Once word got back that their mother was a traitor, the occupying Romans would have little pity, the children could starve in the gutter for all they cared. And as for the Treveri! Knowing Remi had grassed on their chieftain’s son…well, let’s just say the children would fare better under the Romans.
Orbilio stared at a large iron poker on the wall, splattered with flaking brown spots, and swallowed hard. ‘There—’ It was no good. He cleared his throat and started again. ‘There’s only one way I can help you, Remi,’ he said, keeping his eye on the poker. Around him, the tiny chamber seemed to dissolve. ‘I can’— shit!— ‘send in hemlock.’
From the corner of his eye he saw her arms fling themselves round her body as she started rocking, forwards, backwards, forwards, backwards, that lustrous red mane covering her face, and the hairs on his nape prickled. During this whole interview with Remi, not a single sound had intruded from the catacombs outside. None of the carpenters’ hammering, no laughter from Big Buckle and the warder, no hobnailed boots echoing down the corridor. These thick stone walls and solid door had made the room soundproof, but not to obstruct sounds coming in, to prevent anyone outside, from hearing what went on in this squalid, dark chamber…
The silence dragged into eternity—‘To think,’ Remi said, and her voice was muffled, ‘that an hour ago I believed the worst that could happen was ending up some fat old man’s bedmate.’ She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and her tortured eyes bored into his. ‘I trusted you, policeman. Goddammit, I actually trusted you.’
The room swam. ‘You’d never have told me about the map if I’d levelled with you.’ Something wet ran down his cheeks, and when he licked it away, it was salty.
‘Well.’ She gulped back a sob and drew herself upright on the floor. ‘Maybe that’s why it’s the Roman Empire and not the Treveri Empire.’ Her breath came out in a series of staccato sighs. ‘After all, you were only doing your job. I know.’
He thought of Augustus, and of Claudia, and rasped, ‘It’s not that simple, Remi.’
‘So you told me before. Think I don’t listen?’ It was a courageous stab at defiance, but her trembling lower lip gave her away. There was a pause. A long pause. Then finally, ‘I appreciate your offer, policeman. About the hemlock, I mean. But let’s be realistic. The chances of my receiving whatever you send in here have to be slim, and if one of your own men dies accidentally…well, I don’t need to draw pictures, do I?’
An eagle ripped at Marcus’s gut. Despite everything, it was his safety she was concerned for! Tears dripped unchecked on his tunic. How could he face himself after this?
‘On the other hand.’ She closed her eyes and her lashes quivered like reeds in a gale. ‘There is one favour you could do me.’
‘Name it.’
She fought for breath, and eventually won. ‘You could put that thumping great dagger in your scabbard to good use.’
‘I—’ Around him, the walls closed in like a bearhug. He couldn’t breathe. ‘Remi. I beg you. Don’t ask that of me.’
‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘If you care one iota for justice, you won’t hesitate.’
His limbs had turned to stone, his muscles to rock. To move even his eyelids was painful, and he was cold. Icy cold.
She swallowed hard. ‘If you have any feelings for me—’
‘Sssh.’ With his thumb, he wiped away the tears which dribbled down her battered cheek and drew her to him, his mind running over the manner in which he’d betrayed her, knowing all the while that she was doomed, yet deliberately giving her the impression that if she talked about the treasure map, she might walk free…
He thought of the way she’d been singled out in Treveri, desperate for cash to keep her farm and family alive, only to be sold out by one of her tribesmen… He thought about her stoic acceptance of her fate,
Jo Willow, Sharon Gurley-Headley