by Nick Brown
‘I can’t believe you’re in the army,’ Indavara yelled.
‘Shut up and run!’
The streets were quiet; and Cassius knew their pounding footfalls and the cries of their pursuers would soon draw attention. He hoped there were no city sergeants close by.
With his long stride and rangy frame, he’d always been a strong runner, but he was surprised to see the stocky bodyguard match him as they charged along street after street. They headed east, and soon came to the old walls. Cassius slowed. He could hear shouting; but the guards and whoever else had joined them were still some distance away.
‘We mustn’t get trapped against the walls,’ he said. ‘This way.’
He jogged up a curved road they’d been on that very morning while with Bacara. It passed through a gap in the walls and intersected a street parallel to the Avenue of Herod and Tiberius.
They came to a convoy of empty carts emerging from a courtyard and heading up to the avenue. Cassius hurried over to the last cart as it turned on to the road. He hailed the man holding the reins, who brought the vehicle to a stop. Next to him was a lad with an oil lamp on his lap.
‘Which way are you going?’ Cassius demanded.
‘What’s it to you?’
Cassius might have sworn at the man had he not needed his cooperation. He took out two denarii and held them next to the lamp.
‘I’m in need of some transportation. No questions asked.’
‘We’re heading out of the city. Beroea Gate.’
‘Drop us off at the Parmenios River?’
The driver nodded. Shouts sounded from the other side of the walls.
‘They after you?’
Cassius added two more denarii. The lad stared at him in amazement. The driver scooped up the coins.
‘Get in. Lucius, chuck them that cover.’
By the time Cassius and Indavara had hurried round to the back and climbed into the cart, the lad had unfolded a thick square of leather. They grabbed it as the driver got the vehicle under way. The wooden timbers of the cart were filthy with mud but they lay down and pulled the cover over them. Indavara was breathing hard.
‘You’re labouring, bodyguard.’
‘You’re quick. Handy – considering the way you fight.’
‘Shut up.’
‘You’re really in the army?’
‘I said shut up.’
XXVII
Abascantius was busy with other visitors when they arrived the next morning.
The cart-driver had been true to his word and dropped them off at the river; and from there they’d made their way back to the villa where a very concerned Simo let them in. After collapsing into bed, they were woken just three hours later by the Gaul, who had orders from Cassius to do so. He had to see Abascantius without delay.
As they waited in the atrium, two stern young men in togas strode in from the courtyard. Fixing Cassius and Indavara with contemptuous glares, they hurried past them and out the front door. Abascantius came inside. His face was red.
‘Governor Gordio’s men,’ he explained. ‘Warning me off. The operatives I had watching his villa were discovered.’
He waved at the couches. ‘It does seem, however, that we can strike him from our list.’
‘Sir?’ Cassius enquired as they sat down.
‘I suppose I should have remembered, but it was so long ago. During the last Persian invasion – what was it, ten, eleven years ago – Shapur took hundreds of hostages back with him, anyone he found interesting or thought might be useful. One of them was the governor’s brother: an engineer – very talented man. I imagine Gordio had long ago given him up for dead. But with the change of regime, some of these people are being allowed back. This mysterious Persian visitor is a friend of the brother. It seems he might be able to arrange his return.’
‘Ah,’ said Cassius.
Abascantius nodded. ‘But we must tread even more carefully now. The governor is in a rather emotional state. At least they assumed I was simply monitoring things for the Emperor. Gods – if they knew the real reason.’
Cassius wasn’t exactly sure how Abascantius might view the events of the previous evening, but doubted he would characterise them as ‘treading carefully’.
‘Did you learn anything useful last night?’
‘I believe so, sir, yes. But not about Octobrianus.’
As Cassius described what had happened, he once more found himself observing the changing expressions on Abascantius’s face. The agent’s eyes grew wide as he heard about Cassius’s gambit to get them inside the guild house, and when it came to their escape and the fight with the guards, his brow set into a stony frown.
‘You fool,’ he said when Cassius had finished. ‘You young fool.’
‘But, sir, we have learned something of great use—’
‘What? What have we learned?’
‘Ulpian is presiding over a secret sect, the members of which are perfectly placed to transport and sell a large amount of gold and silver secretly. As I said, there was this merchant, then Centurion Turpo to help get it in and out of the city, and Scaurus, and Quarto to ensure—’
‘You speak as if I know nothing of this. Half the army follow Mithras and a good proportion of the wealthy and influential men of this city belong to the Sons of Antioch. I’ll admit I’d thought it was no more than a trade guild, not a cover for a sect, but these meetings have probably been going on for years.’
‘But why so secretive, sir?’
‘All Mithran sects are secretive!’ Abascantius dropped a fist on to the couch, then sighed and shook his head. ‘All right – they may well be up to no good. But I cannot concern myself with that now. This Nabor had a material connection to what we seek; and Octobrianus is the one linked with Nabor, not Ulpian. You were supposed to stay with him.’
‘He was going home, sir, I’m sure of it.’
‘Well, we’ll never know now, will we?’
Abascantius propelled himself to his feet with surprising agility. He ran a thumb and finger down the sides of his mouth.
‘And masquerading as the general’s nephew? By the gods.’
Cassius looked down at the floor.
‘He did actually have a nephew by the way,’ Abascantius continued. ‘Was very fond of him. Boy died of the plague.’
Though he blanched when he heard this, Cassius thought it rather obtuse of Abascantius not to acknowledge what an admirable piece of quick thinking that had been.
‘We’re lucky Quarto’s men aren’t at the door right now,’ added the agent.
‘It was very dark, sir,’ Cassius replied. ‘I don’t think anyone got a good look at us.’
‘Oh, you better hope not,’ snapped Abascantius. ‘Because you’re a pretty memorable pair: a one-eared hard-arse and a well-groomed beanpole who looks like he should still be in school. And Quarto has met you! Some of the others too. Gods, Corbulo, you were supposed to help me solve this problem, not create a new one.’
Abascantius suddenly pointed at Shostra, who was lurking in a corner. ‘Do you know nothing of my mood after all these years? Wine – at once!’
Cassius glanced at Indavara, who shrugged. At that moment, Cassius could quite happily have broken one of Abascantius’s vases over the bodyguard’s head. He summoned some courage.
‘Sir, I’m not sure it’s entirely fair I take all the blame. If Indavara here wasn’t so damned credulous, we might have got out without a fuss. A few conjuror’s tricks and he was shaking like a baby.’
Abascantius walked around the table between the couches and stood over Cassius. He jabbed a finger at Indavara.
‘He gets paid to fight. And it sounds like he did it damn well as usual. You get paid to make decisions. You made a bad one when you elected to follow those men, a very bad one when you elected to go through that gate and an appalling one when you went down into that cave.’
Cassius’s face had grown hot. He could accept that he’d been unwise but he was convinced that
what they’d discovered was significant.
‘Sir, I apologise. But I really think we should turn our attention to the general, to Quarto even. He did nothing to help us investigate Nabor, after all.’
Abascantius snatched the large glass of wine from Shostra and took a long swig before replying.
‘Why would he? I already told you we can expect nothing from him. No – we stay with Octobrianus. We’ll keep on him night and day. He’ll slip up sooner or later.’
‘But the general, sir. Ulpian fought the Persians. Surely that’s motive enough to disrupt the treaty. The army – or sections of it – might not wish to see this peace.’
‘And Octobrianus – a man I know has betrayed the Empire before?’
‘His villa is small, modest. He dresses as if he were still a tax collector. He doesn’t strike me as the type to organise a robbery.’
‘And what if he’s still acting for the Palmyrans? This is an investigation, Corbulo. We follow the evidence. The evidence points to Octobrianus.’
Abascantius paced around the room, sipping his wine.
‘What would you like me to do now, sir?’ Cassius asked after a while.
‘At this particular moment, I couldn’t care less. Just stay out of my sight. And stay away from here. The less contact we have, the better.’
‘Sir, I could at least go back to the records office. Look through the files for this two-fingered man.’
‘You can’t get in too much trouble there, I suppose. If I need you, I’ll get in touch. But I meant what I said, Corbulo. If those guards did get a good look at you, these people won’t take long to find you. Stay sharp and stay together.’
Cassius lasted four streets before his frustration got the better of him.
‘Congratulations, I thought you managed to come out of that rather well. It seems a policy of silence can be very effective at times.’
Indavara shrugged. ‘Like he said, I’m just a bodyguard.’
‘Indeed you are. I’ve yet to see a single other string to your bow.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Cassius stopped. ‘Listen – in five days this whole affair will be settled one way or the other. You will be a free man, and I will probably be off to Thessalonica to take up my post as prison governor.’
‘What?’
‘Personally, I would be quite happy for us to go our separate ways right now – I expect you feel the same – but the truth is I could be in real danger after last night. So let’s just see out these few days. We don’t even have to talk to each other, just do our respective jobs and hope to Hades we get out of this city alive. I think I can tolerate your company for that long. Can you tolerate mine?’
Indavara nodded.
‘That’s settled then.’
They continued on towards the villa.
‘What did you mean before?’ Indavara asked after a few moments. ‘Conjuror’s tricks?’
‘At the Mithraeum last night. What you believed to be manifestations, signs of the god – the water and the glowing eyes.’
‘Yes?’
‘They were tricks. The eyes were no more than lit coals, like I said. Probably put there by the same man who poured the water from the snake’s mouth.’
‘What man?’
‘Hiding behind the altar.’
Indavara shook his head. ‘It was their god. They asked him for a sign and he showed them – the water came.’
‘It’s not intended to be interpreted literally. They don’t really believe it’s Mithras himself. It’s more like a . . . recreation.’
‘They don’t believe it? Then why were they there?’
Cassius threw up his hands. ‘All right – it was Mithras! What do I know?’
Indavara didn’t speak again until they were close to the villa.
‘So you think Abascantius is wrong about Octobrianus?’
‘Not necessarily, but I fear his determination to nail the procurator has blinded him to other possibilities. Between them, Ulpian and Quarto control just about every armed man in the city, and with this handy little cult they have all the contacts they’d need.’
‘So we’re going to the basilica?’
‘Soon. First the baths. I need to think.’
Simo was off visiting Elder Nura – to tell him what they’d seen at the prison – but he’d already given Cassius directions to the Baths of Julius Caesar. They were just a quarter of a mile from the villa, further up the slopes of Mount Silpius.
Knowing they would be busier in the afternoon, Cassius was pleased to find the baths quiet. Passing through the colonnaded entrance, they entered a narrow but high-roofed reception room. The only people there were a woman at a table and a team of artisans working on a mosaic of Caesar. Cassius paid the woman. She aimed a thumb over her shoulder at the door behind her.
The baths were relatively small, with no facilities for women, so there was only one dressing room. Inside were benches and shelves where patrons could leave their clothes. There were two doors, one straight ahead labelled WARM ROOM, the other to the left, labelled COLD POOL. The only occupant was a scrawny old man who had just pulled his tunic off over his head. He nodded at the new arrivals.
‘Good-day.’
‘Good-day,’ replied Cassius.
The old man pulled a face. ‘Not even a slave to look after our clothes.’
‘Too early, I suppose.’
‘Probably just as well. Thieving bastards every one.’
The old man opened the door to the warm room. Steam swirled in before he shut it behind him. Cassius put down the bag Simo had left for him. Inside were his bath oils and two towels. Normally he wouldn’t have permitted the humiliation of having to look after himself, but it seemed only right that the Christians should hear how their imprisoned fellows were faring – even if the news wasn’t good. He hadn’t yet asked what Simo had said to his father, but he feared the Gaul had ignored his advice.
Cassius sat down and quickly untied his boots. He couldn’t wait to get in the water. In Cyzicus it had been rare for him to spend less than an hour a day at the local baths. It wasn’t just the pleasure of cleaning off the dirt and smell of the city, it was the whole experience. A good bath gave one’s body a chance to recuperate, one’s mind a chance to relax; and he was in dire need of both.
Indavara was still standing by the door.
‘Not getting undressed?’
‘I thought I was standing guard.’
‘You are. But you can’t walk around inside there clothed. It’s simply not done. You can use one of my towels to dry off later.’
Indavara looked uncertain.
‘Another new experience?’
‘We were allowed to bathe sometimes. But it wasn’t like this.’
Not for the first time, Cassius felt sorry for him. He was so capable and powerful in the physical realm, yet so ignorant of the ways of the world. It was a curious combination.
‘Well, last night’s new experience with the girls worked out well, didn’t it? You might find you enjoy this too.’
Indavara shrugged and removed his boots.
Cassius took off his belt, then his tunic. Now naked, he put his bag, boots and clothes on one of the shelves. Feeling chilly, he rubbed his shoulders.
‘Come on, I want to get into that warm room.’
‘Go ahead then,’ replied Indavara as he unbuckled his belt.
Cassius shook his head. ‘You may not like it and I certainly don’t like it, but I want you no more than five yards from me at any time over the next few days.’
Indavara removed his main belt and his sword belt and placed them with his boots on another shelf. Then he took off his tunic.
Cassius looked at him. He really was an impressive specimen, but any appreciation of his condition was forgotten when Cassius saw the marks upon him. He had noticed the brand before, and all the scars on his foreams and legs, but now he saw the full extent of the damage Indavara’s young body had sustained. B
etween his shoulder blades were three identical red circles. And below this, line after line of welts; scar upon scar.
‘By Mars, you’ve been through it.’
Indavara turned to him. ‘What?’
Cassius pointed at his back. ‘They whipped you.’
Indavara said nothing.
‘As if it’s not enough to make a man fight for his life.’
Indavara nodded at the door behind Cassius. ‘I thought you were cold.’
The warm room was on the small side, but Cassius adjudged the temperature to be about right. The furnace would be directly beneath the next chamber – the hot room – but some of that heat was redirected to the warm room, radiating up through the floor and out through the walls, preparing the patrons’ bodies for the high temperatures to come.
The walls had faded from red to pink and there were some damaged mosaics on the floor. Only the ceiling retained its original grandeur, with ornate leaf and flower patterns swirling around the four high windows.
Already inside were the old fellow – who was sitting on a bench – and a large man lying face down on a table, attended by a trio of slaves. Two were oiling and scraping his broad back, while the third read a letter to him.
‘So now what?’ queried Indavara as they sat down on the bench.
‘We wait, warm up a little, then it’s the hot room.’
‘We just sit?’
‘No. Usually I would be being oiled but as my attendant spends more time dealing with his own problems these days, I shall have to just sit, yes.’
‘Pretty boring.’
‘Even more so if some fool is engaging you in mindless conversation. Hush, I came here to think.’
Indavara rolled his eyes and stared down at the nearest mosaic. The big man began dictating his reply to the letter. It sounded like he was some kind of architect. Cassius tried to turn his thoughts to the investigation but he was soon distracted: the architect could barely string a sentence together yet insisted on ignoring his slave’s literary advice. ‘As you wish, sir,’ the slave would say every time his master overruled him. On the eighth ‘As you wish, sir,’ Cassius stood up.