Black Salamander (24 page)

‘No,’ Marcus said. ‘Just a cloud.’

And as one the group moved forward again, and if Volso noticed that no one said a word after that, he didn’t mention it. By the time they rejoined the main body of the party, the bare face of Serpent Point loomed less than a mile away and Volso wasn’t the only one who stood, white-faced and trembling, hardly believing they’d survived that perilous ridge.

‘Mount up,’ Arcas said.

‘But what about you?’ Dexter asked.

‘Don’t worry about me,’ the woodsman growled. ‘I can keep up.’ Glancing back along the ledge to the place where his horses plunged to their deaths, he pursed his lips and scrunched up his face. Then with a sharp oath, he shouldered his pack, drew a deep breath and said, ‘Let’s get the hell out of here. Daylight’s fading, I want to be over that point before making camp.’

It was unfortunate that Volso’s vertigo had cost them several precious hours, but at least the going would be less treacherous underfoot once they left the canyon behind. What Claudia would have given for a shot of Arcas’s firewater liqueur. To cross the section which had given way under the horses had been harrowing in the extreme.

She shifted in the saddle. Was this her horse? It had to be, she supposed, only it didn’t feel at all comfortable. She checked the reins and saddle, but since all the equipment was new, it all looked the same, and while some barbarian horsemen rode with things called stirrups, civilized societies didn’t bother with these useless footrests, which was just as well, really. They’d never catch on.

The line spread out as they cantered down the path. Faster and faster she flew, the hoofs of the little pony
clattering on the rock, and Claudia tipped back her head
to feel the wind in her face. So this is what it’s like to be free. Urged on by a dig of her heels, the red horse broke into a gallop.

‘Giddy up.’ That’s the expression, isn’t it? ‘Giddy up there!’

Harder and harder the hoofs pounded the stone.

‘Yee-ha!’

Hang on. What’s this? Sod wind in the hair. Something didn’t feel right. Surely too much swinging? Joggling about? Claudia’s heart leapt into her mouth. Janus, the saddle’s come loose! Dare she let go of the reins to windmill for help with one hand? What could she lose? Praying to Apollo, who steers his fiery chariot through the heavens, she gripped the reins with her right hand and signalled frantically with her left. All that happened was the silly sod behind waved back. Sweet Juno! She grabbed hold of the reins with both hands. Did that idiot think she’s having fun? The saddle was swinging wildly, tossing her from side to side. To her left, trees passed below in a blur, calling, beckoning, offering the same fate which befell the pack horses.

‘Whoa!’

Holy Mars, help me in this! She jerked on reins, but too late she realized she’d pulled them too hard. The pony stopped up short. Oh, no! Sweet Juno, oh please, no. Keep me upright.

But the momentum was too great. Claudia felt herself thrown from the horse. The edge loomed towards her. She cried out. Flailed her arms. But there was nothing to grip.

Calling a man’s name as the blackness engulfed her, Claudia spun headlong into the void.

XXIV

Far from the gentle ferry ride she’d always imagined, Claudia hit the Underworld with a bone-crunching jolt. And it didn’t let up there. The force with which she landed propelled her onwards in an ungainly lumpy bumpy roll until she came to a full stop against a solid wall.

Some welcome.

Slowly she opened her eyes in the darkness. ‘Pttth.’ She spat out a leaf. Leaf? Dizzy, she looked around. Yes, leaves. Loads of them. Maple leaves, too. A long, long way in the distance, someone was calling her name. A baritone voice.

‘Marcus?’

‘Claudia?’ The voice echoed. ‘Claudia-a-ah. Can you hear-eer-eer me?’

I’m not dead? She sat up, and pain shot through her body. That sealed it. Ghosts don’t bruise, ghosts don’t bleed, ghosts don’t hurt like buggery. So if I’m alive, what happened? What is this? She shook her head and far from the giddiness passing, her vision blurred. Steady, she thought, steady, now. Let’s work this thing through. What do I remember? Galloping down the path laughing, feeling the wind in my face. Then the saddle worked loose and I tumbled over the edge. Right. And the fact that all I have are cuts and grazes means I didn’t fall far, simply fast. With the return of normal vision came fragments of a picture, which she slowly pieced together. Light was dim, but not too dim to see a scattering of twigs and leaves from the maple tree that had broken her fall, and the narrow ledge she had landed on. The rock all round her suggested she’d rolled into a shallow cave. She sniffed. Some wild animal’s den, by the stench. Idly she wondered what ran through its mind, this fox or wolf or whatever, snoozing lazily before it set off for a good night’s hunting, only to be shocked into wakefulness by a human catapult! Well, that’s the way to make an entrance. Some girls have it, others don’t.

‘Marcus Cornelius,’ she yelled through cupped hands, ‘are you going to get me out of here or not?’

‘Claudia?’ The echo came back as though cracked with emotion, but that was silly. It was more likely the acoustics in this smelly lair, she thought, and wondered why she was crying.

‘You know anyone else down here?’ she bawled back.

‘Only a few nodding acquaintances. Now whatever else you do, don’t move. We can see where you are, but it’s too dangerous for you to try and climb up.’

Really? On her knees, Claudia scrabbled to the ledge and peered. Janus! Talk about a yawning chasm. Dizzy again, she pulled back into the cave. ‘How—?’ Someone had wedged a block of wood over her larynx. Only a faint croak came out, but that didn’t matter, because clearly he was reading her mind.

‘Sit tight,’ he called. ‘We’re sending someone down on a rope.’

‘Take your time,’ she shouted back. ‘There’s quite a picnic down here.’

Grimacing, she kicked the assortment of bones aside, flesh and fur still clinging in many instances, and tried not to imagine what they’d been attached to.

Hours seemed to pass before she heard a crackling of branches coupled with masculine grunts and groans. Finally a pair of boots appeared. With hobnails on the soles. Theodorus swung himself into the cave.

‘Theodorus, am I glad to see you.’

His boyish grin made him look all of seventeen. ‘All the girls say that.’ He laughed, and then his face sobered and he was Augustus’s soldier again. ‘Are you all right?’

‘No bones broken.’ Only my dignity.

‘You were lucky,’ he said, untying the rope round his waist. ‘Damned lucky. Another inch and… What the hell
happened
up there?’

‘A heady cocktail of inexperience and cockiness,’ she confessed. ‘As a result, the saddle worked loose and I thought I’d see for myself what it felt like to be Pegasus.’

‘Pegasus was a flying horse,’ Theo pointed out, looping the rope around Claudia and then round himself, ‘not a flying rider.’

‘See what I mean by inexperience?’

‘Well, this next part will be something of an experience for us both,’ he said, shuffling out on to the shelf. ‘Ready?’ ‘What girl wouldn’t be, tied face to face with a soldier in uniform?’

With painstaking slowness, the pair were winched up through the trees, helpless against branches which bumped against their limbs, bark which grazed their skin, although Claudia barely noticed. It was all she could do not to look down. Theo was right. Another inch and she’d have been puree in that river a hundred feet below.

‘Nearly there,’ Theo grunted, and for both of them, it was not a moment too soon when strong hands grabbed hold and hauled them back to safety. Hanno slung a horse blanket over her and she wanted to say she didn’t need it, only her teeth were clattering like castanets and nothing came out.

‘That, young lady,’ the old muleteer cackled, ‘is the most extreme case of one-upmanship I’ve ever had the privilege to see.’

‘W-one w-what?’

‘Arcas loses three horses, but you have to go one better.’ Hanno let out his dirty wheeze of a laugh. ‘Mind, you’d never see him whingeing like young Theo there, I’ll wager.’

The soldier was complaining because his skin had been ripped to shreds through the canopy.

‘Reckon that’s how he earned himself his nickname. Just like the animal, you won’t find a trace of self-pity in our silver-haired fox.’ He paused and let out another lewd chuckle. ‘But then, you won’t find compassion, either.’

Arcas was sneering, telling Theo he didn’t need bandages for a few superficial cuts, he was a soldier, for gods’ sake, where’s his backbone? Now they’d wasted enough time, it would be dark in an hour, and if they wanted to camp in any degree of safety, they must cross the Serpent’s back, so let’s get a bloody move on. He looped the rope round his arm and threw it over the pack mule.

‘And as for you.’ Arcas shot a broad wink at Claudia. ‘You’ve had your share of attention-seeking for one day, you’d best ride Hanno’s mule to Vesontio. That cantanker
ous
old
sod
makes your average elephant look sprightly.’

‘I hope he’s talking about my horse,’ Hanno said, gurning up his toothless lips, and everybody laughed, and the procession set off once again, with Arcas on foot and Theo astride the leading horse. Junius had given his mount to the wizened muleteer, but not, Claudia suspected, out of a sense of altruism, more because he wanted to show everyone what stuff Gauls (Celts!) were made of.

‘Promise me you won’t pull a stunt like that on our honeymoon,’ Orbilio remarked, reining in beside her once they were over the peak of Serpent Point and the path had broadened out. ‘In my opinion, a woman ought only be widowed once during her lifetime.’

‘Hey, it was me who nearly died, remember?’

‘I’m not so sure about that,’ he rasped, and now she peered closely he did look rather haggard. Maybe the rope he’d helped haul on had slipped? Then again, maybe it was because twilight had all but faded and the dusk was playing tricks.

‘If it’s any consolation to you, Marcus Cornelius, I’ve learned my lesson when it comes to cavalry action.’ The worst that can befall you travelling in a litter is being tipped sideways into a steaming pile of doggy-do. ‘I’ve told you before. The only sensible thing to be placed on a horse is a bet, and from now on, I’m sticking with that philosophy.’

‘Don’t be too harsh on saddles,’ he said. ‘In future, Claudia—’ His hand flashed out and closed over hers. ‘Check the girth.’

Like a tree struck by lightning, Claudia felt a surge right down to her toes. ‘Why?’ she asked slowly. His hand wasn’t covering hers as a lover’s would. His strong fingers squeezed out a warning…

‘Oh, sweet Janus.’ There was no need to answer the question. She knew from the jut of his chin, the tight twist of his mouth.

Claudia’s saddle strap had been cut.

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.’