, but the thugs were like oxen, their grip harder than steel. Words were snapped out, in Sequani, which she could not understand.

‘Let go of me, you bastards.’

Squirming, kicking, lashing out with her legs, Claudia shouted and screamed. No one came. Somewhere behind her, the old hag cackled and there was a clink, of coins changing hands.

‘I hope you die before you can spend it, you treacherous bitch,’ Claudia yelled, the ropes biting into her wrists as she pulled and twisted in a bid to get free. ‘Where’s Junius? What have you done with him?’

Was he dead? Her mind’s eye saw again the glint on the blade coming down, and the contents of her stomach flipped over. Please, I beg you, mighty Jupiter. Don’t let the young Gaul be dead. Don’t let them take his head as a trophy.

Great arms hauled her on to her feet and dragged her, screaming and fighting, into the street then, like a sack of turnips, she was tossed over one massive shoulder and carried at a trot until she heard the whinny of horses. With an ungainly thud, she was thrown in the back of a wagon, a giant boot in the stomach holding her down.

‘Help! HELP ME! Someone, please!’

With a crack of the whip, the horses sprang into life, and for what seemed like eternity, the wagon bounced and joggled along at top speed, throwing her about so badly her shins and elbows bled. Her nose became crushed against the woodwork as the wagon made its descent down a precipitous valley, until mercifully the wheels started to slow. Finally, from rough, distinctly un-Roman roads, hooves clip-clopped gently over proper cobbles. As they ground to a juddering halt, the sack was jerked off Claudia’s face and she was dragged, blinking in the unaccustomed sunshine, across the cobbled yard by a thug in a plaid tunic and grey pantaloons, his drooping moustache as thick as a squirrel and about the same size and colour. Bright red.

Wildly, she took stock of her surroundings, hemmed in by wooded cliffs which were such a feature of this hated landscape, fresh water burst free from its limestone captivity in a spluttering waterfall. Here, though, was no triple cascade, merely a shallow pool which drained into a bubbling brook. Any other time, Claudia would have suggested a picnic. Today her eyes searched for a means of escape.

And found none.

To the left of the courtyard, a blacksmith the size of Hercules clanged his hammer against white-hot iron as he fashioned a spearhead. Samples of his work were laid out on a trestle, some long and narrow, the type Claudia was familiar with, others were shaped with barbs and hollows, designed to inflict the most terrible internal wounds. A lump formed in her throat.

To her right stood a smelting works, its acid metal odour permeating the air and masking the freshness of the waterfall, the scent of the lush woodland ferns, of thorny dog roses and clumps of sweet-smelling water mint.

On a slow-moving part of the stream, a heron stood, hunched, intent on its prey and unconcerned about the human drama unfolding on the opposite bank.

The house in the centre was large, built of stone, with terracotta tiles on the roof and proper windows with shutters, though any resemblance to a Roman villa ended there. Planks and barrels littered the doorway, antlers hung on the exterior walls, the majority of the shutters were closed. A banner hung between two wooden poles-a golden globe in the centre of a blood red circle.

With a swish, the ropes binding her wrists were cut through, and Claudia was propelled inside so roughly that she landed with a crunch on her knees.

‘Do you know who I am?’ a voice growled.

‘Why? Have you forgotten?’

A gravelly laugh filled the room. ‘They said you’d be trouble.’

‘Don’t believe every rumour which comes your way. They said you had eight legs.’

‘I have a name, too. Sualinos.’ Not exactly built like an oak tree, although he wasn’t what you’d call puny. And his Latin was almost perfect, barely a trace of an accent.

‘Thanks, but I’ll stick with the nickname. It suits you, somehow.’

A flash of teeth showed white in the darkness. ‘Well, we’re not here to exchange compliments. You have something I want.’

Her eyes were having trouble adjusting from sack to sunshine back to shadows once more, and yet there appeared to be a familiar face in front of her ‘Theo?’ She could hardly believe it! Boyishly handsome, his freckles standing out clearer and darker as her eyes became used to the gloom. ‘What are you doing here with the Spider?’

Holy Mars, the strain of captivity was taking its toll, he looked ghastly. Grey skin. Sunken cheeks. His eyes were lifeless and staring.

Holy shit! She recoiled in horror. No wonder Theo’s face looked terrible. It was all that was left of him!

Deep in the room, the voice laughed. ‘I plan to have a special niche made for this one,’ it boomed. ‘Every time I see his head, it will be a reminder of these difficult times-and a salutary lesson to me that not every man has a price.’

‘You bastard,’ she said, swiping her hair out of her eyes as she staggered to her feet. ‘Anyway, you’ll find out soon enough, all Romans are honourable.’ Her hands, she noticed, were shaking.

‘This one wasn’t.’ He had perched himself on the edge of a table. ‘The sticking point between Theo and me was simply that I was unable to compete with the prize already dangled before him, namely a place in his new Republic.’

Theo? Claudia climbed unsteadily to her feet. Dammit, I should have listened to you, Marcus Cornelius. You said Theo was the traitor in the group. She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. Wait. Wait, wait, wait. Wasn’t it Theo who tried so hard to recover the dead? Naturally, a little voice chirruped. Stalling for time. That’s the reason he was happy for the should-we-stay or should-we-go argument to continue unchecked. Any delay, no matter how small, was his goal… Yet, why the excitement at spotting Arcas’s fire? Of course. He was genuinely scared they were lost! All this passed through her mind in the splitting of a second. It was Theo who cut through the saddle strap, and yes, now it made sense, he could not afford any other person to rescue her, it had to be him on the rope. Hell, if she had admitted her fall had been anything less than an accident, one of the convoy might have remembered Theo hanging round the horses, and the game would be up. It was only when he’d satisfied himself that she suspected nothing that he had been happy to haul her back up to safety.

Claudia stared at the youthful face made haggard only in death and any pity she’d felt for Theodorus dissolved like bones in lime acid. He had killed two fellow soldiers, Libo, Nestor, the lyre-maker, the brick-maker and his wife, and for what? Not for a passionate belief in a new order for Rome.

For his own petty ends.

‘You and Theodorus have more in common than you might think,’ she told her captor.

‘I doubt that.’ He came towards her, stopping less than a pace away in the oblong of light from the door. Regardless of the circumstances, Claudia had to admit the Spider cut a fine figure. Still on the good side of forty, he was hardly the squat, repellent creature she’d imagined sitting at the centre of his web. Here was a lean, mean, fighting machine, every inch of him hard muscle with a no-messing jaw and lips that had probably kissed a thousand willing women.

‘Theo was a pretty-boy, weak and self-serving, who mistook cunning for intelligence,’ he said. ‘We had quite a long chat, in the end.’ He gave Theo’s hair an affectionate ruffle. ‘But then, of course, we have ways…’ He left the sentence hanging.

‘You think I’m cowed by your bully-boy tactics?’ She spat, folding her arms across her breast in defiance.

‘No.’ With a taut smile of agreement, he strode across to the window and flung wide the shutters. A rush of bright light flooded the room. Beyond the water sparkled and danced over the rock as a pair of yellow wagtails darted and dived for flies, flicking their tails on the rocks.

She wondered what he was waiting for. Why the smug twinkle in his eye. Damn you, Spider man. I’m not playing your game. She focused her gaze on the waterfall.

‘You still have something I want,’ the rebel chieftain said at last. ‘The final part of the map.’

‘It will stick in your craw to admit a mistake, but your thugs turned my room over this morning. Did they find it? Of course not. I’d already passed my pouch over to Ecba.’

‘Tut, tut. Untruths from a mouth as pretty as yours?’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Alas for you, my man-the drunken sailor, you might recall him?-informs me this was not the case and, frankly, of the two of you, I’m more inclined to take his word over yours. Now, then.’ With a broad sweep of his hand, he indicated the deerskins opened out and arranged on the table. ‘I have Ecba’s collection, Theo’s collection, and only this morning did my agents relieve the priest, the glass-blower and the astrologer of their pouches.’ He gave a deprecating shrug. ‘One barely needs to be observant to note there is a gap.’

Right smack in the middle. Claudia’s heart skipped a beat.

‘That’s my piece, that one there.’ She pointed to the north-west corner.

‘Bluffs are only as reliable as the intelligence of the person one is aiming to con. Please don’t insult mine.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ Claudia said. ‘Anything that tiny isn’t worth bothering with.’

Dammit, what was he playing at? All this time, just standing there. As though waiting for something… As though bored with the conversation, she walked over to examine the map on the table. From the corner of her eye, something caught her attention. The far wall. She glanced back at the Spider. His grin was wider. She refused to look at the wall. What could possibly- Jupiter, Juno and Mars!

Spinning backwards, her whole body shaking, her skin clammy, Claudia ran to the door and threw up over the cobbles. Lewd and raucous laughter rang out from the rebel thugs. She didn’t hear. How many niches in his wall? Twenty? Twenty-five? Each filled with a dried-up human head.

‘You’re sick, you know that,’ she said, staggering back.

‘Don’t be squeamish. The head is the seat of power, and I hold for eternity the power of my enemies.’

‘Eternity, she scoffed, wiping her mouth. Inside, every bone, every organ seemed to have melted away, there was nothing inside but a great gaping hole.

‘We Celts are not superficial worshippers like you Romans. Ask any Druid and he will tell you that, when a person dies, their soul does not perish with them but passes to a life waiting to be born. When I die, these will be buried with me, so that when I am reborn, it is with the power I have accumulated in this life. Reincarnation, I believe, is the term you Latins use.’

‘Life’s a bitch and then you do it again, is that it?’

‘There’s no honour in taking the head of a travelling musician, for instance. The enemy has to be worthy. I don’t want you labouring under the impression that we kill for killing’s sake, we’re not barbarians.’

‘I’d hate to imagine your definition of someone who is. How do you explain keeping your own people oppressed?’

‘Oppressed?’ He seemed genuinely surprised. ‘That’s a new way of looking at retaining one’s traditional values.’

‘You could have your people growing rich, and yet you deliberately prevent it,’ Claudia snapped. ‘Their fields could produce twice the output with the use of modern machinery, and with proper harnesses, instead of those ridiculous and, I might add, extremely cruel collars, you’d get far more from your draught animals.’

‘These are our ways. Sequani ways.’ The Spider’s fist came down hard on the table. ‘Who the hell are you to interfere? You fucking Romans! You come to our country with your tarty dress and fancy manners, you think you know it all, yet look what runs your own economy. Slaves! You peddlers of human flesh dare, dare to accuse me of oppressing my own people? Ach.’ He threw up his hands. ‘And you wonder why I want rid of you?’

For a while, only the dust motes moved inside the house. Claudia could smell the sweet aroma of the water mint wafted in on the breeze as the rebel leader fought to control his heavy breathing. Outside in the yard, there was a graunching sound, of something being dragged over cobbles, and grunts of exertion.

Slowly the Spider walked over to her, she could smell the fresh sweat on his body. Lifting her chin between his thumb and forefinger, he asked, ‘Are you afraid?’

Inside she was quaking. ‘No.’ She looked him square in the eye, not batting an eyelid.

His lips pursed, and his hands closed round the neck of her robe. With one vicious jerk, he ripped open her bodice. ‘I’ll ask again.’ His eyes raked her naked breasts as he tore the material down to the ground. ‘Are you afraid?’

‘No,’ she said, and this time it was true. A strange calm had descended over her. ‘I’m not afraid of you. You can bluster and bully all you want, you can torture me, humiliate me, and still you won’t win, because my spirit is stronger than yours.’

‘I recollect Theo saying something along those lines, but, like so many others before him, he spilled his guts in the end. Literally, in Theo’s case. Right over the spot where you’re standing.’

‘Is this the only way you can get it up?’ she sneered. ‘Through sadism?’

‘Bitch!’ A backhand sent her spinning, as he picked up the shreds of her robe and shook them. No pouch fell out, and he swore under his breath. ‘Well, you don’t have the map on you, that’s for sure.’ Glittering eyes scrutinized every inch of her body, naked bar the most flimsy of thongs. ‘But I won’t be denied, I assure you.’

Out in the courtyard, whatever it was they were rigging up was obviously complete, because they gave themselves a quick round of applause.

‘You have balls, I grant you that,’ the Spider said, strolling across to the door, the remnants of her aquamarine robe still tight in his fist. ‘In fact, yours might be the first-perhaps the only-female head I take with me to my next life.’ He tapped his finger against his lip and nodded a gesture to his henchmen in the yard. ‘Somewhere out there lies the whole imperial treasury, and with that I can buy anything and anybody I want. The Sequani will rise again and this time we’ll need no German mercenaries to come and fight our battles, we shall not bend our knee to Rome for help. It is you who’ll plead submission to us.’ He turned, a black silhouette in the doorway.

‘You refuse to tell me where the map is?’

‘What map?’

‘I promise you a swift death, if you tell me. Clean, no pain, you won’t see it coming, you have my word of honour on that.’

‘Is that a blackcap I can hear, or a willow warbler? I’m useless when it comes to birds.’

He exhaled loudly. ‘Have it your way,’ he said, striding towards her. ‘Although you may change your mind.’

Roughly he pulled her by the upper arm towards the door. Seeing her naked, curls tumbling over her shoulders, the men in the yard whistled and jeered, but for a second time, Claudia failed to hear them. All she could see was the giant structure casting its sinister shadow over the yard. Twelve feet high it stood. A human figure formed entirely of wickerwork A ladder led up to its gaping belly. The arms, head and legs had been stuffed with straw, but high in its chest was a platform of wood from which a pair of manacles dangled. ‘You can’t!’ Claudia gasped. ‘That’s barbaric!’

‘No,’ he replied. ‘That is justice.’

From behind the smelting works, a young man, his face and hair dripping with sweat, was being dragged over the yard, pleading tearfully in Sequani as he struggled to break free. Behind him, his wife and three small children had to be restrained by the thugs as their hysterical screams begged for mercy.

‘The man is a traitor,’ the Spider said, pulling off his shirt. ‘The gods must be appeased.’

He pulled off the torque around his neck and tossed it on top of his shirt, then reached into a casket. Out came the most elaborate breastplate Claudia had ever seen. Nine spokes radiated away from a circular plate of gold-the spider in the centre of its web. Each of the spokes was joined by a bar of solid gold, and from the lower bar, six gold chains dangled, each ending in a hollow golden ball, something inside rattled. Probably a nugget of silver.

Clipping on a fox-fur armband, Sualinos suddenly looked every inch a king.

‘If you have a genuine claim to the throne,’ she said, ‘why not-’

‘I do not take the counsel of women, much less some foul-mouthed Latin whore who is doubtless as free with her favours as she is with her lies.’

‘I fear you mistake me for your mother.’

Calmly he strode across the floor and looked down on her, his hands closing over her breasts. ‘You have a sharp tongue, Claudia Seferius.’ His fingers began to caress her nipples. ‘I shall make its severance my first priority after’-he inclined his head towards the door-‘justice has been served.’

‘Big talk for a’-her eyes flashed to his crotch-‘little man,’ she said, fighting to keep the quaver out of her voice. ‘However, my philosophy is such a simple one, that even you should be able to understand it.’ Punching her fists hard against the inside of his forearms, she jerked his hands away from her breasts. ‘The first grope is always for free. After that, a man takes his life in his hands, should he try it a second time.’

‘Are you threatening me?’ The sarcasm was as heavy as his decorative torque.

Claudia feared he would hear the pounding of her heart. Sweet Janus, how would she get out of this? Trapped in a canyon with a psychopath and a hundred bloodthirsty henchmen? Hell, her knees could barely keep her upright as it was.

‘You call it a threat, I call it a warning. Remember who holds the key to your future.’

‘Oh, I’ll get the missing map, have no fear of that.’ His grin made her blood turn to ice. ‘In fact, I recommend you reflect long and hard while this traitor pays his debts and maybe when I come back,’ he slammed the door behind him, ‘in an hour or so,’ he rammed home the lock, ‘you might be in a better frame of mind to negotiate.’

Through the window, Claudia could see the prisoner, hanging limply from the manacles, whimpering for pity. The door in the wicker man was shut, the ladder removed. Round the base, two men stood, legs planted heavily apart, holding burning brands.

Claudia threw her hands wide and prayed. Jupiter, if you can hear me over this poor man’s wife’s screams, tell me it’s nothing more than the Spider trying to frighten me. I beg you, let this be a ruse.

The torch bearers glanced at their leader, who stood foursquare at the feet of the sacrificial offering, and muttered something in Sequani.

A sparrow swooped down and flew off with one of the straws which poked through the limbs of the wicker man.

Jupiter, are you listening, you bastard? Don’t let them light it. I beg you, don’t let them light it. Don’t let them Too late. At a signal from the Spider, the henchmen stepped forward, simultaneously placing their torches to the great wicker legs.

Flames shot up the figure, higher and higher. Crackling, burning. Igniting the straw, sending out clouds of smoke. The prisoner screamed. A pitiful wail. The effigy’s outstretched arms flickered alight. Black smoke swirled high in the air. Flames licked round the basketweave body. The traitor screamed louder. The thatch packed into the squat, square box of a head started to crackle and hiss. Stray straws floated down, blackened, on to the cobbles. Slowly the fire took hold of the wickerwork frame, still not yet touching the figure inside.

Then the prisoner’s scream changed.

Became bestial.

It was a sound straight from hell, as the flames took a hold of his clothes.