Marilyn Todd - Black Salamander

The hue and cry that followed was another piece of theatrical romp. Designed to make her place her trust in her saviour…

With weighted eyelids, Claudia looked around the cave.

At the hams hanging from the beam above. The slimy walls. The Silver Fox whose lair she had been lured to. Where would, could they go from here? The friendship ploy had failed, she had seen through Arcas. Admittedly a tad late, but nevertheless, she knew who he was, as he knew she would not yield to torture. They had reached an impasse, and from here there was no way out.

This grotto was Claudia’s grave.

How long did they sit there, Claudia and Arcas-one hour? two?-without speaking? At one point he lit the fire, since the need for pretence was over, but far from comforting, the flames made the cave steamy and because the damp wood smoked badly, he kicked over the logs. Now only a few wayward coils of grey rose from the fragrant fir ash. No sound intruded into this subterranean grotto, only the constant drip-drip-drip of water from the roof and the blood pounding in Claudia’s temple.

Her teeth chattered from the fear and the cold, and she tried not to think where this would lead. The rebels would not give up on her, so how would Arcas proceed from here? He had given himself thirty-six hours to win her confidence and ultimately the map. Then what? She shuddered as she saw the Spider’s thugs storm the grotto, cart her off to that torture-house in the valley where they burned men in front of their families That wouldn’t happen, she vowed. Somehow she must break free of these bonds. Kill Arcas. Kill herself. A silent tear trickled down her cheek. Big words from a big mouth, she thought. I’m trussed up like a game bird, and what of Drusilla? The single raindrop became a thunderstorm as Claudia realized she would have to kill Drusilla, too. Think, girl, think. There is a way out of this. There has to be.

‘He’s my brother,’ Arcas said out of nowhere. ‘Sualinos. He’s older than me by three years.’

‘What?’ Claudia’s spinning brain tried to focus. ‘You’re related to that psychotic piece of shit??’ Dammit, she hadn’t meant to say that. Caught on the hop, it slipped out. Still. The damage was done now the damage was done. ‘And because he’s your brother, you back his campaign to the hilt without questioning his motives or his methods?’

‘His methods are not my methods,’ the huntsman said, staring at the ash in the hearth. ‘But he acts within Druid law and he has a just claim to the throne. For my part, I’m happy living in the wild.’ With his toe, he flicked over a smouldering log. ‘Fresh air, open skies, that’s all I want, but I am Sequani. Above all, I want my people set free.’

Claudia stared at this man who had, in the past couple of hours, become a stranger to her. The face was still familiar, of course. The muscled torso, the torque, the long white hair, the headband. But the guide she believed she understood no longer existed.

Thirty-six years old, she thought, and while he knows the backwoods inside out, he has seen nothing of life, of what lies beyond these vast tracts of forest. In the villagers’ eyes, he would be cultured-gentry, who’d been to Vesontio!-and as such they’d have viewed him in awe. Shunned or not, he was a man of the world, a sophisticate, while his brother would be venerated somewhere between demon and god. A man who wielded terror on the one hand and on the other, a true romantic hero preparing to shake off the yoke of Roman oppression.

Did they not see that, even in the unlikely event the Sequani gained independence, together the Spider and the Druids would conspire to keep them under the cosh? Even Arcas was blind to the fact that men like his brother and Galba sought power for its own sake and cared not a fig for the responsibility that went with it. She thought again of the stockbreeder, robbed of his horses. That was responsibility. Ensuring they were cared for, not thrown to the wolves. No wonder the incident stuck in her throat. The theft was as cruel as it was unnecessary, and she wished now she’d listened to what her heart had told her at the time.

Without self-pity. Without compassion, either.

So much old Hanno had known, and yet Claudia had suspected the muleteer as their traitor. Purely on the grounds of monetary rewards. She swallowed the lump in her throat. Because that’s how your mind works, you mercenary bitch, you tar them all with the same brush.

Snap out of that, a little voice barked. Maudlin self-pity won’t get you out of this mess. You can indulge as much as you like once you’re free, in the meantime think of the Spider’s house. The patrol.

‘I need to pee,’ she said firmly.

There. That jarred him. ‘Oh.’ It was too dingy in the cave to be sure, but she thought Arcas blushed. For the first time, his voice lacked confidence.

‘Urgently.’ That’s it. Up the pressure.

‘Well, I…’ He rubbed a nervous hand over his mouth. Good. This situation hadn’t occurred to him. ‘I, um, usually go down there. Near the foot of the cave.’

‘Then I’ll go down there,’ she said. ‘But I can’t hang on much longer.’

Blue eyes scoured her face for tricks, and saw only lips twisted in female anxiety.

‘This way, then.’ With one hand, he gripped her upper arm and hauled her to her feet. The other grasped the torch.

Outside, the narrow walkway was slippery, the air damp. Drip-drip-drip. Didn’t the continuous ooze grate on his nerves? The path became steeper, more sinister. Lit only by the flickering brand, the wall of ice seemed to move in. Whenever I want, it cried out, I can crush you. Claudia fought to control the shakes which had gripped her. Deep breaths. One, two, three. Keep pushing down on your stomach. One, two, that’s better. Remember. Only by remaining in control can you hope to escape.

‘There.’ He pointed in the Stygian gloom. ‘The ice levels off. You can…’ His voice trailed miserably off. ‘I-I’ll hold the light for you.’

For thousands of years, the people who had dwelt in these caves must have used this for perhaps ceremonial purposes. Weddings. Funeral services, even, for it was not a natural plate, but man made. Hollowed out of the ice, many hands must have laboured to create this flat space.

‘I’m not having a man stand over me while I am…indisposed,’ she snapped, and relief flooded his face. ‘Cut me free, will you, Arcas.’

‘You’ll have to manage the best you can.’

Damn. Damn, damn and double damn. Nice try, but now what?

‘Spoken like a true gentleman,’ she said, heaping on the discomposure, because it’s funny how a simple female bodily function can set even the most hardened member of the opposite sex squirming with embarrassment. And how a different female function-wile-can exploit it.

Down here, conditions were arctic. This was almost the floor of the cavern, ice would have lain here for centuries. Maybe hundreds of centuries. What she was looking at was creation itself.

‘I can’t see you,’ Arcas called.

‘That’s the idea,’ she yelled back.

Her eyes quickly grew used to the gloom. What she needed was a stalactite-mite-whatever it was. A sharp splinter of ice to hack through her bonds. There’s one! Under a flickering halo of gold, she could see the misty silhouette of the hunter, stamping his feet to keep out the cold. Her teeth were chattering as she chafed leather against ice. Come on, come on.

‘What’s keeping you?’ he asked.

‘How do you expect me to manage?’ she retorted. ‘With my hands behind my back?’

It was no use. The ice was simply melting against the heat of her arms, wetting the leather. Shit! Angry tears prickled her eyes. There had to be a way, surely?