they’re not bothering you.)
Moreover, Marcus was also beginning to see why Claudia Seferius might be along on the trip to Vesontio. The word coincidence never applied to that woman.
That the treasure map was part of the convoy didn’t trouble him unduly. The delegation had been given an armed escort for the entire length of the route, and by now they should have arrived safely. If they hadn’t, he’d have heard. An undercover agent was travelling with them.
‘I said, policeman, is this worth anything to you?’ Orbilio was propelled back to the present, to the young woman broken in body, but never in spirit and his conscience slammed into him. He stared at his thumbnail and wished he was somewhere— anywhere —else. Just as he wished he was someone— anyone —else. The weight on his chest threatened to crush him.
‘Your information,’ he said thickly, ‘is of vital importance to the Empire.’ Suddenly he was a worm again. The most abject creature on the planet, and dust mites looked tall at the minute. He felt sick. Physically, emotionally, to-his-boots sick.
‘I’m free to go, then? I swear that’s the lot. It was the only snatch of conversation I overheard waiting outside the chieftain’s son’s window—’
‘Remi,’ he said gently. ‘It’s not as simple as that.’
‘Now what?’ She turned her agonized face towards his. ‘Look, I really want to get this over with, so I can go home to my bairns.’
Orbilio felt a tidal wave of nausea blast into him, and some of what he felt must have shown on his face. Her face went as white as birch bark.
‘Mother of Dis, I’m not going back, am I?’
He counted slowly to five. ‘No.’ He barely recognized his own voice. ‘I’m sorry, Remi, but’—Remus, he felt old—‘you’ll never see your chil—homeland—again.’
The lamplights seemed to flicker, the cresset light blurred.
‘Treason is treason,’ he said hoarsely. ‘You were caught passing on plans against Rome—’
‘I don’t give a toss who runs the country.’ She was shaking. Her voice was querulous and low. ‘Romans, Treveri—the administration can be made up of donkeys for all the difference it makes to my land. All I care about is my kids and the sowing, the reaping… Can’t you explain to them pigs how it is?’
Orbilio pinched the bridge of his nose. Oh, he could explain all right. And be laughed right out of the building. The army had acted immediately, swooping on the roundhouses belonging to the chieftain’s son, his confederates and co-conspirators, and well, well, well, guess who’d flown the coop? Without a shadow of a doubt, if they’d been able to get their hands on the plotters and planners, Remi would have escaped with a public flogging.
Instead, Rome needed a scapegoat…
‘For pity’s sake,’ Remi gulped. ‘What about the treasure map?’
Who’d believe her? Or him, come to that? Desperation, they’d say. One final attempt by a traitor to slur us, and she conned you, Marcus, old man. Good and proper. His career would be washed down the drain, but he’d risk that, and happily—were he given chance to investigate further. The instant the rebellion’s mastermind was alerted (and certainly before the allegations could be made public), Orbilio would feel a knife between his ribs down some dark alley, silencing him for ever, and the girl would somehow die in her cell. No witnesses would remain. There was nothing in her confession about any great cache of gold…
‘Please!’ Her wail rang raw in his ears. ‘You have to tell them how it is with me!’
A million visions flashed through Orbilio’s head. Execution. Public. Gruesome and protracted. A spectacle. Messy. The strength and resilience that Remi possessed by the bucketload, those very qualities would be used against her, to prolong her public agony.
‘What of my bairns?’ She was sobbing openly now. ‘Who’ll care for them? Once word gets back…’
She didn’t need to finish.
Moreover, Marcus was also beginning to see why Claudia Seferius might be along on the trip to Vesontio. The word coincidence never applied to that woman.
That the treasure map was part of the convoy didn’t trouble him unduly. The delegation had been given an armed escort for the entire length of the route, and by now they should have arrived safely. If they hadn’t, he’d have heard. An undercover agent was travelling with them.
‘I said, policeman, is this worth anything to you?’ Orbilio was propelled back to the present, to the young woman broken in body, but never in spirit and his conscience slammed into him. He stared at his thumbnail and wished he was somewhere— anywhere —else. Just as he wished he was someone— anyone —else. The weight on his chest threatened to crush him.
‘Your information,’ he said thickly, ‘is of vital importance to the Empire.’ Suddenly he was a worm again. The most abject creature on the planet, and dust mites looked tall at the minute. He felt sick. Physically, emotionally, to-his-boots sick.
‘I’m free to go, then? I swear that’s the lot. It was the only snatch of conversation I overheard waiting outside the chieftain’s son’s window—’
‘Remi,’ he said gently. ‘It’s not as simple as that.’
‘Now what?’ She turned her agonized face towards his. ‘Look, I really want to get this over with, so I can go home to my bairns.’
Orbilio felt a tidal wave of nausea blast into him, and some of what he felt must have shown on his face. Her face went as white as birch bark.
‘Mother of Dis, I’m not going back, am I?’
He counted slowly to five. ‘No.’ He barely recognized his own voice. ‘I’m sorry, Remi, but’—Remus, he felt old—‘you’ll never see your chil—homeland—again.’
The lamplights seemed to flicker, the cresset light blurred.
‘Treason is treason,’ he said hoarsely. ‘You were caught passing on plans against Rome—’
‘I don’t give a toss who runs the country.’ She was shaking. Her voice was querulous and low. ‘Romans, Treveri—the administration can be made up of donkeys for all the difference it makes to my land. All I care about is my kids and the sowing, the reaping… Can’t you explain to them pigs how it is?’
Orbilio pinched the bridge of his nose. Oh, he could explain all right. And be laughed right out of the building. The army had acted immediately, swooping on the roundhouses belonging to the chieftain’s son, his confederates and co-conspirators, and well, well, well, guess who’d flown the coop? Without a shadow of a doubt, if they’d been able to get their hands on the plotters and planners, Remi would have escaped with a public flogging.
Instead, Rome needed a scapegoat…
‘For pity’s sake,’ Remi gulped. ‘What about the treasure map?’
Who’d believe her? Or him, come to that? Desperation, they’d say. One final attempt by a traitor to slur us, and she conned you, Marcus, old man. Good and proper. His career would be washed down the drain, but he’d risk that, and happily—were he given chance to investigate further. The instant the rebellion’s mastermind was alerted (and certainly before the allegations could be made public), Orbilio would feel a knife between his ribs down some dark alley, silencing him for ever, and the girl would somehow die in her cell. No witnesses would remain. There was nothing in her confession about any great cache of gold…
‘Please!’ Her wail rang raw in his ears. ‘You have to tell them how it is with me!’
A million visions flashed through Orbilio’s head. Execution. Public. Gruesome and protracted. A spectacle. Messy. The strength and resilience that Remi possessed by the bucketload, those very qualities would be used against her, to prolong her public agony.
‘What of my bairns?’ She was sobbing openly now. ‘Who’ll care for them? Once word gets back…’
She didn’t need to finish.
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