‘Sssh.’ With his thumb, he wiped away the tears which dribbled down her battered cheek and drew her to him, his mind running over the manner in which he’d betrayed her, knowing all the while that she was doomed, yet deliberately giving her the impression that if she talked about the treasure map, she might walk free…
He thought of the way she’d been singled out in Treveri, desperate for cash to keep her farm and family alive, only to be sold out by one of her tribesmen… He thought about her stoic acceptance of her fate, and that, having understood she was destined to die in this alien place, still had compassion left over for him… Then Orbilio thought of how she ought to be. Nineteen and alive, those green eyes dancing with laughter, singing to her children and feeding the chickens and baking bread as field hands brought in the barley…
‘Give me the names of your children,’ he rasped. ‘I’ll see they’re fostered anonymously and won’t want for money.’
The silence was broken only by the sound of the blood thundering past his temples. Then a voice like gossamer said, ‘You’re a good man, policeman.’
Her arms were shaking when she held out her wrists, soft side upwards but Remi didn’t wince once when his blade sliced the veins.
For what seemed an eternity, they watched the life pump slowly, inexorably, out of her body as the lamplight flickered and cast dancing shadows on the stone walls.
‘Will you pray with me, policeman?’ Her voice was growing faint, her eyelids flickered. ‘To Great Father Dis? He’s-’
‘-god of the underworld, the great hammer god, the god from whom all Gauls are descended. I know.’ He couldn’t see her for the salt water in his eyes, but as he stroked the fiery red braids he prayed to Dis and his consort, Aveta to be kind to this girl, who had been caught in the crossfire when she’d only been trying to keep a roof over her head.
He did not know at what stage in his prayers he noticed the blood was no longer pumping.
‘Remi?’ Her skin was whiter than parchment, almost blue, and her bruised and battered face had been made younger in death. It was as though he cradled a child in his lap. And he shook his head that a girl so full of life and living, joy and giving, could have been designated a traitor Gently he leaned over and kissed her pale cheek, begging her forgiveness, even though he knew she’d given it, and promised that he would remember her every day of his life by leaving, in Gaulish tradition, fresh fruit out every day for Aveta.
For perhaps another hour he remained seated on the bloodied floor, remembering again Remi’s courage, her bravado, her indomitable selflessness, even at the end, and knew in his heart that the vows he’d sworn today were sacred.
And he thought of another silent vow he’d once made. To Claudia Seferius. And he thanked mighty Jupiter, King of Heaven and Deliverer of Justice, that she was safe.
‘Orbilio?’ The hammering at the door made him jump. ‘Orbilio, there’s a message here from Helvetia concerning a man called-it looks like Libo, is that right?’
Libo. Libo? Oh, the undercover agent accompanying the delegation to Vesontio.
‘What-’ Orbilio’s larynx couldn’t function properly. ‘What does it say?’ he asked wearily. Presumably confirmation that they’d arrived safely. He stroked a strand of red hair away from Remi’s lovely, battered face and slipped her figure-of-eight ring on to his own little finger.
‘It reports that Libo is dead, sir. Stabbed in the heart.’ There was a pause. ‘And that part of the convoy’s gone missing.’
VI
Violent emotions, like natural phenomena such as tornadoes and tidal waves, cannot sustain the momentum for too long and it was the same with Claudia’s party. The sheer terror they had experienced when the mountaintop slipped into the gorge had passed, and now-unlike nature-something was required to fill the void left behind.
For Hanno, the reality that his grandson lay dead in the foot of the canyon suddenly struck home, and he plodded unseeing down the track shaking his wispy white head from side to side uncomprehendingly as thin tears dribbled down his leathery cheeks, and it was left to Clemens, the stumpy fat priest, to console the old muleteer. ‘Better life…happier…Elysian fields…’ drifted back, but it was doubtful Hanno was even aware of half of what was said.
‘Best see to the horses,’ he muttered. ‘Old Hercules there seems to be limping,’ and off he went, immersing his grief in his work.
For others, especially the women, shock had set in, leaving them shaking and numb and unable to function properly. Their minds were befuddled, their limbs not co-ordinating, and they huddled in the back of their traps, curled into protective balls as the snaking convoy made its way down to the river, where they at least could make camp for the night.
Most of the group, however, found grumbling more worthwhile.
‘What do you mean we’re lost?’ Maria’s shrill voice rang out along the valley. ‘Of course we’re on the right road. We had an escort and you, young man,’ she jabbed Theo in the gap between his scale armour and the red scarf which prevented it chafing his neck, ‘were an integral part of it!’
The fact that Maria was barely five years older than the legionary didn’t seem to penetrate. ‘I’m aware of that, madam.’ He even addressed her as though she were some middle-aged matron. ‘And believe me, no one’s sorrier about this mess than I am.’
I’ll say, thought Claudia, trudging behind. He’ll be mucking out stables for the rest of his career after a monumental blunder like this. Theo, more than anyone, will be keen to get us back on track. He’ll never make centurion otherwise.
‘Then will you kindly explain how it was we managed to depart from the main road?’ Maria demanded.
Theodorus scratched under his bronze cheekpiece. ‘Well…’ He glanced back along the precipitous gorge, to the huge scar left by the landslide. ‘I…’ His fingers slid under his neckguard. ‘To be honest, madam…’
‘You haven’t a clue. Typical.’ Claudia heard Maria sniff loudly. ‘Three of you, and no doubt each imagined the other two knew what they were doing. Tell me, Theodorus, am I close?’
His breastplate seemed to lose some of its gleam. ‘Visibility has been poor-’
Maria snorted, and dropped back to walk alongside Claudia. ‘Men,’ she said. ‘They’re all the same, utterly incompetent, and my husband’s no better, either. Look at him, thirty-four years old and he’s stumping along like an old carthorse, and-oh, for heaven’s sake, do you see who he’s walking with? Dexter,’ she called. ‘I say, Dexter! Come here, will you.’
A skinny individual with protuberant collarbones and lacklustre, floppy brown hair sidled up next to his wife.
‘Dexter, you should not be associating with the likes of that smelly muleteer, not a man of your social standing. The person you ought to-’
‘Hanno said he might have something for my bad knee.’
‘Horse liniment?’ Maria’s voice could have cracked glassware. ‘You’re not rubbing that on your skin. The smell will never wash off.’
‘I thought it was your stomach which was giving you gip?’ Claudia said. Anything to muzzle Maria.
‘Oh, it does.’ Dexter seemed to perk up. ‘I’m taking mustard and I drink nettle tea twice a day, then someone said sodium pills should help and that I ought to be able to get some from a man behind the basilica in Vesontio, and also I eat a lot of cucumber and turmeric sauce.’
Small wonder his digestive tract was rebelling.
‘The wet weather’s affecting my chest, too,’ he added cheerfully. ‘For the past three days, I’ve been drinking a horehound infusion before breakfast, which funnily enough seems to be helping my earache.’
You’ve got earache? Claudia’s mouth turned down at the corners. Jupiter alone knew how many other complaints might be troubling Dexter, but Claudia would have pulled her own teeth out rather than ask.
‘I could have married a merchant, you know,’ Maria said, battening down a wayward hair which had had the temerity to try and escape. ‘In fact, I had my pick of husbands. Auctioneers, barge owners-’