Marilyn Todd - Black Salamander

‘Volso’s, my dear.’

‘If you say so. Anyway, Ecba has been eliminated and suddenly I’m reminded of the game I used to play as a boy.’

‘Losing your marbles?’

‘Musical stools.’ The twinkle in his dancing eyes died. ‘Last one standing is the winner. Claudia-’

He steered her away from the ears of the curious bronzesmith to the south side of the Forum. Tiered seating had been set up along the eastern and western sides, fronting the new basilica on one side and the Temple of Jupiter on the other. Maria was right next to the governor’s box.

‘Ecba’s job,’ Marcus said, ‘was to collect the pieces of the map and pass them on. He would not be privy to the information that certain portions would “accidentally” go missing during the course of the journey, therefore his role was, although distasteful, at least an innocent one. So who killed him?’

‘You tell me.’

‘I wish I could, but Ecba’s murder makes no sense. Neither side wants him dead, it’s not in either of their interests, any betrayal of trust.’

‘You said yourself this was one double-cross after another.’

‘But not yet,’ Marcus stressed. ‘From Galba’s point of view, it’s vital his middleman passes on as many pieces as he can, evidence of good faith and all that. From the rebel point of view, they’re clearly expecting a full set and couldn’t possibly know, it’s too soon, that several pieces are missing. The couriers have barely set foot in Vesontio. Therefore I ask again, who killed Ecba, if not a third party?’

‘Marcus, Marcus, Marcus.’ Claudia was pleased with the restraint she was able to show. ‘Granted our arachnid friend is a third party, but I don’t see how killing the middleman advances his cause. You’re trying to fit together pieces which are simply not meant to fit, so why don’t you abandon matchmaking for a while and ask yourself the question, not who killed the slave dealer, but why?’

‘I couldn’t agree more,’ he said cheerfully, and Claudia had a horrid suspicion he’d been working up to this all along. ‘And to reach a suitable answer, first we need to establish who among our party was the agent in Galba’s employ.’

‘I don’t much care for the “we” part of that.’

Crossing the open space of the Forum, she had the feeling hundreds of eyes could see the word ‘Sucker’ stuck on her back.

‘Can’t hear you.’ Marcus grinned. ‘For the elephant trumpeting.’ With a theatrical flourish, he offered her his arm. ‘Now then, milady, shall we take our seats for the show?’

Of the many fictions maintained, the one which informs us that class plays no part in modern-day living must be the largest. Or, if not, at least the cause of most mirth. Marcus Cornelius Orbilio, as befitted his aristocratic status, had been assigned a seat in the governor’s box, sending Maria’s eyes whizzing out of their sockets as it dawned on her that it was not Titus she should have been shoving her husband closer towards, but the designer of mosaic floors. The poor woman almost fell off her cushion when, after a muted exchange with the governor, Marcus excused himself, to park amongst the rest of the delayed delegation.

‘That’s breeding for you,’ she whispered to Dexter. ‘Refusing a seat in the imperial box. You be sure you sit next to him at the banquet tonight. Dexter, are you listening to me?’

‘My throat’s sore and the glands are right up.’

‘Never mind that.’ Maria turned and fluttered her fingers in Orbilio’s direction. ‘Marcus has contacts in all the right places, and if you play it right this evening, we might be talking of premises not just in Rome and Vesontio, but maybe Naples, Massilia, Byzantium. And for goodness sake, will you stop fussing over that lumpy tradesman’s daughter.’

‘Gemma is a sweet girl,’ Dexter protested. ‘Only yesterday she fetched some ointment for my big toe and this morning she paid a special visit to the herbalist to get a salve for my throat.’ He flashed a proprietorial smile over Gemma’s head. ‘The way she follows me around,’ he said, ‘she’s like a puppy.’

Maria’s lip curled. ‘Perfect training, then, for the dog she’s growing into!’

To a blast on silver trumpets, a procession of pure white horses entered the Forum, caparisoned in gold and silver and blue, their riders performing daredevil stunts-handstands, backflips and somersaults-on the backs of their dancing, prancing mounts. Musicians followed. Then tumblers, jugglers, acrobats. African dancers in skimpy feather costumes. Monkeys dressed up as cavalrymen and riding on black goats filled the Forum with laughter, and it looked like summer was about to join the festivities. The sun was breaking through at last, great chunks of blue sky pushing out the clouds.

‘Give me one good reason why I don’t post a bulletin to have your bodyguard arrested.’

Dear Diana, she knew Orbilio didn’t like the boy, but this was ridiculous. Briefly Claudia speculated whether there was a deeper motive behind his wanting Junius out of the way. From the corner of her eye, she watched him applauding the clowns. Now where did you get that idea from? Silly bitch. What makes you think he’d be jealous? Look at him. Not a care in the world. Sows oats faster than a farmer in November, different women every week. She wondered why that should cause a knot in her stomach.

‘Orbilio, let me give you three,’ Claudia said sharply.

‘One: Junius is no back-stabber. If he wanted to kill someone, he’d do it face to face.’ Where the hell had that boy disappeared to? Why take his pack? ‘Two: he has nothing to gain from working for Galba, since he’s not only a foreigner, but a slave to boot. Neither has a place in any fancy Republic, therefore it’s a Roman you’re after, not a Gaul. And thirdly,’ she leaned her face so close to his, she could smell the sweetness of his breath, ‘at the time Nestor got himself murdered, Junius’s body was pressed tight against mine.’ She counted to three. Let him take the bones out of that. ‘Are my points clear?’

Orbilio’s face darkened. ‘Extremely,’ he croaked, and his gaze remained fixed on the mock gladiators, the polished steel of their swords glinting in the sunlight, the clash of weapons reverberating round the Forum. There were net fighters, with daggers and vicious tridents. Small-shield men-bucklers-with their sickle-shaped blades. Big-shield fighters, with short swords and visors. Orbilio kept his eye on them all. Unblinking. Swallowing hard. Only when the last pair of lumbering armadillos had passed, their heavy swords clanging against one another’s gleaming armour, did he venture to speak. ‘We’d best run through the list, then.’

Dammit. Claudia’s fists clenched in her lap. His voice was level, he hadn’t even taken his eye off the parade. Silly cow, imagining he felt anything. That’ll teach you to try and incite the little green monster-serves you bloody well right.

‘What list?’ she asked, and he pressed his thumbs to the bridge of his nose. Her voice was airy. the toss of her head light. Mother of Tarquin, didn’t she know? Could she not read the signs? Or was she too busy pressing her body to that sly Gaulish bastard’s?

‘The lost delegation,’ he said evenly, part of him proud of his self-control, ‘starting with…well, how about our jolly astrologer? You told me he was hot as mustard with regard to the convoy remaining in the valley and, remember, the whole tactic was to delay their arrival as long as possible.’

‘Volso was a courier,’ Claudia admitted, not bothering to clap the giraffe, the camel and the elephant. Curiosities they might be in Vesontio, they were staler than pie crusts to her. ‘Clearly our Salamander invested a considerable amount of time and effort in identifying suitable carriers,’ she said. Men and women whose greed and ambition would override any scruples. She twisted uncomfortably in her seat and put it down to the hot summer sun. ‘In Volso’s case, his reward was probably a lovenest with his little transvestite whore plus sufficient funds to buy his (her?) fidelity.’