Marilyn Todd - Scorpion Rising

His mistake, she thought, was to trust anybody. A smile played at the corner of her lips as the kernel of an idea began to form. The Scorpion had an ego, that went without saying. He had enormous belief in himself. To some extent, he was right to be proud of that achievement, and despite the circumstances, she had to admire the way he'd befriended her, a Roman in a closed Gaulish society, in a manner that was neither gushing nor overt but nevertheless ensured that, when crisis called, she had nowhere else to turn. But trust. That was the key Flinging open the door of her bedchamber, a giant bat shot up in the air. It took a full second before she realized that it was nothing more than a black robe with its shadow exaggerated by candlelight. Ailm straightened up from where she'd been bent forward over the table.

'Did I startle you?'

Straightened up? Claudia snatched the tablet out of her hand and scanned the words etched in the wax.

Are your clerks fingers still in your money box?

The 'x' was missing, but if proof was needed that Ailm was the author, the stylus was still in her hand. Dear god! Claudia stared at the woman. As the priestess responsible for death on the pentagram, that was all she had to do! No month fell under her special protection. She had no complicated bird life or animal behaviour to observe. No elements to keep track of and make meticulous records. Ailm's role was purely and simply to monitor the yew. A tree hardly renowned for its quick-changing properties!

'Sarra's not cold and you still write these venomous lies?' No wonder they were called poison pen.

'They're not lies,' Ailm snapped. 'People have a right to know what's happening around them. I simply alert them to the truth.'

' Truth? You told a pregnant woman that her loving, faithful husband was having an affair!'

'Don't tell me you don't know what men are like when they can't service their wives!' Ailm's eyes were hostile slits. 'They're animals, the lot of them, so they go looking elsewhere! That, my girl, is what men do.'

Hell hath no fury like a pentagram priestess scorned. Claudia had Fearn in mind when she first coined the phrase, but it looked like Ailm had also fallen in love and found it to be unrequited.

It was no excuse for what she did.

'What about the fisherman's widow who received a note at her husband's funeral, telling her that it was his drunkenness brought about his death?'

'What else could have made a small fishing boat capsize at sea?' Contrition wasn't one of the death priestess's virtues. 'People don't like to hear the truth, that's the trouble.'

'Really? What about this, then?' Claudia pushed the writing tablet in Ailm's face. 'Tell me where there's one single scrap of truth in this poison, because my clerks, I assure you, have no key to my money box.' She would die rather than have them see it was empty. 'Where's the honour in writing that, you poisonous self-centred bitch?'

'How dare you!' Ailm flung the tablet aside. 'You come in here and think you know everything, well you don't. You know nothing!'

'I know you're a vain, lazy cow,' Claudia hissed. 'I know you should be tending to Sarra's soul and saying prayers for her reincarnation, instead of spreading gossip and lies. But you're right, Ailm, I don't know everything. Because I sure as hell don't know how you wangled your way into the Hundred-Handed, though I do know you don't deserve the honour.'

' Oh, really? Then let me tell you this, Miss High-and-Mighty, I should have been Head of this College. Me! I should have been running the place, not that snooty cow, and you know why? She promised. The previous Birch Priestess gave me her word.'

Years of bitterness came tumbling out.

'When she fell ill, she said that in return for the favours I'd done her in the past, she'd take drugs to prolong her illness because at the time the Yew Priestess was also teetering at death's door. But what happens? When push comes to shove, the selfish old bitch didn't even try to hang on. Called me to her bedside, said Beth was the oldest, it was only fair she should take over, and me, I get saddled with the bloody yew.'

The Hundred-Handed don't strike me as the competitive type.

Stick around, Lofty Legs, and you'll see rivalry on every issue great, small and infinitesimal, you wouldn't believe what goes on inside that precinct.

She pictured the College thirteen years ago. Two pentagram priestesses both know they're dying. Two initiates step forward, ready to assume their names and step into their roles. One sees it as duty, the other as entitlement. A reward for being Goody-Two-Shoes. She promised. As the death spirits hover like bees at her bedside, the scales fall from the Birch Priestess's eyes. The initiate that she's been grooming as her successor has shown her true colours at last. She is nothing more than a shallow toady and who knows? Perhaps the priestess even hurries her own death, because she knows in her heart that the head of this order must be disciplined, she must be calm, but above all she must be constant…

'What's the penalty for writing this poison?' Claudia asked.

A sly grin crossed Ailm's exquisitely made-up face. Even in hate she remained beautiful.

'I'd be thrown out of the Hundred-Handed. I would have to work in the kitchens or maybe the bakehouse, and when

I died, my ashes would be scattered to the four winds, instead of spending eternity in a jar in the Cave of Resurrection, and of course my soul would not be reborn as a raven. But please make a note of the grammatical mood. Would is the operative word, my dear Claudia, because none of that will ever come to pass.'

She picked up the writing tablet and held it over the candle, melting her poison away.

'You do see, don't you? There is absolutely no evidence to connect these letters to me, and considering my sisters already believe you to be hysterical and irrational, they'd laugh your theory out of the house.' She smiled smugly. 'Make no mistake, Claudia Seferius. I will continue to tell people the truth.'

Bitch.

And anyway, Ailm was wrong.

Claudia changed into a simple light robe and strapped the stiletto to her inner thigh. Across the valley, the wind howled and whistled. White lightning lit up the sky, and this time it was followed by a loud crash of thunder. The gods were angry. They sought retribution. Claudia had sworn an oath on her mother's life and broken it in the same breath. On Olympus, reprisals beckoned. Fine, she thought wearily. But let's get Marcus out first, eh?

She looked at the notch on the candle marker. It told her that there were over three hours before she met with the Scorpion, and she had no intention of pacing this chamber until midnight. Not when she could use the time to clip the feathers on Ailm's poisonous quill. Toss out that inkwell of spite.

With lightning sparking high overhead, she had no need of a lantern as she slipped out of her room. From the long-houses lining the compound, laments joined the wailing of the wind as branches lashed against roofs. At least others mourned Sarra, if not Ailm, and she wondered how a priestess, one of the decision-makers at that, could be so cold towards one of her own. But Ailm's compassion had expired with Beth's predecessor on a deathbed of promise. Thirteen years of bitterness had turned hot blood to bile.

And there was irony here, Claudia thought, as the first drops of rain started to fall. That she could feel sympathy for the woman who'd been betrayed not once, but twice, and who now saw life only through eyes of betrayal.

Which was not to say Claudia would lose a wink of sleep when the unfeeling bitch was stripped of her status.

'No evidence?' she asked Jupiter, as he shook his thunder cloak overhead. 'We'll bloody well see about that.'

Rain made the path slippery and loosened the stones, but the raindrops were warm and the smell of the earth slammed into her nostrils. She tried not to think of Orbilio down in the pit, water pouring down the channels of stone, cold, wet, in pain and alone.