Scorpion Rising

'He'll have broken bones, internal bleeding, he'll be lying among the rotting remains of other poor sods,' he said, 'without food, without water and without anything to dull his pain.'

An animal sound came from somewhere close by. Claudia had no idea it was her.

'What he won't need is some woman weeping over him, making him feel even worse,' Gurdo continued steadily. 'Because physical pain is one thing, Lofty Legs. All you'd be doing is adding to it with emotional torture.'

At the bottom of the Pit, Marcus Cornelius felt something wet trickle down the side of his face and although he hadn't explored with his fingers yet, there was something badly wrong where his belt should have been.

It had happened so fast, that was the thing. One moment he was standing on the field, staring at the arrow sticking out of the raven. The next, rough hands had grabbed him, too many to fight, and he'd been carried yelling and kicking round the rock, up the hill, and flung into a fissure.

Vaguely he'd been aware of the priestesses' white faces, notably Beth's, which was carved of stone. But most of all he'd been aware of a wild animal howling, spitting, scratching, clawing at his captors as they climbed the hill, until half a dozen local Gauls pulled her off and carried her screaming off down to the river.

And now what?

High above, he could hear the song of a robin, but here it was blackness, hell come to life, and, among the rotting remains of other poor sods, knowing he was without food, without water, and with only a thin slit in the rocks through which he could see daylight, Marcus Cornelius rolled himself into a ball and cried like a baby.

His only consolation was that Claudia wasn't around to witness his ultimate humiliation.

'Orbilio, is that you skiving down there at the foot of that rock?'

Her voice sounded croaky, it must be the echo. He sniffed, cleared his throat and called back.

'Do you mind?' He blew his nose on his fingers. 'I'm mining for silver, if you please. It grows wild in these parts, I've been told.'

'Fiddlesticks, that's gold and you pluck it from trees.' There was a pause the length of two heartbeats. 'I'm going to get you out of there, you do you realize that?'

She'd have better luck picking nuggets from trees. 'I'm perfectly comfortable, thanks all the same.'

This time the pause was longer, and the voice was croakier still. It seemed an awfully long way away.

'Typical, Marcus. Always thinking of yourself, but I'll have you know there are fences to mend and pigs to muck out. The world can't wait while you pamper yourself, and don't tell me you didn't contrive this little charade so you'd add more bruises to your collection in the hope that the Hundred-Handed don't bed damaged goods.'

For a moment, he just couldn't speak.

'It's not the sex-slave part that bothers me,' he eventually called back. 'It's where they stick the tattoo.' He closed his eyes then opened them. 'Claudia.'

'M-Marcus?'

'Why did you come back?' He had to know. 'Why did you come back to Gaul?'

There was no reply for several minutes. He thought she must have gone away. 'Good grief, Orbilio, I wish you'd conserve your energies for something important, like climbing the rope I'll send down later, for instance.'

When he drew a deep breath, his ribs hurt.

'Don't you think it a bit odd that the entrance to this pit isn't guarded?' he said. 'There's no rope here long enough to reach, Claudia. There is no way up from this pit.'

'Then I'll ride straight to the Governor-'

'Claudia!' The pain that tore through him squeezed his eyes shut, but the pain had no physical source. 'Claudia, this is sacred ground. Even Rome won't go against their decision.'

For once nothing, not his wealth, his breeding, his family name or his rank, could extricate him from this, and whilst Rome might beat its breast over one of its sons — and who knows, maybe even erect a statue to him in some obscure square — Rome would not intervene in religious matters. It was imperial policy, he knew it and, judging from the time it took to reply, so did she.

'What am I going to do?' she whispered into the hole. 'Marcus, tell me what I must do.'

Pain washed over him like he'd never known. 'There's only one thing you can do for me, Claudia.'

'Anything, darling, just name it.'

There was a tightness in his chest. Nausea rose up to engulf him. 'Go away,' he rasped. 'Please.' He was fighting for breath. 'Just, please… please go away.'

He thought he heard crying, the racking of sobs. 'People keep telling me to do that, but I can't. I can't leave you down there on your own.'

'Yes, you can. You're strong, Claudia, stronger than you think, and if you… if you — ' he bit into his knuckle — 'if you care anything for me, you'll go. Now. Before it gets dark.'

'I-'

'Please, darling, don't make this harder. Just… just promise me, swear on the life of your mother, that you'll walk away and never come back.'

An eternity passed before she answered. His head pounded like rocks in a storm.

'You have no idea what my mother's life means when you ask me to swear an oath on it,' she said slowly. 'You asked why I came back here to Gaul, and I'll tell you, it was to come to terms with her suicide.' A sigh multiplied with its own echoes. 'I saw her choosing death over me, her only child, as rejection. She didn't even leave me a note. And since it was only last autumn that I came here to find my father, it took precious little to open old wounds. The death of a twelve-year-old child with her lifeblood drained out was enough to trigger a quest. Justice for her, answers for me. Sweet Janus, I needed them both.'

He said nothing. Just waited. And the pain where his belt should have been doubled. It was the only time she'd ever talked of her past.

'But that wasn't the reason, my darling. I could have taken a different path, one that did not bring me back, and all right, it might have meant killing a man, but hell.' She tried for a joke. 'He was only a Spaniard and they don't count.'

He couldn't laugh if he'd wanted.

'I came back,' she said, 'because of you.'

Nausea washed over him. To think he'd left Rome because he thought she didn't care. He pressed his fingers over his eyes. 'Do… do you love me?'

'You know I do, dammit.' He could almost see her scowl.

'Good.' He pressed harder. 'Now swear on the life of your dead mother that you'll walk away from this Pit and never come back.'

There was a long pause, he thought he heard sobbing. 'If that's what you want,' her voice was unrecognizable, 'very well. I swear I will walk away on the count of ten, and I will… I will never come back.'

He thought she might be waiting for him to protest, but he didn't. He dared not. Drumming up every ounce of courage, Marcus began the countdown aloud and to his credit, his voice didn't shake. When he reached eight, he stopped to hear her call down, 'Eight and a quarter,' but only silence filled the space in between them. By the time he reached nine, he knew she would answer. This was Claudia, for heaven's sake! But she made no reply, even when he called ten, then he couldn't control himself any longer. Ashamed of his weakness, he called her name softly. And then he shouted it loud. But Claudia Seferius had kept to her oath.

And this time, Marcus didn't care if the whole world heard his heart break.

Twenty-Six

For every problem, my lady, there is always a solution,' Manion said, without lifting his eyes from the wood he was whittling. 'The only predicament comes when there's a choice.'

'Trust me, options are limited,' Claudia said.

They were beneath the point of the arrowhead rock, at the place where the tip was the sharpest. Above them, trees, mainly rowan and oak, clung for dear life to gaps in the stone, while holly and broom tumbled down in spiky profusion, but here at the bottom the boulders were mossy. For though the promontory faced the southern sun, in the dense shade of the forest, little daylight penetrated. And if Manion was surprised that she, a stranger, had found him in this secluded spot where he'd settled himself with back to the stone, that surprise did not show on his face. He simply continued to whittle the piece in his hand, blowing away the shavings with sensual care.