by Nick Brown
Seeing another chance, Greyboy lined up a kick at his head.
Indavara had nowhere to go but down. He dropped his sword and let himself fall. As Greyboy’s boot whistled past his ear, his hands came down hard on the edge, fingers already gripping tight. As he hung there, legs dangling, he was surprised to hear the sound of his sword splashing into the water. It had been a long time in the air.
Greyboy stood over him and gestured at his cut knee.
‘Like I said, I wouldn’t have stood a chance in a foot race.’ He leaned forward and looked down at the river. ‘I could just leave you hanging, I suppose, but something tells me you’re not the type to give up easily. Sorry.’
The Syrian stamped on his left hand. If Indavara hadn’t just gained a slight toehold on a knob of stone, he would have fallen. Doing his best to ignore the pain pulsing through the three fingers the boot had squashed, he forced the hand back on to the edge. That hurt too.
Cosmas yelled at one of the sergeants, who had just arrived on his horse. ‘Get that bow from the cart. Hurry!’
Cassius started down the slope.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Cosmas.
‘The river. He can’t swim.’
‘I don’t think that’ll be a problem. Look.’
Cassius dug his boots in and stopped. Two elderly fishermen were wading across the river, staring up at the scene unfolding above. The water was only slightly higher than their knees.
‘Just get that bloody bow.’ Cassius leaped down the slope.
‘Ha,’ said Greyboy with an approving grin.
The Syrian seemed to appreciate the strength and agility needed for what Indavara was doing: hauling himself along the edge by his hands, gaining two feet of distance from his foe with every swing. He had found no more footholds and was dependent on his ten digits, three of which felt like they were on fire.
‘Where do you think you’re going anyway? Ah.’
Teeth jammed together, arms aching, Indavara moved a few more inches towards the closest rope ladder.
Greyboy was following him. ‘Again, sorry, but I don’t have time to mess around.’ He stomped down on the left hand.
But it – and the rest of Indavara – was already in mid-air. He had done his best to fling himself sideways but most of the movement was down.
As his right hand grabbed the ladder, his legs swung into it. The jolt of his full weight dragged his fingers off the rope but his leg had gone between two slats. He yelped as his tender groin took the impact but the pain from his left hand immediately reclaimed his attention.
‘You obstinate bastard.’
The moment during which Greyboy disappeared gave Indavara hope. Unfortunately, the Syrian reappeared quickly, now holding his knife. He squatted at the edge of the platform, grabbed one of the vertical ropes and began sawing through it.
One dizzying look at the sparkling water was all Indavara needed. He gripped the next rung and hauled himself up.
Cassius was moving so fast that he only just managed to stop before reaching a treacherous patch of rocks carpeted with slimy green weed. He looked up to see Indavara climbing the rope ladder. Then he saw what the Syrian was doing.
‘Gods.’
Now he was at ground level, the height looked even worse. If Indavara fell, he would either die or suffer catastrophic injury. And all for some bloody suspect they didn’t really need and who might not even know anything.
‘Not like this. Please.’
The two fishermen were still standing in the middle of the river, holding their rods, watching. Their boat was roped to a rock only a few yards from Cassius.
Indavara was almost close enough to make a grab for the edge when Greyboy severed one side of the ladder.
‘Ha.’
Just as he sliced into the second rope, something hit the support and fell past Indavara. Greyboy stopped, then ducked. Only when a second object struck the platform – narrowly missing the Syrian – did Indavara realise they were arrows. He looked to his right and saw Cosmas drawing again.
He heard a curse from above, then fleeing footsteps.
‘Nice one, Cosmas.’ Indavara steadied himself and was about to pull himself up when he spied the remaining rope. It had partially unravelled, and was now held in place only by a few threads.
He didn’t dare move.
‘Sweet Fortuna, please help me.’
The rope continued to unravel.
The fishermen were so entranced by the figure dangling above that Cassius was struggling to get their attention.
‘Understand?’ he said in Greek.
Finally, the pair dragged their eyes away and saw what he was holding.
‘Is that mine?’ asked one of them.
‘Yes.’
‘Understand what I want to do?’
The men nodded and each took hold of the circular fishing net.
Cassius looked up. The small figure seemed impossibly far away. There had to be a reason why he wasn’t climbing back up.
‘Indavara!’
He couldn’t take his eyes off the rope. Though he was trying desperately not to move, the threads were still coming apart. He didn’t have long.
Indavara looked down, past the wavering end of the ladder, to the river far below. One of the tiny figures waved. Corbulo’s voice echoed along the gorge and up to him.
‘If you fall we can catch you!’
Catch me? What is that? Is that a—
Falling.
Air rushed past him, rippling his hair and tunic. He could feel the ladder wrapping itself around his arms. The aqueduct seemed to be flying up, up and away.
‘Pull it tight!’ yelled Cassius just as Indavara thumped into the middle of the net.
The impact pulled one of the fisherman off his feet and he landed not far from the bodyguard, who was already thrashing about and trying to stand up. It took him a moment to realise he was sitting in two feet of water.
‘Thank the gods,’ said Cassius, who felt as if he’d just run a marathon.
Indavara sat there panting, hair over his eyes, arms now tangled in both the ladder and the net.
The fisherman stood up and clapped him on the shoulder. The other man looked on, mouth hanging open.
Hearing boots splashing through the water, Cassius turned to see Simo and Cosmas running towards them. Simo stopped and stared first at Indavara, then up at the aqueduct. Cosmas – still holding the bow and quiver – grinned.
Cassius walked across the net and offered a hand. ‘You going to get up, then, or shall we take you to market as catch of the day?’
‘Catch of the day?’ said Cosmas. ‘More like catch of the century.’
XIX
The headquarters of the magistrate’s men was a converted townhouse just behind the basilica. Cassius, Indavara and Simo had been admitted via a side gate to avoid being seen with the sergeants and their captive. The headquarters was equipped with a small aid post, which Indavara used to dry off. Once Simo returned with a fresh tunic, he changed and drank the wine that had been brought for him by Cantaber, the youngest of the four sergeants.
While Simo examined the red, swollen fingers of Indavara’s left hand, Cantaber looked on. ‘Can’t believe I missed what happened at the bridge. You’re a lucky man.’
Indavara reached down to his belt, checking his Fortuna was there for at least the fifth time since the aqueduct.
‘I know it. How’s he doing?’ Indavara glanced at Gessius, the man Knuckles had knocked out of the cart. A surgeon had been summoned and was talking to the sergeant. Simo had already cleaned and bandaged his wounded head.
‘He’s all right,’ said the Gaul. ‘You too. Nothing broken anyway. Better keep this on to reduce the swelling, though.’ Simo gave him the small goatskin pouch he had filled with cold water; a technique gleaned from one of his medical manuals.
‘At least it’s my left,’ said Indavara morosely. He turned to Cantaber again. ‘Do you know how they’re getting on with Knuckles
?’
‘I need a drink.’ Cassius leaned against the wall outside the interrogation room. Opposite him, Cosmas looked thoughtfully at the black and white floor tiles.
They had been questioning the younger Gorgos brother for an hour. Whatever he was mixed up in, the Syrian was giving nothing away. He claimed that he and his brother did odd jobs for various people: labouring, construction, deliveries. Nothing outside the law, of course – he and his brother had turned over a new leaf. As for why Greyboy had fled? He was terrified of captivity. Their connection with Hagnon – the suspect character with all the ships and carts? Just did a bit of day work for him. And the mysterious Egyptian? Knuckles had no idea who they were talking about.
‘There’s no way of hurrying up the process?’ asked Cassius. For striking Cantaber, Knuckles could be charged with assault of an officer of the law; an offence which would earn him some form of physical punishment or another term of hard labour.
‘It will be several weeks before he attends court.’
‘What about a special arrangement? In return for information we can put in a good word. Such things are done.’
‘Yes, sir, they are. But again that will take time. Deputy Diadromes would have to consult the judicial prefect. And he will still be busy with those arrested during the protests.’
Cassius had seen some of these men; they were being kept in the building’s holding cell.
‘This man is a known criminal,’ added Cosmas. ‘A few friends in the city but no one who would care enough to trouble the courts. Might be time to apply a little more pressure.’
‘You mean of the non-verbal variety?’
‘He already has some bruises. No one will notice a few more.’
Cassius felt rather disturbed by the prospect of ordering such a thing but he doubted his conscience would trouble him for long; the Gorgos brothers had done plenty of damage themselves.
Cosmas said, ‘You wouldn’t have to be anywhere near it.’ He gave a sheepish half-grin. ‘I am rather small for such work but Arius and Cantaber can be quite effective when they need to be.’
Cassius wasn’t convinced the sergeants would be quite ‘effective’ enough to worry the hulking Knuckles. He pushed himself off the wall. ‘I think I know someone even better suited to such a role.’
With his fingers now bandaged, Indavara listened carefully as Cassius explained what he needed. They were walking back to the interrogation room having left Simo in the aid post, assisting the surgeon as he stitched Cantaber’s cut.
‘Cosmas and the other sergeants are in there now. They haven’t touched him yet. It’s important to make a big entrance: I suggest a couple of smacks then see what you can get out of him. The initial shock won’t last long so make sure you ask the right questions. Remember, we are focusing on—’
‘Leave it to me,’ said Indavara as they reached the room.
Cassius watched him flex his shoulders and suck in some deep breaths. ‘Building yourself up, I suppose? Making yourself angry?’
‘Why would I need to make myself angry? The bastard’s brother tried to kill me.’ Indavara wrenched the door open and stalked inside.
Cassius hurried after him and shut it. Cosmas and the sergeants were standing opposite Knuckles. The seated captive had his bound hands resting on the table. His dismissive sneer vanished when he saw the new arrival.
‘Out the way,’ muttered Indavara, pushing Cosmas aside. With scant regard for his injured hand, he gripped the table (which was not small) and flung it sideways. Knuckles only just got out of the way as the table spun through the air and clattered into the wall. Indavara darted forward and swung his right boot.
As the stool flew away, Knuckles fell on to his side, heavy body slapping against the tiles. Eyes bulging, he watched as Indavara plucked Cosmas’s dagger from its sheath.
‘This won’t take long.’
Cassius wasn’t entirely sure what he was watching: reality or performance.
Knuckles tried to roll away but Indavara had already grabbed his tunic.
‘Don’t worry,’ he hissed into the larger man’s ear. ‘The blade’s for the rope. There’s no fun in beating a fellow with his hands bound. I’ll give you a chance.’
‘No, no, please. Leave them bound.’
‘What?’ Indavara squatted in front of him, knife inches from his face.
‘I – I – I’ll tell you everything.’
Indavara kept the knife where it was. ‘Everything?’
Knuckles nodded frantically, eyes almost crossing as they stared at the triangular tip of the blade. Indavara handed the dagger to a hesitant Cosmas, then helped the Syrian to his feet.
He had to reach up to tap his shoulder. ‘Knuckles, you disappoint me. Now, you’re going to have a nice long talk with these gentlemen and I’m going to get some grub. After chasing your bloody brother I’ve worked up quite an appetite so if I’m disturbed I’m going to take it out on you. So you answer all their questions, I’ll have a quiet lunch and everyone’s happy. Got it?’
The Syrian nodded, bottom lip quivering.
While the two sergeants retrieved the table, Indavara righted the stool and coaxed Knuckles down on to it. Cassius and Cosmas turned away from the captive and exchanged a grin.
The bodyguard was already through the door. ‘All yours.’
The eatery was almost full but the maid recognised Indavara and found them a good seat.
‘Nice, eh?’ he said, doing his best to ignore the rather unpleasant smell drifting out of the sewers on the edge of the forum.
Simo was looking out of a diamond-shaped window at the basilica. ‘Yes.’
‘I told him I was taking you with me. Relax.’
Indavara often thought his friend didn’t really know the meaning of the word. When he was with his master he was desperate to please; when he was away from him he seemed unable to just be himself for an hour or two.
The Gaul wiped away crumbs left by a previous customer. ‘I should not have stopped for those children.’
‘He’s all talk,’ said Indavara. ‘He’d never get rid of you. He needs you as much as he needs me. More, probably.’
‘I don’t think so.’
The maid brought them two mugs of the ‘half and half’ Indavara had ordered. ‘What are we eating, then, gentlemen?’
‘What’s fresh?’ asked Indavara.
‘Oysters and mussels have just come in.’
‘That sounds fine.’
‘Both?’
‘Yes, and some bread – bring that first, please.’ Indavara inspected Simo’s brow. ‘How’s the eye?’
‘Sore. Though I must again compliment you on the quality of your stitching.’ He peered at Indavara’s bandaged hand. ‘And that?’
‘It’s nothing. Lucky for me that the nastiest of the two Gorgos brothers is also the lightest.’
‘I think you enjoy it. All this running and jumping, chasing and fighting.’
‘Perhaps. Falling – not so much.’
‘Quick thinking from Master Cassius – with the net.’
‘He has his moments. The whole thing was my own stupid fault. Like Corbulo says, sometimes it’s better to just stop and think.’
The bread arrived; four small rolls in a wicker basket. Indavara had the first one in his mouth before the maid had let go. ‘Mmm. That is good. Crispy on the outside, soft in the middle.’
Simo was frowning, listening to something.
‘What is it?’
‘The music. Can you hear it?’
Somewhere within the hubbub outside was the noise of a flute.
‘It’s not—’
‘No,’ said Indavara. ‘Different tune.’
Simo listened for a while longer then agreed he was right. He took a roll for himself, eating one modest mouthful at a time. ‘Do you think Master Cassius will get anywhere with that letter to Pietas Julia?’
‘I don’t think so. I was told nobody knew anything about who I was or where I’d come from.’
Indavara didn’t usually like speaking about his previous life, and while Corbulo occasionally pressed him for details, Simo had learned not to ask. But today, he found he wanted to go on. ‘Someone said that I arrived at the arena in a caged cart with a load of others. Carts like that came in all the time. All slaves or condemned men.’
‘What about the journey?’ asked Simo. ‘Do you remember any of that, or where you started?’
‘Sometimes I think I can, but then I realise the memories are from other journeys since. I had taken a very bad blow to the head. Capito – he was the organiser of games – once told me I was drifting in and out and that he only took me because he got a good price and I looked strong. He gave the surgeon a week to revive me, which he did.’
‘How?’
‘Not sure exactly but I know he cleaned out the wound and restitched it. Waking with him looking down at me is the first thing I remember. His name was Asellio. He was the one who told me my name. The slavers had been given it by another man who’d been in the same cart but he was dead by the time I woke.’
‘Asellio – was he kind?’
‘No, but he knew his work. Two weeks later I was training; and Capito decided he would keep me.’
‘Did you have any friends?’
‘A fighter cannot have friends. I realised that soon enough.’
‘Because you might have to face them.’
Indavara nodded. ‘I suppose I had one.’ He took out the figurine from behind his belt.
‘Did you say a woman threw it to you?’
‘After my tenth fight. Mostly they threw coins but I was too tired to pick them up and I couldn’t spend them anyway.’ Indavara examined the figurine, the tiny features of the face. ‘I had to ask one of the trainers which goddess it was. When he told me I knew it had come to me for a reason.’
He looked across at Simo, noting the string around his neck; Corbulo made him keep the cross hidden.