Marilyn Todd - Black Salamander

Terrific.

Two more hours passed. It got dark. She got hungry. No Ecba.

They picked up food from the wharves-hot spicy sausage, crumbly bread-then sauntered back to the lofty building marked with the black salamander. In this light, it looked sinister and menacing, as it twisted and slithered over the doorway.

‘Ecba? Ah.’ An inebriate sailor grinned, sprawled over the top step. ‘Yah.’

‘You know him?’

‘Ecba?’ The grin broadened. ‘Nah.’

Four hours had passed in total. Night had fallen, but the industry along the riverbank had not. Watermen still bustled about, porters balanced boxes, bales and hides. No one here had ever heard of Ecba, but then slave dealers were unpopular everywhere. Even if he was drinking in the tavern behind them, the dock labourers’ lips would stay tight.

By the wee small hours, Claudia had had it up to here with fishy smells and oxen, bad breath and oily fleeces. She would simply have to wait until morning to conduct her business with Ecba. But now, returning to her room, there were faint shufflings on the landing. Had whoever set out to follow her been waiting?

Sorry, buster. Claudia pulled out her little knife from the folds of her gown. Can’t hang around for you to make the first move. Now let’s see what you’re made of-silently, she eased open her door.

‘I love you.’

What?

Blinking in the blackness, Claudia wondered whether she was hearing things.

‘You must believe that, my darling.’ The voice was harsh and whispered, and came from two doors along. Whose room was that? ‘I can’t live without you.’

A crack of light appeared on the polished wooden floor, like a glowing golden poker.

‘All my lovers say that,’ a woman’s voice trilled.

‘Don’t! Don’t torment me like this.’ The gruff tones of the astrologer were unmistakable.

‘Oh, but it’s true.’ The girl let out a flirtatious giggle. ‘The oil merchant I hooked up with while you took your silly little detour, he said he loved me, as well.’

‘Well, I’m the only one who’s ever meant it,’ Volso rasped. ‘Can you imagine what it was like, without you this past week? Wanting you? Wanting to touch you, taste you, feel your arms around me? It was agony. Absolute agony.’

‘Good.’ The door swung wider and his female visitor skipped across the threshold, licking her finger to smooth the line of her brow with one hand and veiling her face with the other. ‘Maybe next time I’ll make you wait longer.’

‘No!’ Volso lunged and pulled her back, his hungry hands surging over her body. ‘I can’t live without you, you know that. Not another day. Janus, you drive me wild!’ For a count of thirty his lips noisily plundered hers before the girl broke free and ran, laughing, towards the stairs. At the top she paused, turned and blew him a kiss, then with a giggle and a fluttering of long, slim fingers, she skipped down the stairs.

Astonished, Claudia continued to watch as Volso, groaning, clicked his door shut. The glass-blower was right. You are a dark horse, she thought, and through the slit of her door, turned her eyes towards the girl. What a vixen. Clearly promiscuous, probably preys on lonely, unattractive men like Volso purely for the power she wields over them. Claudia frowned. Why, though, was she stopping halfway down the stairs? A dainty hand lifted the statuette out of its socket, and even in the darkness, she could see the flash of amber on the girl’s forefinger. What a lump it was, too! The size of an ostrich egg. Did Volso buy her that? The other hand was hidden, and Claudia realized it was fishing around in the hole she’d just raided. In the darkness, her lips twitched. Sorry, love. Beat you to it.

‘Bastard!’ The girl spun round and flounced back up the stairs. ‘Volso!’ She battered on his door. ‘Volso, you bastard, open up.’

‘Ssssssh.’ The urgency in his whisper was palpable. ‘Keep your voice down, my love. What’s the matter?’

‘Matter, you thieving bastard? I want my money, that’s what’s the matter.’

Smothering her mouth with her hand, Claudia stifled a laugh. So that’s Volso’s little dreamboat, his siren, his beloved? A common whore. He leaves the money-phew, some payment-rather than hand it over personally, no doubt it makes him feel ‘cleaner’ that way. Maybe he can even delude himself into believing that this nubile coquette actually wants him for his own sake.

A faint ray of pity limped its way across to the lonely, ugly astrologer.

‘I d-don’t understand,’ he stammered. ‘I left it where you told me to. Under the statue.’

‘Well, it’s not there now,’ she hissed, no longer the flirt, but the hard, mercenary whore. The veil had tipped back, to reveal a sheet of glossy black hair which shimmered by the light of the single lamp from Volso’s room, and Claudia could see other things, too, the earstud which glittered with a giant emerald, the kohl-rimmed eyes and bright red carmined lips, and the fact that Volso’s lover was barely past the age of puberty Suddenly, Claudia’s heart constricted. So young. So very, very young to be peddling your flesh to old men. Salty water filled her eyes. Far too young to be wise in the ways of obsessing men with your rare and tender beauty. Far too young to have a score of lovers, teasing, taunting, manipulating their fractured emotions as you play one off against the other.

Sweet Jupiter. Claudia swallowed in the darkness. Give it up. While you can. Get out now. You’re far too young to make middle-aged men clamour and compete for your fidelity, knowing inside-as they do-that as surely as the sun will rise in the east, you will leave them and move on.

The girl moved and the lamplight showed Volso’s whore in cruel clarity. Shit! His lover was not female at all. It was a youth. Dressed in women’s clothes.

‘Claudia, wake up, wake up!’ A thousand pans clattered against each other in Claudia’s ear, each one greased with oil of oregano. ‘The procession kicks off in less than an hour!’

Shutters were flung wide, filling the room with a burst of unwelcome light and under the counterpane, Claudia groaned. ‘Iliona?’

‘That’s me. Now hurry up or you’ll miss it.’

‘Miss what?’

Iliona plumped down on the end of Claudia’s couch. ‘The parade to be held in our honour. Didn’t Junius tell you? We gave him the message over two hours ago.’

Claudia sat up and ran a comb through her hair, wincing at the tangles. ‘No Junius, no message,’ she said lightly, while inside a solid ball of concrete formed.

‘You mean you haven’t even been shopping?’ Iliona was appalled. ‘What will you wear?’ Her hands delved into Claudia’s pack, but before they’d closed round the first wrap, Claudia pulled them away.

‘I picked up a few gowns yesterday,’ she said, pointing towards the clothes’ chest and hoping her voice wasn’t as cold as she suspected it might be.

‘Clever you.’ Iliona darted across and lifted the lid, pulling out all colours of the rainbow, and either she was a consummate actress, or she was genuinely interested in Claudia’s wardrobe. ‘Oh, my! What a wonderful colour. Aquamarine. Do wear that,’ she cried. ‘It will complement your curls and dark hair right down to the ground. Now I must fly. See you in the Forum, don’t be late!’

With a silvery jingle, Iliona danced out of the room, her anklets gleaming in the morning light, her divided skirt billowing out in a cloud of deep lavender, the beads on her pale lilac bodice clicking as she ran, proving once again that she was a one-woman show in herself.

Buckling down the straps on the pack that those long Cretan fingers had explored, Claudia reminded herself, not for the first time, that whoever had sabotaged the delegation, arranged the landslide, killed Libo and Nestor, as well as Gemma’s parents and the lyre-maker, not to mention cutting through a certain saddle strap had only been able to do so because they had remained at all times above suspicion. Iliona?