by Marilyn Todd
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 tha
t, 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! Wor
se 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.’
