Marilyn Todd - Black Salamander

They weren’t a bad-looking couple, she thought. They weren’t even bad. Just mismatched. Grown apart. Neither finding support from the other and filling the vacuum the best they could. She with her snobbery, he with his hypochondria.

‘I wish he’d spend less time with that wretched human fountain,’ Maria sniffed, right on cue, ‘and cultivate the company of a merchant like Titus instead. He looks to have his wits about him.’

More than that, he looked to have his hand on Iliona’s bottom!

‘Gemma’s parents have let her down badly,’ Claudia said. The brick-maker kept mumbling over and over that he couldn’t go on, he wanted to die, those lambs were the very last straw. ‘They’ve all but gone to pieces, Gemma’s simply looking for a father figure.’

Maria cast a critical eye over the girl’s lumpy frame. ‘She’s already got one,’ she said.

Claudia’s head was throbbing, and not from the ride. Vigilance, she thought, is taking its toll, I am on my guard all the time. Could Was Dexter the traitor? Maria? Titus? Iliona?? You cannot rule out one half of a couple, because while the killer’s success hinged on working alone, a spouse gave an excellent alibi. Not, she felt, that the other party would be aware they were married to a murderer. Both Titus and Iliona would be doing this for the other, while in the case of Maria and Dexter, separate ambitions would carry them forward. As to those travel ling alone, well, there was Volso-what price being acknowledged the Dictator’s astrologer? Oh, the fame! The accolades! Clemens’ target was the most influential post in the priesthood. Hanno could expect to run the commercial stabling side of the new Republic in return. Theo’s military training could have him heading the Praetorian Guard, promoted to general, maybe even given a province to run.

Then there was the glass-blower, the slipper-maker, the drivers to consider, the other tradesmen and their women travelling with them. Cliques had formed, even in a group as small as this, Claudia couldn’t befriend them all… She rubbed her aching head and wished she’d never seen that wretched salamander seal.

When they reached the river Arcas said that, for safety, they must follow where it wound round the canyon. The sky was beginning to break up, faint patches of blue appeared and disappeared, but it was sufficient to turn a dull brown ribbon of water into a stream bejewelled with silver and blue lapis lazuli, diamonds and emeralds and pearls. They stopped for lunch, the woodsman’s own smoked hams and great, flat cheeses wrapped in fir bark-not the heavy, crinkly parts, but the papery insides after the outer layer had been stripped off, leaving everyone to remember that nothing was ever wasted in this country. Swallows dipped and dived for midges, kites mewed and made circles above. The lowing of the cattle drifted on the gentle breeze, which brought with it the scent of thyme and yellow gentian.

Sluicing her hands and face in the clear mountain stream, Claudia turned to find herself staring into the tall boots and russet coloured pantaloons of their guide. From here she could see the intricate engraving on his sword-the product of sophisticated granulating and acid techniques, showing the tree of life between two rearing ibexes. The reason she could see them, standing so completely tall and still, was because he happened to be leaning on the weapon at the time.

‘Do you always serve lunch off the hilt of your sword?’ she asked. There was a sweet, sharp, almost fiery smell about him, which at first she could not place. Then it came to her. Mushrooms. Dried boletus mushrooms, carried in a pouch hung round his waist.

‘I’ll give you some advice,’ Arcas said, squinting into the distance. ‘Not that you, of all of them, need it, but I’ll tell it to you, anyway. Trust no one,’ he said. ‘Hear me? Trust nobody.’ He turned and flashed her a grin, the first she’d seen. ‘But as I say, you already know that, as does he.’ He jerked a thumb in the direction of Orbilio, nuzzling one of Arcas’s stock red horses. ‘Now I suggest we pack up and get going.’ She heard him suck in his breath as he sheathed his heavy weapon. ‘Very, very fast.’

‘Wh…?’ The question died on Claudia’s lips.

In the distance, a hoarde of shiny insects shimmered over the open green pastureland. The insects rode in war chariots, gesticulating wildly, the erratic sunlight glinting off their bronze armour and their broadswords, brandished high.

The armoured war band were closing that distance with alarming speed.

‘If you all do exactly as I tell you, we can survive this attack,’ Arcas said. There was an urgency in his voice, but the tone remained level, pitched to carry over the screaming which had broken out. A pulse throbbed in his throat, at the point where his roped metal torque ended in a golden globe.

Beads of sweat had broken out on Theo’s pale face and a quick calculation between the approaching war band and the Silver Fox told him it would be wise for him to listen to Arcas. He shot a contemptuous glance at Orbilio, because the patrician had already worked that out for himself.

‘All of you, start running. GO!’ He pointed deep into the woods on the far side of the stream, then turned to Marcus. ‘Fifty paces in you’ll come to a sacred oak marked with masks and votive offerings.’ He spoke quickly, keeping his gaze on the approaching warriors. ‘Bear left once you’re past it, to the wild pear tree, then turn right. There’s an animal track which leads towards the rock face, follow that up to the overhang of stone, huddle in there out of sight and for gods’ sake, keep them quiet.’ As an afterthought he added, ‘Good luck.’

Without waiting to watch Orbilio usher the panic-stricken travellers over the river, Arcas grabbed hold of Theo’s arm. ‘You stay with me,’ he ordered, stringing the horses together. ‘And you, too, old man, I need your horsemanship. Together we’ll lead these buggers such a dance, it’ll rip the wheels off their chariots.’

‘Hanno’s too frail,’ Orbilio protested. ‘Titus, did you catch the directions?’ The spice merchant nodded. ‘Good. Then you lead them up to the overhang, and take Hanno with you.’ His face defied Arcas to challenge his authority, but the Silver Fox was already pulling Maria’s tunics out of her bag and tying the sleeves to the pack mules.

‘They’ll see us gallop off, they’ll see these colours,’ he panted, ‘with luck, they’ll think we’re making a run for it together.’

Leaping into the saddle, he dug his spurs into the little red stallion, who shot off as though it had been scalded, his hooves sending up great splashes of water, and by the time the last of the train was across the stream, Maria’s tunics flying from its rump like naval pennants, the fleeing pedestrians had disappeared deep into the woods.

Long before the rest of the party had reached the wild pear, they could hear the thunder of the hooves, the clatter of the chariots, the harsh yells of the warriors and remembered what travellers and historians reported-that the Gauls, like the Germans and Scandinavian tribes, used bloodcurdling howls to unnerve the enemy as they charged down. Today they understood for themselves that, as a technique of war, it worked bloody well. High-pitched and ululating, it sent shivers down the spine and froze every artery solid.

Hoping, praying, the others were safe, Orbilio glanced over his shoulder and noted with horror how much ground the war band had gained. Too clearly for comfort, he could see flashes of red and of gold. Riches through blood… The chariots were primitive, he thought, but by Croesus, they were fast. Two wheels, two ponies, two men, it made them light and agile-but only on flat ground. To save the group, Arcas had despatched them to the nearest place to shelter and was relying on a diversion, which, in order to succeed, entailed racing through the valley for as long as he could before the war party could see that the tunics had no bodies in them and then riding hard up the mountainside and over the crest where the pursuers couldn’t follow, except on foot, which would not be fast enough.