Traitors of Rome (Eagles of the Empire 18)

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘One of?’ Apollonius sniffed. ‘The best. By far. There’s none better, and the general knows that.’

  ‘I’m sure he does.’

  A burst of shouting from further along the corridor drowned the possibility of any further discussion, and Cato slumped back down against the wall and closed his eyes. He decided to pass the time before the next issue of food and water by recalling every possible detail of their mission from the point they had crossed the frontier at Bactris. Who knew, such information might come in useful one day after all.

  At about the time that the rations were usually delivered, Cato heard the clank of bolts from the door at the end of the corridor and climbed to his feet to stretch his shoulders. Footsteps echoed along the passage, pausing at each door. The orange glow of a torch gleamed off the stone wall opposite Cato’s cell, and then he heard a soft voice.

  ‘Romans . . . are you there?’

  He felt his pulse quicken as he pressed himself to the grille and called out, ‘Here! In here!’

  ‘Shh! Keep quiet!’

  ‘Who’s that?’ Apollonius demanded.

  ‘Quiet, Roman. Stand back!’

  Cato heard the scraping of a bolt and the squeal of hinges from the next-door cell, and a few moments later, the torch illuminated a familiar face at the grille of his own door.

  ‘Ramalanes . . .’ He felt a surge of anxiety at the thought that the time had come for them to die. ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘Back,’ the captain ordered.

  He did as he was told as the bolt outside protested and the door lurched inwards to reveal Vologases’ officer garbed in a dark cloak, torch in one hand. He gestured to Cato. ‘Come out, Tribune. Now.’

  Hesitantly, Cato ducked through the narrow door and stepped into the corridor, squinting at the bright flame. He saw the Parthian’s nose wrinkle in disgust as the fetid odour of the cell reached him. Then Ramalanes reached past him and closed the door, slipping the bolt back into position. Cato was about to speak again when the captain gave him a gentle push towards the end of the corridor.

  ‘Outside. Let’s go.’

  Apollonius led the way, with Cato following and the Parthian at the rear. There was only one face at the doors of the cells they passed: a man with bulging eyes and long locks of matted grey hair. Ramalanes swung the torch towards him and the face vanished into the gloom beyond. When they reached the door at the end and passed through, the Parthian closed and bolted it. Cato gripped his arm.

  ‘What is going on?’

  ‘I’m getting you out of here, Tribune. I could not say anything in the cells in case the prisoners revealed what they had overheard.’

  ‘I spoke your name . . .’

  ‘Yes, you did,’ Ramalanes responded with a trace of bitterness. ‘I hope no one heard you. Otherwise my head will be mounted above the palace gates alongside that of Haghrar.’

  ‘He’s dead?’

  ‘Of course he’s dead. That’s what happens to those who plot against Vologases.’

  ‘And you’re part of that plot?’

  ‘I serve Prince Vardanes and his circle.’

  ‘His circle?’ Apollonius cut in. ‘Are there many who are opposed to the king?’

  Ramalanes turned to him. ‘It is best that you do not know any more than that, in case you are captured before you reach the frontier.’

  ‘How long were we held in the dungeons?’ asked the agent.

  ‘Nearly a month. The king was keeping you alive to sacrifice for the winter festival in two months’ time.’

  ‘Wait,’ said Cato. ‘How could Vardanes possibly know we are here? Hyrcania is hundreds of miles to the east of Ctesiphon. He can’t have heard.’

  ‘He hasn’t. I am acting on the orders of one of his allies in the palace. Rome supports Vardanes’s struggle, and so the favour is returned. If you reach safety, make sure your emperor is told that Vardanes stands by his agreement to help Rome. Understand?’

  ‘Of course. I’ll make sure his loyalty to Rome is known.’

  ‘He is not loyal to Rome,’ Ramalanes said deliberately. ‘He is loyal to Parthia. He chooses to honour his arrangement with your emperor, that is all.’

  Cato had the sense not to push the matter any further. ‘I thank him anyway.’

  ‘What is the escape plan?’ Apollonius asked.

  ‘There is a boat waiting at the dock. The boatman is not one of us, but he has been paid well enough to ensure he will row you across the river. From there, a cart will take you to the Euphrates, where there will be a barge to transport you all the way to Dura Europus. The captain will have coin to buy horses for you when you leave the barge, and you will ride across the desert to Palmyra. That city is allied with Rome, so you will be safe there. But first we have to get you to the boat. Come!’

  ‘Wait!’ Cato stayed his arm. ‘What about my men? I cannot leave without them.’

  ‘Your men are dead, Tribune. They were executed as soon as Vologases sent you to the dungeons.’

  ‘Dead?’

  Ramalanes nodded. ‘Their heads were placed below Haghrar’s on the gate. I had no chance to save them.’

  Cato was not sure if the man was telling the truth, but there was no way to find out.

  ‘We have to go, now,’ Ramalanes insisted. He led the way up the stairs and out into the yard beside the largest stable block. It was night-time, and the stars glinted in a moonless sky. Two of the palace guards were propped up either side of the door, their spears resting at their feet.

  ‘Dead?’ asked Apollonius.

  ‘Drunk,’ Ramalanes replied. ‘I made sure they had plenty just to make certain.’

  He replaced the torch in the bracket to one side of the door and beckoned to Cato and Apollonius to follow him as he crossed the open space towards a gateway. On the far side were several carts hitched to teams of mules. Some fifty paces ahead, some slaves were loading large jars and amphorae onto the bed of the leading cart. Cato noticed that the others were already laden with more jars and other items. The rearmost, close by, was full of rolls of animal furs.

  ‘Get in,’ Ramalanes commanded. ‘Then cover yourselves and wait until the carts reach the service dock. The furs are bound for the governor of Dura Europus. Wait at the dock for the boatman to come for you. He will take you across the Tigris to a quiet landing place not far from Seleucia.’

  Cato took the Parthian’s arm again. ‘My thanks.’

  ‘Just go. Now. Before I am discovered with you.’ Ramalanes pulled his arm free.

  Cato and Apollonius trotted over to the rear of the nearest cart and clambered inside, pulling furs on top of themselves and then lying still as they waited for the convoy to begin moving. Even though the night air was cool, it soon became stifling under the furs, and the tang of cured animal pelts began to catch in Cato’s throat so that he feared he might have to cough. He closed his eyes and strained the muscles in his throat to keep from letting the irritation affect him too badly. At last he heard voices, and the cart shifted as the driver climbed onto his bench, cracked the whip and urged his mules into a walk.

  The vehicle rumbled over the flagstones and then crunched onto gravel. Cato sensed that they were descending, and then there was the sound of wheels on wood before the cart lurched to a stop. Voices called out to each other, and he heard the thud of boots on the wharf for a while before the other carts were driven off. As the sound faded, he heard a single set of footsteps approaching, and then the furs were pulled aside by a small man, wizened like a monkey. He did not speak, but waved them off the cart, and then indicated the furs and pointed to a small craft moored nearby.

  They loaded the boat, then climbed aboard, and the little man slipped the mooring ropes and poled the boat away from the bank. Then, standing on the central thwart, he took up long oars and propelled it across the current towards the western bank, d
ownriver from the flickering lights of Seleucia. He had obviously made the crossing very many times, in darkness as well as daylight, and they soon reached the far side, grounding in some shallows just short of the river’s edge, where a figure waited with a wagon drawn by the hulking shapes of oxen. Cato and Apollonius helped carry the furs from the boat to the wagon before climbing into the back. As the driver closed the flaps of the weathered goatskin covers, Cato could just make out the boatman leaning against the stem of his craft as he took a sip from a waterskin. A moment later the flap slid into place, and once again he and Apollonius were cut off from any view of the outside world.

  ‘We need to be well down the road to the Euphrates before dawn comes,’ Apollonius commented quietly as the cart jerked into motion. ‘Once they find those guards outside the dungeons, it’s likely that someone will check the cells and raise the alarm.’

  ‘Let’s hope they see that our doors are still closed and don’t look inside.’

  Apollonius sniffed doubtfully. ‘They will sooner or later. Still, I’d love to see the expression on Vologases’ face when he is informed that we’ve escaped. That’ll be priceless.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Cato responded sombrely. ‘However, if we don’t get across the frontier, you can be sure our heads will end up along with the others on top of the palace gates. Then he’ll be the one having the last laugh.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  It was the morning after the barge sailed from Tanassur, heading upriver before tying up for the night. Cato stripped naked and waded into the river with a deck brush he had found on board. He submerged himself in the cool flow for as long as he could hold his breath, and then broke the surface with an explosive gasp and shook the water from his drenched locks of hair. He had not had it cut since leaving Tarsus, and the grime and filth of the cell had left it matted and foul-smelling. Now he brushed at his scalp until it was sore in order to get as much dirt out as possible, then proceeded to scrub his body methodically until his skin was smarting. As he emerged from the river, he saw Apollonius watching him.

  ‘You missed a bit on your back, Tribune.’

  Cato tossed him the brush and turned round as he gave the order. ‘Scrub it off.’

  Taking care not to work the bristles too vigorously, Apollonius cleaned the dirt from between Cato’s shoulder blades and down his spine as far as his lower back. ‘There. You might want to get that hair cut as well. It would be a good idea not to look like someone who has just escaped from the dungeons of the royal palace. And shave while you’re at it.’

  ‘It’s a fine line between not looking like someone on the run and appearing to be a lowly member of the barge’s crew. I’ll keep the beard, since that makes me look less like a Roman. They’re sure to be hunting for us by now. It’s best we look as unobtrusive as possible.’

  Apollonius shrugged. ‘Then the danger will be convincing people that you are indeed a Roman if we make it back across the frontier.’

  ‘I’ll deal with that when we come to it.’

  ‘When, you say? That’s what I like about you, Tribune. Always an optimist.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Cato responded non-committally. He picked up the tunic he had been given by the barge’s captain, pulled it over his head, then turned and looked at his companion. The agent’s ablutions had been minimal, and his head and cheeks were covered in stubble. He had cast off the tattered remains of the clothes he had been wearing in the audience chamber and now wore a frayed tunic he had taken from the barge’s slop chest. He would have little difficulty in passing as an ordinary member of the crew, Cato decided.

  They made their way back along the riverbank to the barge, which had been moored to the trunk of a tree growing close to the water. The captain and the two men of his crew were huddled round a steaming pot, cooking porridge over a small fire.

  ‘What do you make of our captain?’ asked Cato as they approached.

  Apollonius glanced at the man. ‘I don’t know how much he has been paid to take us upriver, but I hope it’s enough to save Democles from being tempted by any prospect of a reward for turning us in.’

  ‘Greeks,’ Cato muttered. ‘Macro’s right, you can’t trust them any further than you can spit ’em.’ He glanced at his companion. ‘No offence meant.’

  ‘None taken. But I think we should keep an eye on Captain Democles while we are on his barge.’

  ‘Agreed.’

  The captain turned and gave a gap-toothed smile as he became aware of them. ‘Sit, sit, my friends! Have something to eat. You both look hungry.’

  ‘You can’t imagine,’ Cato said drily as he lowered himself and sat cross-legged. Apollonius squatted the other side of the captain and took the wooden bowl and spoon offered to him by one of the crewmen. Soon all of them were eating the glutinous porridge, and Cato found it agreeable enough to have a second helping. He seemed to be permanently ravenous following his near-starvation in the cells. When he had finished, he handed the bowl over to the younger crewman, barely more than a boy, who was responsible for the menial duties aboard the barge. As the lad collected the bowls and spoons and carried them down to rinse in the river, Cato turned to Democles.

  ‘How soon will we reach Dura Europus?’

  The captain scratched his head. ‘Winter’s nearly on us. The mountain streams that feed into the Euphrates will be swelling the river and making it flow faster. We’ll still be able to sail against the current well enough, though, so . . .’ He made some mental calculations. ‘Eight to ten days, I reckon. If all goes well.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ asked Apollonius.

  ‘Depends on the wind, doesn’t it? It’s pretty reliable most of the time, but there are days when it fails, or blows from the wrong direction. Sometimes it brings in a sandstorm, and if that happens, we have to get to the bank and take shelter in the hold. Sand can be a bastard. Gets everywhere, and if you’re out in it, it’s like being scratched at by a cheap whore who’s been cheated on the price.’

  Apollonius arched an eyebrow. ‘Sounds like you speak from experience.’

  Democles looked at him and then roared with laughter. ‘Oh yes. I know ’em all, from end to end of the river. If you have time, I can recommend a few places in Dura Europus.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Cato, ‘but we’ll be heading off as soon as you’ve got hold of horses for us.’

  ‘Me?’ The captain looked surprised. ‘What makes you think that’s down to me? I’m only supposed to get you to Dura Europus. It’s up to you after that.’

  Cato shook his head. ‘You’ve been given coin to buy the horses. Right?’

  ‘I suppose. But what they gave me was barely enough to cover my costs on this trip. Extra mouths to feed and so on.’

  ‘Nevertheless, you were paid to take us upriver and arrange the horses.’ Cato stared at him levelly. ‘And you will do precisely what you were paid to do. Understand?’

  The Greek grinned. ‘Of course I will. I’m a man of my word, Tribune.’

  ‘How do you know to call me that?’ Cato leaned forward.

  ‘I overheard you and your friend here talking last night. But don’t you worry, sir. I’ve not said anything to my boys. Your secret is safe with me. I’ll get you to where you’re going. I give you my word on it.’

  The barge, like many such river craft, was wide-beamed and had a shallow draught, and thanks to its windage was inclined to make slow progress when obliged to tack across the broad river. It was a source of frustration for Cato, who desperately wanted to reach Dura Europus and make good their escape to Palmyra as swiftly as possible. But there was nothing he could do about the pace of the vessel as it worked its way upriver. Apollonius, by contrast, accepted the situation readily, and spent most of his days sitting on the steps up to the small stern deck, trailing a hand in the water and gazing at the passing landscape of irrigated farmland broken up by outcrops of rock. Now and ag
ain they would pass a landmark familiar from their earlier journey downriver, and Cato would see the agent’s expression fix in concentration as he refined his recall of the terrain.

  Being of a more active and pragmatic disposition, Cato diverted himself by learning the craft of river sailing, and Democles was happy to introduce him to the rigging and steering and finding the best angle for setting the sail to make the fastest possible progress. For Cato it became an intriguing exercise in playing off the speed of the barge against pointing up to the wind as effectively as possible, and within a few days the Greek captain pronounced himself very happy with the progress his student was making.

  At the end of most days, as the sun slipped towards the western horizon and the light began to fail, Democles steered the barge into a sheltered section of the bank to moor for the night. The crew and their passengers used the furs in the hold as mattresses and slept comfortably on the barge’s deck, with one man keeping watch at all times for pirates, or robbers hunting for prey along the riverbank. Some nights they moored at riverside villages or small towns and went ashore to find an inn. Some establishments ran small brothels on the side, and Democles and his crew would disappear with heavily painted women into the cubicles reserved for prostitutes. Cato was uncertain of the wisdom of accompanying the crews on these visits, but he did not trust them enough to let them out of his sight for any length of time.

  On the evening of the sixth day, as the sunset burnished the sky a brilliant orange that reflected off the water so that the surface looked like molten gold, the barge steered towards the wharf of a small town fringed by date palms on the eastern bank. The slender, spiky boughs swayed gently in the evening breeze as Democles ordered his two crewmen to lower and stow the sail. As ever, he judged the remaining momentum perfectly, so that the barge barely nudged the wharf as he leaned into the tiller and brought it alongside. Cato, standing in the bows with a coil of rope, jumped ashore and took a loop round the mooring post before fastening it to the cleat on the small foredeck. The stern was secured by Democles, and within moments the vessel was securely tied up for the night.