The Silver Fox ran his finger lightly under the gold torque round his neck and watched the soldier’s face turn redder still. For a count of maybe ten his face was merely inches from Theo’s, then he turned to Marcus. ‘It appears I am not to be trusted,’ he said mildly.
‘That is not what Maria is saying,’ Orbilio replied, ever the diplomat, and before Maria could open her mouth to correct him, he continued, ‘she was merely requesting an explanation.’ He paused and shrugged. ‘These are difficult times for us,’ he added. ‘We’re nervous and on edge, words don’t always come out as intended.’
‘Then I must make allowances for stress,’ Arcas said, swivelling his glance back to Theo. The soldier’s lips pursed white. ‘And explain, to those of you who are not familiar with Sequani country, that the lifeblood of our lands is the River Doubs. This river, which rises in the place we call the Jura, runs for hundreds of leagues in a broad semi-circle and, except for the earliest section, is navigable. Certainly we could have worked our way to the river and travelled in perfect safety by canoe. The journey would have taken twelve, maybe thirteen days.’
‘We can’t wait twelve days!’ Volso exploded.
‘So you told me,’ Arcas said, crossing his massive arms over his chest. ‘Please let me finish my geography lesson. The river flows north-eastwards in the foothills of the Alps, where its gorges form a natural border with Helvetii territory, although I believe you are familiar with that part.’
He flashed a grim smile at Theo, who didn’t see because he was staring at his boots, fists clenched in anger. To be humiliated like a naughty schoolboy in front of the entire class…
‘However, the Doubs is not a boundary for the hills. As your weary legs have discovered, many steep crests run parallel with the river, stretching for many, many miles until’-he snapped his fingers-‘no more mountains. Just like that, the land levels out for pasture and crop growing. Where any group of thirty or so civilians which happens to include women and wounded are sitting targets for the Spider’s men. We’ve had one narrow escape already, getting free of here is our second challenge, so I ask you bluntly, madam.’ He turned to Maria. ‘Do you have a death wish?’
‘No. Of course not.’ She at least had the grace to blush. ‘L-like Marcus said, I was merely-’
‘The bandits won’t give up on us,’ Arcas pressed on, ‘Roman heads make good souvenirs.’ He grinned. ‘And you have jewellery, horses-and, I hope, at least fifty gold pieces with you.’
‘Don’t fret, you’ll get your money,’ Volso snarled. ‘But only once we’re safe.’
‘Was that the deal?’ Arcas frowned. ‘My price, surely, was for acting as guide?’
‘To Vesontio, you bloodsucking shyster. Not to an early fucking grave!’
Whatever response Arcas was about to make was interrupted by the arrival of a smiling priest. ‘All set,’ Clemens said cheerfully. ‘Titus has provided myrrh for the pyre, torches are burning on each of the four corners and-oh.’ His beady eyes darted round the group. ‘Something wrong?’
‘Not unless you’re averse to a spot of horse-stealing,’ Arcas said.
‘Theft?’ This was too much for Theo. ‘Oh, no. My job is to uphold the law and if we need horses, I shall requisition them in the name of Augustus and-’
‘Bring the bandits on us straight away?’ The Silver Fox puffed out his cheeks. ‘We do this my way or not at all, I made that plain before, and my way is to follow this river as far as Vertiginorix’s farm-’
‘Who?’
‘It doesn’t matter who,’ he snapped, ‘except that he’s a stock breeder with horses and saddles. After that, we follow the ridge to Serpent Point and then it’s a straight dash for Vesontio. The gods willing, we should reach the capital by midday tomorrow.’
‘How can we be sure the bandits won’t follow us?’ Theo said.
‘Because I’m a huntsman,’ Arcas barked back. ‘Setting traps, pretty boy, is my business. Now, are there any more questions? Or shall we wait here for the Spider’s men to come and make us several inches shorter?’
*
Horses, in Claudia’s opinion, looked most attractive be-ribboned in parades. They looked fine in front of a cart. But bloody awful when you’re stuck on top of one. They joggled you about and made you seasick. They chafed your knees red raw and stretched the tendons in some unbelievably delicate places. Worst of all, they stank.
‘Bet you’re glad of that divided skirt,’ Iliona trilled over her shoulder, as they frisked along the track, her bangles drowning the jangle of her horse’s harness, but her trademark oregano oil unable to counteract the animal’s pungent odour. ‘I can’t imagine why you didn’t take up my offer, Maria.’
‘One has one’s image to think of,’ Maria explained, gripping the reins with all the elegance of a camel sipping sherbet through a hollow reed. ‘Pantaloons are hardly befitting attire for the wife of a master bookbinder.’
‘More like too tight on the hips,’ sneered the glass-blower’s wife.
‘Speak for yourself,’ Maria retorted. ‘My hips are the same size now as when I took my marriage vows, the waist also, for that matter. Self-discipline is my motto, and you’d be wise to adopt it as well.’
‘Miaow,’ someone sniggered, but Maria was impervious. With a toss of her head, she cantered forward, driving her pony between her husband’s and that of the bereaved daughter he was comforting.
The incline began to steepen, and through the gaps in the trees, Claudia caught glimpses of the farm below. A solitary roundhouse set beside a tree-lined pond, where a gaggle of redheaded children squealed and scrabbled to feed the clamouring ducks and geese, the racket audible this half mile away. On a stool beside a wickerwork box, a teenage girl plucked by hand the wool from the tiny, dark brown sheep which were such a feature of this land, singing while she worked, and an old woman, probably her grandmother, scraped out a cauldron for a snuffling pig. Further away, in a distant field in the clearing, a man in red and orange striped clothing ploughed up wheat stubble with an ard, while a boy followed behind, forking manure into the freshly made furrow. How long, Claudia wondered, before the farmer noticed his stock was missing? An hour? When he took a break from his ploughing? Tomorrow? She looked at the little homestead. Thirty horses Arcas had stolen from them. Thirty of these stocky red and white beasts with their golden manes and tails, which the Sequani liked to keep cut very short. What would it mean to a farmer like Stripey, a loss on this scale? Seven children that she could count, and doubtless the grandparents, and possibly great-grandparents as well to keep. As industrious as he was, the stockbreeder, capitalizing on this patch of pastureland in the valley, how could he hope to keep the wolf from his door, come the winter? Because winters in these parts were as long as they were rigorous Grimly Claudia patted her mount and spurred it up the incline.
‘Move into single file,’ came the order, rippling down the line. ‘The track narrows up ahead.’
Claudia glanced over her shoulder. Six nags behind, bringing up the rear, Orbilio performed a silent salute. She spun round to face the front again.
‘I don’t mind it crowding in from the side,’ Volso called up. ‘So long as it doesn’t encroach any more from above.’ The unfortunate combination of being tall and skinny coupled with his being quite unused to riding a horse meant he was hunched over half the time as it was. Any second now, Claudia expected to hear a yelp, as his chin made contact with the horse’s skull!
‘It’s not as bad as you think.’ Titus laughed. ‘Like low doors, people always duck too far. Straighten up, man, or you’ll do your back permanent damage.’
‘I can vouch for that,’ said Dexter. ‘My neck and shoulders are in a terrible state, and as for my pelvis!’
‘I don’t need medical advice from anyone, thank you very much,’ snapped the hollow-cheeked astrologer. ‘Once I reach Vesontio, I’ll be fine.’
‘I’ll bet he will,’ bellowed the glass-blower. ‘He’s a sly one, is our Volso. Did I tell you about that tasty bit of skirt I saw him with in Bern?’