Marilyn Todd - Black Salamander

Not in retaining their traditional dress. Stiff leather jerkins, for instance, kept out the rain, wind and snow, and the low buildings roofed with wheat thatch were designed not for style but to repel their worst enemy, the long and rigorous winters. Fair enough. But what she could not understand was their refusal to accept technological change. Why keep the old horse collar, for instance? Not only hard on the poor old horse, with its windpipe so severely constricted, but from a practical point of view, it cut down on efficiency. And why stick with the old-fashioned and highly ineffectual ard, when a modern plough can turn the soil over instead of just making a furrow?

Considering Sequani metalworkers were some of the best in the Empire, churning out the most amazing filigree, and Gaulish boatmen had invented craft suited only to the Doubs, the Rhine, the Rhone, yet which, if required, could actually be seaworthy when fitted with sails, well, all this smacked of…

‘It occurs to me,’ Claudia said, ducking underneath a pair of green-striped pantaloons, ‘that the Sequani are sorely oppressed.’ She outlined her reasons, but far from scoffing, Orbilio nodded slowly.

‘The king is a good man,’ he said. ‘Not for nothing has he been awarded the title ‘Brother of the People’ by the Senate, he is a good ally to Rome, he understands the importance of the two nations working together in peace. It was his father, remember, the old king, who asked for our help in the first place, after his disastrous fight for the Auverne.’

Although this took place long before Claudia was born, who didn’t know the history, and whenever a schoolmaster needed to define the word irony to his class, he’d cite the Sequani. In an attempt to annex the Auverne, what was then a hostile, anti-Roman tribe called in more and more German mercenaries until they found they’d bitten off more than they could chew. The German army was suddenly larger than the Sequani’s, and now it was their turn to face annihilation. In desperation they turned to Rome and pleaded submission.

‘Why keep his people down, though?’

‘You’re assuming this is the king’s doing,’ Orbilio said. ‘This smacks of behind-the-scenes trickery by nefarious generals, cousins, nephews. You see, I have a nasty feeling about the Sequani. I think this cauldron has been boiling for a long, long time, and I don’t believe the Spider is merely grasping the moment. The men who came after us were trained warriors.’

Visions flashed through Claudia’s memory. The bloodcurdling yells. The pointed lances. The chain mail, and banners. Scarlet and gold.

And just where was her bodyguard? Would he really have upped and left without a word? It was, she acknowledged, a real possibility.

‘How come you never heard a whisper?’ she asked. After all, if several thousand men had been in training over the years…?

‘Suppose I say “wicker man”?’ he shot back. ‘The power of the Druids is absolute, far stronger than the king’s. Druids are not priests in the sense we understand the word. Admittedly, they take omens and,’ he grimaced, ‘sacrifice, but first and foremost their word is law. If sedition comes via the guild of Druids, you can bet your boots it will remain secret.’

Fear of retribution would see to that. Claudia’s teeth began to chatter. Suddenly this city-no, this entire province-seemed altogether sinister and menacing and every unnamed terror she’d experienced trapped in the valley flooded back. Most of all, a feeling of impending doom ‘I’ll tell you what I think,’ Marcus growled. ‘I think Remi was stitched up tighter than a kipper.’ He began to rotate the figure-of-eight ring around his little finger and Claudia saw there were tears in his eyes. ‘Maybe the chieftain’s son was after her plot of land, maybe she rebuffed his advances, maybe she was simply unlucky, I have no idea-but that girl was set up from the start. All along we’d been fed these drip-drip-drips of information, an uprising here, an uprising there, it was very deliberate rumour-mongering, very clever. Then someone wanted to up the stakes.’

‘And so they set up Remi.’ Claudia thought of a girl she’d never met, a redheaded firebrand, newly widowed, with two tiny children to raise, leaping at the chance for extra money and taking on absolute trust the word of the chieftain’s son.

‘Yes.’ His voice was a harsh whisper. ‘They set up Remi, bait for us Romans, and we fell hook, line and sinker. The Treveri played their part to the full, ensuring our legions were moved to shore up the holes, while the Helvetii wait quietly in the wings for their turn. Throughout this plot there’s been double-cross upon double-cross and it’s not over yet. The Spider is behind it, I can smell it.’

‘ The Spider? Oh, come on, we’d never heard of him until a couple of days ago, and then it was only as a band of enthusiastic headhunters. You’ve been sniffing the hemp seeds again. It’s Galba, Orbilio. Galba who’s masterminding the plot to assassinate the Emperor.’

They were close to the Forum by now, and he drew her under the awning of a bronzesmith’s.

‘That’s not the point,’ he said. ‘Galba hires the Treveri and the Helvetii, right? He plans to kill Augustus and his loyal followers on one particular night, taking advantage of the fact that the Treveri have kept the legions occupied in the north so that the Helvetii can swoop down on Rome. Hey presto, a new Republic is born. Except that very quickly, both tribes will realize that the gold he promised them is not forthcoming. Before they can regroup, though, Galba will set the entire might of Rome on them, and I tell you, Claudia, the Spider knows this. He’s known from the very beginning.’

‘So?’ Claudia shrugged. ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t sent a courier back to the Head of the Security Police, because I won’t believe you.’

‘Of course I’ve sent the message,’ Orbilio said, and there was an added note of urgency in his voice. ‘That’s not the point. The point is, Ecba has been murdered. Don’t you see what that means?’

Um…

‘Ecba was liaising between Galba and the tribes,’ he said. ‘We know that because of the salamander connection-’

‘Just as a matter of interest, Hotshot, how did you know about Ecba?’

‘Didn’t I tell you?’ he grinned. ‘Well, lacking the cooperation of a certain courier-’

‘Don’t look at me like that.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like that.’

‘I’m merely recounting events,’ he said airily. ‘How Marcus Cornelius was forced to apply lateral thinking. Start from the other end, as it were. Ask around about the seal of the salamander, and ho, ho, ho! Ecba’s name came up, because Ecba-surprise, surprise-has not only been supplying the good senator with slaves for many years, he is well-known for not asking questions. For instance, he never queries where his merchandise comes from. Which is mainly Scandinavia, by the way.’

‘Ugh.’

‘Universally despised, are slave dealers. The perfect choice for a middleman. Anyway, there’s Marcus Cornelius, hanging around the warehouse as the herald calls three in the morning, when who comes along? None other than our cheerful companion, the glass-blower, unfortunately denied admission by the simple expedient of a locked door. This sets your intrepid hero thinking-or more accurately, putting his manly shoulder to the door.’

‘Whereupon he instantly slips in a pool of Ecba’s blood and thinks, goody, another case to solve, polish that seat in the Senate, boys, politics here I come.’

‘Is it, though?’ he asked, with a flighty twitch of his eyebrows.

‘You have “ambition” tattooed on your forehead.’

‘Not politics. I meant, is it another case to solve-or simply a continuation of the first? We already have one lyre-maker dead, Libo the undercover agent, Nestor, the brick-maker and his wife, not to mention an attempt on your own life-’