‘Right.’ He took aim, and with a twang the arrow landed amongst the landslip’s debris. ‘About there?’ he asked.
‘Bit more to the right,’ Hanno said, squinting. ‘Say two paces.’ Orbilio let fly another missile. ‘I reckon that’s it,’ Hanno said, and the excitement in his voice was palpable now.
Everyone was staring upstream, curious to see what it was this patrician newcomer could achieve that they could not, even the two wounded drivers were up on their feet. In fact, so intent were they on straining to see that only Claudia observed him walk across to where the cauldron bubbled with mint tea.
First one flaming arrow shot through the air, then another, then another, then another, until whoosh! Resinous fir trees which had been exposed to the hot sun for two days took very little persuading to ignite and soon the whole lot was ablaze, they could feel the heat on their faces. Someone said, through the cheering, what about the trees on the riverbank, won’t they catch fire? but it soon became obvious that, although the alders shrivelled and scorched, there was too much green wood for them to do anything other than smoke, while the landslide had left the far bank just bare rock and earth.
Had Claudia been able to spit feathers, the bird life in this valley would be bald. Supersnoop had turned himself into a hero, and he’d only this minute arrived! Serve him right if his skin turns black and blue from bruising, with everyone clapping him so hard on the back. Except Theo, of course. Claudia moved round for a better view of the man who suddenly no longer resembled a gawky adolescent. Hatred burned in his eyes, and he looked like a man, not a boy. Moreover, a man who’d just been deposed…
‘Shit!’ Clemens danced around as though he’d stepped barefoot on a scorpion, slapping his palm against his forehead. ‘Those bodies are cremating,’ he cried, his face white with agitation. ‘Instead of watching, I should be conducting their souls to the underworld, making purification, I should- Oh, hell. Does anyone here play the flute?’
‘I do,’ Iliona said, calming him down and, as the little priest launched into a garbled service, she piped out a tune, although whether a Cretan love song was quite the answer, no one said and Clemens didn’t notice and Hanno, most definitely, didn’t care. Thin, silent tears trickled down his weathered face, and Claudia knew that from now on, he’d walk on fire for Orbilio.
‘Holy Neptune, the incense,’ Clemens squealed. ‘I have to purify their souls with-’
‘I’ll get it.’ Claudia laughed. Poor Clemens. It’ll torment him for weeks, being caught on the hop like this. Him, who lays out his clothes, his food, his utensils so carefully. Who can recite every taboo of Jupiter’s priest, who makes lists and notes with such painstaking care, who even sorts his coins into size and denomination. Still chuckling, Claudia reached into the tubby priest’s rig and flipped up the lid of his trunk. Why, I’ll bet he counts the stars every night and calls out a register. Lucifer? Present. Sirius? Present. Vega? Vega, where are you, Vega, I know you’re there somewhere, you little monkey… She grabbed the silver censor, redolent with incense, and was just about to close the lid, when she realized the chain had caught on a shoe deep inside the trunk. Come on, come on. Claudia unhooked the link from the sandal strap and shoved the shoe down the side, wondering what Clemens would make of the muddle, when she realized that the shoe was going nowhere. It had stuck. Damn. Scrunching his spare tunics to one side and careless of the crumples, she shoved the obstinate sandal into the hole she’d created, then noticed what was causing the obstruction.
The silver censor crashed to the ground as Claudia employed both hands to dig out the pouch she’d uncovered. You devious little bastard, Clemens. She jerked out the deerskin pouch and peered at the seal, her blood alternating hot and cold as she imagined what she’d do to the fat little worm when she laid her hands on him. Steal my bloody gemstones, would you? She rattled the pouch, then checked the seal, but the black salamander, praise be to Juno, had not been tampered with. Nimble fingers undid the buckles on the satchel round her neck. Strangling’s too good for you, you putrid lump of slugslime, I’ve half a mind to Uh-oh.
Claudia blinked, and blinked again. She was wrong. Clemens hadn’t sneaked her pouch out of the satchel when her head was turned to dose Orbilio with syrup of figs. The pouch was still there, where she’d left it…
This meant Clemens was carrying a deerskin pouch of his own.
Which happened to be absolutely identical.
XII
‘I don’t think Theo likes me.’
Orbilio had taken advantage of the lull to steer Claudia away from the main gathering, and they were sitting with their knees drawn up, facing each other on boulders under the overlap of a willow. Wispy clouds had moved in to cover the sky, settling an early twilight over the canyon. The fire, fierce to start with, had pretty well fizzled out now that the upper layer had burned through to damper branches which had not yet been dried by the sun, and if anything, the barricade looked worse than before. Not because it was higher, quite the opposite. But the combination of blackened rocks and charred, sticking-up branches produced a dark and sinister effect, sending out a sombre sense of foreboding.
When, from time to time, the pines spat and sparked, nerves jarred visibly.
Resting her chin on her knees, Claudia wondered whether others among the party shared her suspicions that the bodies of at least the two soldiers, and probably half of the mules, were unlikely to have been touched by the flames. That the fire, short-lived as it had been, had been no more than a gesture. A symbol. An observance of duty.
That Orbilio, in his assessment of the situation regarding the stranded group, intended it as nothing more than a discharge of communal liability. Let’s draw a line and move on, he was saying.
For move on they would, come the morning, because on one point Orbilio was adamant. The army were not coming this way to look for them. It was precisely as Titus had reasoned. Informed that the convoy had taken a short cut which had been subsequently blocked by a rock fall, the military had sent appropriate messages to Vesontio, telling them they should expect the delegation from the local road in from the south. A smug air hung over the spice merchant.
Claudia plucked a water forget-me-not, consigned two petals to the swirling, bright stream and forced her mind back to the issue at hand. ‘Might Theo’s dislike stem, do you think, from the point where you called him a fathead?’ Orbilio had bathed away the mud and grime, razored off the stubble and was wearing a spotless white tunic. She could detect the faint smell of its final rosemary rinse.
‘What did he expect?’ Marcus retorted. ‘Only an imbecile would leave Nestor’s body mouldering on the far side of the bridge.’
‘Theo felt it fitting that all four casualties be cremated together,’ came the case for the defence, ‘that they might enter the Underworld in solidarity.’
She heard him mutter something under his breath which might have been ‘Bowls’ or ‘Bulls’ or possibly even ‘Halls’.
‘The man’s plainly incompetent.’ Marcus snorted, and Claudia decided he’d get along well with Maria. ‘I mean, fancy letting a group of lightly armed civilians sit it out in this isolated ravine!’
Claudia intended to point out that the group had actually taken a vote. Instead she heard herself asking, ‘Why? Is it dangerous?’
‘What? No. No, of course not.’
But it was too late. She’d been watching too closely to miss the flash of alarm skip across his face. She sent another couple of flowerheads upstream, watching them bob out of sight almost at once. Overhead, five disappointed buzzards circled in disbelief that their supper could be so cruelly denied them and close at hand came the bell-like croak of a toad.