He knew! He knew about her history with Marcus Cornelius. He knew about her crimes, her brushes with the Security Police, the chemistry that exploded between them.
Trust is when the same man is always behind you, to catch no matter how often you fall.
Who could have done this? she wondered bleakly. Who could have betrayed her innermost secrets?
Loyalty is a supple commodity.
Yes, of course, the bastard had openly bragged about it. She sighed. Junius would take a sword thrust for her, his loyalty went without question. But he'd travelled the world with her and shared several adventures and scrapes. It was only natural he'd make certain deductions. And if the Scorpion could fool her, when she was already vigilant, how simple it would be to manipulate the young Gaul. Same language, same culture, same subjugated background, he'd quickly pass himself off as a friend. Leaving Junius believing he'd done his mistress a favour by imparting her secrets!
For every problem, there is a solution. They were the Scorpion's very own words. For every problem, there is a solution.
Now it was a question of playing him at his own game and turning the tables in a way that would trap him. But how? Dear Diana, how he must have laughed when she came crawling to him for help. That's why he'd revealed himself with that carving. To let her know that Orbilio was doomed in that Pit and torture her even more. Bastard! He was perfectly happy to let Marcus die, simply because it would hurt her. No, wait Across the valley, a streak of white lightning flashed in a sky that had darkened to the colour of lead. The Scorpion knew that Marcus was Roman, and that he was a patrician to boot. He was also aware of the history between Claudia and him.
Was it really a twist of fate that had Orbilio's shot killing the raven? That business of Manion pushing in front at the last minute. Suppose he was late because he'd shot the bird earlier with a red-feathered arrow, tossed it in the clearing at the last moment, then jumped in to take Orbilio's place in the queue? Who would accept this as anything other than bloody bad luck? She pictured the glade. Fifty rainbow thorns in the ground. Fifty priestesses giving a piece of themselves back to nature. Some would lie embedded deeper than others, some flat on the grass where their force had been spent, with others at odd angles, perhaps flapping in the hot sticky breeze. But even if Claudia could prove there were fifty arrows in the clearing, not forty-nine, it was still too little, too late. The Hundred-Handed would argue that she'd planted the evidence; who could blame her, they'd murmur. It would not change their decision, and the very fact that the Pit was sited some distance from the College meant out of sight, out of mind.
The bitches were expert at closing their minds.
Somehow, though, there was a way out of this. Somehow there had to be a way to take whatever trickery the Scorpion was planning and turn it back on himself.
What I want is my life back, he'd said.
Revenge wouldn't give an outcast his life back, so what would? Rebellion was the obvious answer, and though she had no idea what manner of double-cross he was planning for midnight, two things were clear in her mind.
One. She could not rely on her bodyguard for assistance, the Scorpion would already have brainwashed the boy, and since she could not hope to save Marcus Cornelius by herself, she remained reliant on the very man who put him in there in the first place.
And two, once this was over she would personally send Manion to hell.
Twenty-Seven
As it happened, in the false bottom of Claudia's clothes chest was a blade so long and so thin that Manion could search her and still not find it. Which did not make the weapon any less deadly. Tossing the carved scorpion up in the air, she caught it in her left hand.
I make it my business to know what goes on around me. That way, I know who my friends and my enemies are, as well as knowing who I can trust.
His mistake, she thought, was to trust anybody. A smile played at the corner of her lips as the kernel of an idea began to form. The Scorpion had an ego, that went without saying. He had enormous belief in himself. To some extent, he was right to be proud of that achievement, and despite the circumstances, she had to admire the way he'd befriended her, a Roman in a closed Gaulish society, in a manner that was neither gushing nor overt but nevertheless ensured that, when crisis called, she had nowhere else to turn. But trust. That was the key Flinging open the door of her bedchamber, a giant bat shot up in the air. It took a full second before she realized that it was nothing more than a black robe with its shadow exaggerated by candlelight. Ailm straightened up from where she'd been bent forward over the table.
'Did I startle you?'
Straightened up? Claudia snatched the tablet out of her hand and scanned the words etched in the wax.
Are your clerks fingers still in your money box?
The 'x' was missing, but if proof was needed that Ailm was the author, the stylus was still in her hand. Dear god! Claudia stared at the woman. As the priestess responsible for death on the pentagram, that was all she had to do! No month fell under her special protection. She had no complicated bird life or animal behaviour to observe. No elements to keep track of and make meticulous records. Ailm's role was purely and simply to monitor the yew. A tree hardly renowned for its quick-changing properties!
'Sarra's not cold and you still write these venomous lies?' No wonder they were called poison pen.
'They're not lies,' Ailm snapped. 'People have a right to know what's happening around them. I simply alert them to the truth.'
' Truth? You told a pregnant woman that her loving, faithful husband was having an affair!'
'Don't tell me you don't know what men are like when they can't service their wives!' Ailm's eyes were hostile slits. 'They're animals, the lot of them, so they go looking elsewhere! That, my girl, is what men do.'
Hell hath no fury like a pentagram priestess scorned. Claudia had Fearn in mind when she first coined the phrase, but it looked like Ailm had also fallen in love and found it to be unrequited.
It was no excuse for what she did.
'What about the fisherman's widow who received a note at her husband's funeral, telling her that it was his drunkenness brought about his death?'
'What else could have made a small fishing boat capsize at sea?' Contrition wasn't one of the death priestess's virtues. 'People don't like to hear the truth, that's the trouble.'
'Really? What about this, then?' Claudia pushed the writing tablet in Ailm's face. 'Tell me where there's one single scrap of truth in this poison, because my clerks, I assure you, have no key to my money box.' She would die rather than have them see it was empty. 'Where's the honour in writing that, you poisonous self-centred bitch?'
'How dare you!' Ailm flung the tablet aside. 'You come in here and think you know everything, well you don't. You know nothing!'
'I know you're a vain, lazy cow,' Claudia hissed. 'I know you should be tending to Sarra's soul and saying prayers for her reincarnation, instead of spreading gossip and lies. But you're right, Ailm, I don't know everything. Because I sure as hell don't know how you wangled your way into the Hundred-Handed, though I do know you don't deserve the honour.'
' Oh, really? Then let me tell you this, Miss High-and-Mighty, I should have been Head of this College. Me! I should have been running the place, not that snooty cow, and you know why? She promised. The previous Birch Priestess gave me her word.'
Years of bitterness came tumbling out.
'When she fell ill, she said that in return for the favours I'd done her in the past, she'd take drugs to prolong her illness because at the time the Yew Priestess was also teetering at death's door. But what happens? When push comes to shove, the selfish old bitch didn't even try to hang on. Called me to her bedside, said Beth was the oldest, it was only fair she should take over, and me, I get saddled with the bloody yew.'