‘And as for you.’ Arcas shot a broad wink at Claudia. ‘You’ve had your share of attention-seeking for one day, you’d best ride Hanno’s mule to Vesontio. That cantanker ous old sod makes your average elephant look sprightly.’
‘I hope he’s talking about my horse,’ Hanno said, gurning up his toothless lips, and everybody laughed, and the procession set off once again, with Arcas on foot and Theo astride the leading horse. Junius had given his mount to the wizened muleteer, but not, Claudia suspected, out of a sense of altruism, more because he wanted to show everyone what stuff Gauls (Celts!) were made of.
‘Promise me you won’t pull a stunt like that on our honeymoon,’ Orbilio remarked, reining in beside her once they were over the peak of Serpent Point and the path had broadened out. ‘In my opinion, a woman ought only be widowed once during her lifetime.’
‘Hey, it was me who nearly died, remember?’
‘I’m not so sure about that,’ he rasped, and now she peered closely he did look rather haggard. Maybe the rope he’d helped haul on had slipped? Then again, maybe it was because twilight had all but faded and the dusk was playing tricks.
‘If it’s any consolation to you, Marcus Cornelius, I’ve learned my lesson when it comes to cavalry action.’ The worst that can befall you travelling in a litter is being tipped sideways into a steaming pile of doggy-do. ‘I’ve told you before. The only sensible thing to be placed on a horse is a bet, and from now on, I’m sticking with that philosophy.’
‘Don’t be too harsh on saddles,’ he said. ‘In future, Claudia-’ His hand flashed out and closed over hers. ‘Check the girth.’
Like a tree struck by lightning, Claudia felt a surge right down to her toes. ‘Why?’ she asked slowly. His hand wasn’t covering hers as a lover’s would. His strong fingers squeezed out a warning…
‘Oh, sweet Janus.’ There was no need to answer the question. She knew from the jut of his chin, the tight twist of his mouth.
Claudia’s saddle strap had been cut.
XXV
Never were rooftops more welcome than those of Vesontio! True they were not all tiled, like Rome. But rapid progress was being made in converting from timber to more solid structures-you could tell by the number of construction workers, as small and as industrious as ants, beetling over the scaffolding and operating cranes, whose giant wheels winched up timbers, stone and marble. Looking down over the city from the Black Mountain which protected it, the broad loop of the River Doubs sparkled like a silver ribbon as it all but encircled the Sequani capital and where the river failed, a sturdy wall stepped in to fill the breach. The armour of the sentries on the Neptune Gate glinted whenever the sun stepped out from the clouds.
Since the long legs of an aqueduct marched down from the hills with its arms full of spring water, it seemed the people of Vesontio used the Doubs for the same purpose as Romans used Old Father Tiber, namely to dispose of their rubbish and their sewage. No doubt the same old hoary joke applied to it, that anyone who fell in died of plague before they had the chance to drown. In the centre of town, to the left, the circular dome of the bath house shimmered lazily. Across the river, where woods had been cleared centuries before, both to obtain a clear sight of enemy advances and to provide lush pasture for the stockbreeders’ herds, work was underway to build a theatre so that next summer the bowl of those gentle grassy hills would ring with laughter from a musical farce by Plautus or maybe a bawdy pantomime.
Principally, however, what was plain to see as the weary travellers paused on the brow of the hill, was that there were no dignitaries or welcome party about to greet them, no trumpet fanfares to usher them through the city streets, no roll of drums or cavalcade, and that it looked like it was down to the group to find their own lodgings.
Claudia’s room was simply but adequately furnished, and at least boasted a beautiful balcony bedecked with roses and martagon lilies which, if you hung over the side and stretched your neck like a giraffe, almost afforded you a glimpse of the river. Voices filtered up from the wine room two floors below from those keen to make up for a regimen of nothing more civilized than beer and water. Clearly the drinking was hard, judging from the strong smell of wine which drifted upwards as well.
‘This is an utter disgrace,’ fumed the distinctive mournful tones of the astrologer. ‘I shall make a formal complaint to the governor about this.’
‘Why?’ Titus said. ‘Because we were destined to reappear as ignominiously as we vanished?’
‘Bet that wasn’t in his scientific calculations,’ sneered the glass-blower.
‘Come on, a week late?’ Volso screeched. ‘You’d think they’d send some kind of committee.’
‘I need to make my report,’ Theo muttered.
‘I’ll take payment now,’ Arcas said.
Sluicing water over her body, Claudia smiled to herself.
Funny how they were never happier, this group, than when they were bickering! Drying herself on a towel, she pulled on a fresh cotton gown smelling of peach blossom and thyme and dabbed perfume liberally round her neck and wrists. Apollo’s celestial light flashed out her reflection in the mirror and while the new frock she’d picked up that afternoon hung well and accentuated all the right curves, there was no disguising the thousand curls which tumbled round her shoulders. Dammit, she ought to have hired a maid, a girl capable of dealing with a tangle like this, but time was too tight and thus Claudia delegated the task of defying gravity to a dozen ivory hairpins. Satisfied with the result, she slipped on a pair of gold earrings shaped like leaping dolphins and reached for the satchel which, no matter what these past few days, had never left her side.
‘Scuse me.’ The door creaked open and a dumpling of a girl shouldered her way into the room, a leather bucket in one hand, a sponge and a heather broom in the other.
‘Out!’ Claudia ordered. For what she was about to do, she needed to be entirely alone.
Water sloshed out of the leather bucket in the servant’s red, chapped hands. ‘Can’t,’ she said, kicking shut the door with a fat clog of a foot. ‘My orders are to scrub this chamber.’ She gave a combative sniff. ‘Thoroughly.’
Claudia followed the girl’s narrowed eyes to the newly delivered crate beside the bed. ‘And my orders are for you to skedaddle.’
‘Sorry.’ She wasn’t. Not a bit. ‘The landlord insists. No cats in this inn, he says.’ Her gaze settled on the counterpane, still warm and hollow and furry from Drusilla’s recent sleep. ‘They moult, bring in fleas and scratch up the furniture, and the landlord says to tell you he’s very sorry’- he wasn’t; not a bit-‘but you can’t stay here. Not with cats.’
Claudia knew that if Drusilla was around, there’d be no question of any collision course with the management. One glance at that blue-eyed, cross-eyed Egyptian form advancing sideways across the floor, spitting like a cobra and yowling like a sphinx-dear me, not only mine host, but every member of his staff and distant family would be tumbling over themselves to extend the invitation. However, Drusilla wasn’t here. She had accepted without complaint the rigours of the journey, the company of strangers, even the smell of roses from the balcony. But the instant that carpenter delivered a new crate, she had made her feelings very plain indeed.
You can tame my spirit, her arched back screamed, but you can never cage it. And off she’d gone, no doubt stalking in the kitchens in a huff. A roasted quail here, a stuffed sardine there, she’d show them who was boss, and in fact any second Claudia half-expected to hear a terrified wail from the cook.
But that didn’t solve the problem of Miss Zealous Brush here.
In the street below, Arcas glanced left and right, then headed off towards the river like a man who knew his way around this town, but not, Claudia noted, like a man weighed down with several thousand silver coins.