Marilyn Todd - Black Salamander

‘That’s it, stand on my foot, why don’t you!’ Hanno’s dirty wheeze of a chuckle carried over the hammering. ‘That’s all I need now, to be crippled!’

Everyone laughed along with this whiskery old muleteer, whose teeth had long since said goodbye to his lined, leathery face, and Theo-to his chagrin-blushed as deeply as nature (but not he) intended, mumbling something about narrow passing places and his hobnails not being able to grip properly in this slippery mud. Hanno continued to hop up and down on one leg, clutching his foot, but his heaving shoulders betrayed him. In fact, his whole wizened body shook when he laughed, and you’d hardly believe the redheaded groom who’d died trying to save some of the horses had been his grandson…

‘Psst.’ Junius signalled his mistress away from the party. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said quietly. ‘There’s no going back, that outcrop made a right mess of the hillside, but with my help, you should be able to scramble up to the summit.’ His eyes indicated upwards. ‘I know it’s steep, but with Drusilla on a leash, we ought to make it, then we can zigzag back down again, to pick up the road over there.’ He pointed along the gorge to the path hidden by trees. ‘We might even, if we start soon enough, make that little town we stayed in last night before it gets dark.’

Turn around? ‘No.’

The young Gaul’s jaw dropped in amazement. ‘But madam-’

‘Butts are for Billy goats, Junius, and my decision is final. We are not going back.’

He fumbled to find adequate words. ‘You said yourself, there’s a killer on the loose. We’ve been split from the main body of the trade delegation, deliberately by the looks of it, the route has been sabotaged and I’m far from convinced this is the same road the original convoy would have taken.’

Me too. That’s what first made me suspicious.

‘We’re going on,’ Claudia said. ‘Correction, I’m going on. You, of course, can turn back any time you wish.’

His face drained. ‘Madam! You know I’d never leave you! Not out here-’

‘Then that’s settled. Now be a good boy and lend a hand with the labouring, will you?’ She shooed him away with the back of her hand. ‘There’s a considerable amount of repair work outstanding.’

Dazed, the bodyguard stumbled off and only when she was satisfied that not even a gnat was close enough to see what she was doing did Claudia delve deep down into the satchel which she’d slung round her neck when Junius first told her to jump from the trap. Thoughtfully she weighed the small deerskin pouch in her hand and felt something, as she had felt it many times before, chink softly in the cloth. Gemstones, she presumed. What else? Stolen, in all probability, but that wasn’t her concern. All that mattered was that a man whom she’d never seen before had approached her in her own house and, on behalf of his master, had offered her a place in this prized delegation to Gaul. Then, without so much as a change in voice tone, had calmly added that if Claudia Seferius felt she could convey this package along with her on the journey, the man he worked for would be prepared to purchase last year’s vintage in its entirety.

In its entirety.

Claudia re-buried the pouch in her satchel, her fingertip dancing over the embossed salamander. Such a sum would tide her over for another year, allowing her to become fluent in Greek, learn more about the trade, develop connections, make contacts, who knows, maybe even expand? She had not hesitated, and the following day ten per cent of the promised payment had arrived via a messenger.

However, every enquiry she’d made, discreet as they were, had met with a blank-a dead end every time-leaving her unable to trace this utterly distinctive seal and therefore put a name to the man who was so generous when it came to smuggling. And more than once during the past twelve days, Claudia had wondered why, if these were gemstones in the pouch, the Salamander had covered their cost twice over in his proffered payment to her?

Who cared? Curious it might be, but it was absolutely none of her business. And in spite of the very real dangers which threatened by tagging along with this little group, what spurred Claudia on was the knowledge that, waiting for her in Vesontio, would be another agent.

With the remaining ninety yummy per cent!

Had the crow sufficient stamina, it would discover that by flapping its black shiny wings from Rome to Vesontio it would cover the best part of five hundred miles. Which possibly explained why it preferred to stay at home, preening itself on the rooftop of a modest, white-fronted townhouse on the Esquiline Hill instead.

Its perch overlooked a bedroom whose double doorway faced on to a courtyard, where the scent of white roses mingled with the pinks growing beneath them, where sparrows took mudbaths in the shade of clipped laurels and a gleaming bronze fountain splattered and chattered to a long line of white marble ancestors, their noses turned snootily upwards.

‘We can try again later, if you like.’ The girl swung her long, naked leg over the coverlet and propped herself up on one elbow.

Marcus Cornelius Orbilio smiled wanly.

‘Don’t feel bad about it,’ she breathed, tracing a finger over the solid musculature of his chest. ‘Most men suffer the droops eventually.’

Eventually? For gods’ sake, he was twenty-five!

‘Pressures of work,’ he mumbled, closing his eyes and imagining she was that skinny blonde from the cookshop.

From outside he heard the mocking caw of a carrion crow, and imagination deserted him.

‘Perhaps if I-’ The girl’s fingernails slid down his armour-hard stomach.

‘No.’ It was kinder she attributed his lack of ardour to stress, but even as he forced his cheeks to bunch into a smile at the voluptuous creature lying beside him, dark hair cascading over her shoulders, pink nipples taut and erect, he felt a distinct ripple of guilt as he pushed her hand away. ‘Why don’t you-er, pour us some wine?’

There was no way he could tell her the truth. That he’d chosen her because she was the spitting image of another, with her dark tumbling curls and the flounce in her walk, for the way she threw back her head when she laughed. But the resemblance was purely superficial and in the harsh afternoon sun, Orbilio found he had no physical desire whatsoever for this mediocre substitute. There was none of the electrical surge he felt when Claudia Seferius entered the scene. No white lightning crackled around this girl the way it did around the beautiful widow. Her rosewater perfume lacked the spiciness of Claudia’s heady, Judaen scent and no matter how hard he searched, he could find no hint of molten-metal tints in those tumbling tresses, no dying sunsets, no flaming autumn hillsides.

It had been a mistake to bring this pale imitation to his bed, for the agony had been compounded, rather than eased, and a talon inside ripped at his liver as he thought about the wildcat who, if the schedule was on target, was ensconced in Vesontio right at this moment. He wondered vaguely which poor bugger was on the receiving end of Claudia’s tongue now.

Quite how she’d wangled a place on that prestigious trade delegation, Orbilio wasn’t sure, but he smiled at the bittersweet memory of the release of a thousand white doves as a signal for the delegation to set off to Gaul. Her flaming orange gown had stood out like a beacon among the rigs and traps assembled in the Forum, and once he’d watched her out of sight, Orbilio had raced up to the Capitol and remained there until the procession was just so many specks of grey dust. Twelve aching days had passed since then, and without her the city lacked vitality and life. Twelve whole days. Twelve long nights. How long before she’d be home? How long before he would see her again? Inhale the balsam from her hair? Watch that little pulse dance at her throat? Feel the heat of her firebrand temper?