Black Salamander by Marilyn Todd Page A

limping,’ and off he went, immersing his grief in his work.
    For others, especially the women, shock had set in, leaving them shaking and numb and unable to function properly. Their minds were befuddled, their limbs not co-ordinating, and they huddled in the back of their traps, curled into protective balls as the snaking convoy made its way down to the river, where they at least could make camp for the night.
    Most of the group, however, found grumbling more worthwhile.
    ‘What do you mean we’re lost?’ Maria’s shrill voice rang out along the valley. ‘Of course we’re on the right road. We had an escort and you, young man,’ she jabbed Theo in the gap between his scale armour and the red scarf which prevented it chafing his neck, ‘were an integral part of it!’
    The fact that Maria was barely five years older than the legionary didn’t seem to penetrate. ‘I’m aware of that, madam.’ He even addressed her as though she were some middle-aged matron. ‘And believe me, no one’s sorrier about this mess than I am.’
    I’ll say, thought Claudia, trudging behind. He’ll be mucking out stables for the rest of his career after a monumental blunder like this. Theo, more than anyone, will be keen to get us back on track. He’ll never make centurion otherwise.
    ‘Then will you kindly explain how it was we managed to depart from the main road?’ Maria demanded.
    Theodorus scratched under his bronze cheekpiece. ‘Well…’ He glanced back along the precipitous gorge, to the huge scar left by the landslide. ‘I…’ His fingers slid under his neckguard. ‘To be honest, madam…’
    ‘You haven’t a clue. Typical.’ Claudia heard Maria sniff loudly. ‘Three of you, and no doubt each imagined the other two knew what they were doing. Tell me, Theodorus, am I close?’
    His breastplate seemed to lose some of its gleam. ‘Visibility has been poor—’
    Maria snorted, and dropped back to walk alongside Claudia. ‘Men,’ she said. ‘They’re all the same, utterly incompetent, and my husband’s no better, either. Look at him, thirty-four years old and he’s stumping along like an old carthorse, and—oh, for heaven’s sake, do you see who he’s walking with? Dexter,’ she called. ‘I say, Dexter! Come here, will you.’
    A skinny individual with protuberant collarbones and lacklustre, floppy brown hair sidled up next to his wife.
    ‘Dexter, you should not be associating with the likes of that smelly muleteer, not a man of your social standing. The person you ought to—’
    ‘Hanno said he might have something for my bad knee.’
    ‘Horse liniment?’ Maria’s voice could have cracked glassware. ‘You’re not rubbing that on your skin. The smell will never wash off.’
    ‘I thought it was your stomach which was giving you gip?’ Claudia said. Anything to muzzle Maria.
    ‘Oh, it does.’ Dexter seemed to perk up. ‘I’m taking mustard and I drink nettle tea twice a day, then someone said sodium pills should help and that I ought to be able to get some from a man behind the basilica in Vesontio, and also I eat a lot of cucumber and turmeric sauce.’
    Small wonder his digestive tract was rebelling.
    ‘The wet weather’s affecting my chest, too,’ he added cheerfully. ‘For the past three days, I’ve been drinking a horehound infusion before breakfast, which funnily enough seems to be helping my earache.’
    You’ve got earache? Claudia’s mouth turned down at the corners. Jupiter alone knew how many other complaints might be troubling Dexter, but Claudia would have pulled her own teeth out rather than ask.
    ‘I could have married a merchant, you know,’ Maria said, battening down a wayward hair which had had the temerity to try and escape. ‘In fact, I had my pick of husbands. Auctioneers, barge owners—’
    ‘Confectioners, dentists.’ Claudia presumed Maria was working her way through the dictionary.
    ‘—even the son of a senator.’
    Claudia had been wrong about the