Bugger, bugger, bugger. Me and my big mouth!
‘Now then,’ he said cheerfully, ‘it’s none of my business how or why you’ve been drawn into this wretched courier lark, but whatever reward has been offered, I shall ensure you do not lose by it, so come on, Claudia. Be a good girl, give me the map. I know you’ve got it.’
Claudia sighed loudly. ‘You’re right, Marcus.’ You could almost see his little heart lift. ‘As always, you are absolutely right.’ She waited for the full beam to light his face. ‘It is none of your business. Now get out of my room.’
‘Goddammit, woman, don’t you understand what’s at stake here?’
‘You’d prefer I have Junius throw you out?’
His expression darkened, she heard him swear under his breath, but without another word, he turned on his heel and strode off, slamming the door to within an inch of its life.
Down in the street, a bow-backed donkey laden with panniers of cherries clip-clopped wearily in the direction of the river, a young redheaded boy following with a switch which he used to run along the walls. Claudia inhaled the bouquet of the roses and picked a lily from the pot.
‘Typical! Come home, now I’ve done your dirty work,’ she told Drusilla, who had taken advantage of the lull to sail over the balcony rail.
‘Prrrrr.’ Pausing by the window, sharp claws began to scratch splinters out of the frame before the corner of her slanty eyes remembered the reason behind her sudden departure. ‘Grrrr. Grrrrrrr.’
‘That is a cage, not a prison,’ Claudia reminded her, setting down a bowl of thick creamy milk.
‘Hrrrow.’ The squint became exaggerated, because this cat wasn’t stupid. She knew quite well what bars represented, thank you very much! On the other hand, the cook had thrown a ladle at her before she’d had a chance to scrape her long, pink tongue along the butter and boy, did that cream look appetizing. ‘Slup, slup. Slup, slup.’ She would drink it, but only as a favour to her mistress, and to make this clearly understood she stuck a decent show of hackles in the air. ‘Mrrrr.’
Claudia knelt down by the bed and fished out the yellow deerskin pouch. ‘What?’ She glowered at Drusilla. ‘Hand this over to Hotshot? No way!’
‘Bloop-bloop, bloop-bloop.’ Tiny splatters of white splashed on to the polished wooden floor.
‘Providing the rebels don’t get their hands on the actual gold itself, no harm can be done by keeping the appointment with the middleman,’ Claudia said, patting her wayward curls into place. ‘Especially when a whole year’s vintage rests on this.’
There was just time, she thought, to polish off that last remaining pastry.
‘Besides,’ she told the cat, ‘Claudia Seferius is a girl who always keeps her word.’ Particularly when it suited her. And as Drusilla sat washing her whiskers, Claudia wondered whether that little black thing which had just jumped through the air might be of any interest to the landlord.
‘Mrrow?’
‘Oh, don’t be silly. Saving Hotshot’s life by not allowing him to become embroiled in rebel politics is no big deal, poppet. I’d have done it for anybody, it doesn’t mean I give a fig for him personally.’
He’s just a man. Nothing special. The way the light reflects off the flecks in his hair doesn’t mean a thing. Or the way it felt, when he’d gripped her hand on the road yesterday ‘Right.’ Claudia kissed the yellow pouch. ‘Time to make a move, I think.’
And for this-she pulled the shutters closed and latched them tight-she needed total privacy. No chambermaids. No room service.
‘And now.’ Ten minutes later, she shook the folds of her gown and inhaled the sweet smell of peach blossom. ‘The finishing touch.’
She slid her hand deep into her satchel and extracted a thin-bladed knife.
‘Mrrrrrr.’
‘Don’t look at me like that, poppet.’ She stroked the cat until, pacified, feline ears flattened hard against her wedge-shaped head. ‘This is simply a sensible precaution. Junius will be with me at all times, nothing can go wrong at this stage, trust me.’
‘Rrrr.’
‘Nonsense. That business with the saddle strap? All settled.’ Didn’t she say at the time it felt like the wrong horse? Later Volso made the very same point and it was obvious, with hindsight, what had happened. ‘The astrologer was the killer’s target, poppet. Not me.’
‘Prrrrr.’
‘Exactly! The worst is behind us, it’s plain sailing from now on, and I can see no reason, Drusilla, my girl, why tomorrow morning the three of us, you, me and Junius, are not heading straight back to Rome.’
‘Prr.’
Although had Claudia Seferius thought to consult a Sequani dictionary at that stage, she may well have discovered that the Celtic definition of the word ‘worst’ differed considerably from the Latin interpretation.
XXVI
Apart from a pair of cresset lights burning on either side of the doorway, the house was total darkness by the time Claudia returned to her lodgings. One or two stars twinkled between the scudding clouds, but the night was warm and the river smelled sour, even from here. Down at the waterfront, where she’d spent several hours, the stench was considerably worse. Raw sewage, stale beer, the lingering odour of stevedores’ sweat. But at least there was life down there. Vitality. The shrill laugh of whores, drunken singing, brawls which spilled from the swillpens into the streets. Back here, in the dark, sinister shadow of Black Mountain, only the silent footfalls of a cat revealed the scene was not a still-life painted fresco.
Looking up at the bolted shutters, Claudia was suddenly conscious of the two distinct categories which divided her fellow travellers. On the one hand there were those, like Titus and Iliona, who’d found stimulation from their unplanned adventure and whose limbs would be intertwined, naked and sated, as they slept in one another’s arms. Then there were the Dexters and Marias who had not, and now lay side by side, awake and unspeaking, in the hollow emptiness of their room, separated by a hand-span and a gulf of understanding. Involuntarily, Claudia shivered. Then, dismissing Junius, she slipped into the tavern. What a night!
‘I’ll light you to your room, miss,’ the porter said, hobbling out of his cubbyhole.
‘You’ll do no such thing,’ she retorted, snatching the oil lamp from his hand. ‘I can manage perfectly well by myself.’
With a suit-yourself shrug, the porter retreated to his jug of ale and game of odds-and-evens, stubbing his toe on the table in the darkness and cursing as his counters scattered over the floor, ruining the run of play.
With an eerie flicker, the lamp lit Claudia’s way up the stairs. Wretched bloody Gauls. Can’t they build with anything but timber? Talk about gloomy. And even between the beams, they’d made no attempt to paint the lumpy plaster. All you got was a clumsily fashioned statue of some silly bitch riding side-saddle stuck in a niche in the wall halfway up this rickety staircase. Epona, didn’t they call her? For a goddess, Claudia thought, you’re not much of a rider. She was tipped sideways, rather like Claudia when she tumbled over the edge yesterday. Pausing to straighten the statuette, she realized that the sculpture had a thick stone spike on the bottom, which fitted-or in this case, did not-into a socket. Curious, Claudia peered into the hole and saw that it contained several bronze and silver coins, and it was this munificent offering which kept Epona offbalance. Easily remedied…
With the Celtic goddess upright once again, Claudia continued her way up the stairs and by the light of the porter’s oil lamp counted her profits. Previous guests had been generous to the lovely Epona. Twelve sesterces. Quite a What was that?
With one puff, she extinguished the lamp. All evening she’d felt sure she was being followed. Even Junius had clutched his dagger tightly in his hand, rather than loosely in its scabbard and she knew it wasn’t Supersnoop on their tail. He’d have throttled his own shadow rather than let it give him away. She tiptoed across the room and listened, there were faint scufflings on the landing.
Whoever it was out there would know she was still in possession of the deerskin pouch, although by the gods, it wasn’t for the want of trying! Her instructions had been clear. Go down to the waterfront to the Temple of Neptune, turn right, then take the first street right again. You’ll see a modern brick-built warehouse showing the sign of the salamander. Go inside, up the stairs, second floor, first door on the left, knock this signaclass="underline" one long, two short, two long. Ask for the slave dealer, Ecba.