by Nick Brown
The mint was a large, red brick building with several high chimneys, surrounded by a substantial wall. Opposite the alcove was a narrow iron gate. With a tap on the shoulder from Abascantius, one of the men scurried across the street and hunched over the lock. Abascantius shouldered his way between the others and came close to Indavara.
‘He won’t be long. You come in last and keep an eye out behind us. Draw your sword.’
The agent returned to the side of the street. Indavara eased his sword from the scabbard, then went and stood beside him, idly tapping the tip of the blade against his leg.
He reckoned tomorrow would be his last day in Antioch. He wasn’t exactly sure what was going on but matters were clearly coming to a head. He was glad, because once he’d been paid, he could decide what to do next.
It seemed best to keep moving: partly because when he stayed in one place too long things took a turn for the worse; partly because he wanted to see more of the world. Travelling east, the lands seemed only to become hotter, drier and more bleak. Of all the terrain he’d seen since leaving Pietas Julia, it was green fields, rivers and hills that most appealed to him – they seemed so peaceful, so permanent. He would go north, or return west.
But before leaving he would spend some money on that girl. Galla was her name and he’d thought of her often since their time together. He would ask her to go for a walk with him; that’s what men and women who liked each other seemed to do. And if she didn’t want to, he could at least ask her where she thought he should go next.
Or he could ask Simo when he went to fetch his things from the villa. He liked Simo. He seemed kind, and he didn’t ask questions all the time. Indavara thought he might even miss him a bit.
Simo’s master, on the other hand, he wouldn’t miss at all. Indavara knew he’d made a bad mistake at the baths, and it was no surprise that Corbulo was angry about it. Fair enough. It wasn’t this that annoyed him, more the character of the man. Indavara found it difficult to respect someone who couldn’t fight, couldn’t stand on his own two feet.
And Corbulo was arrogant too. Indavara could see he was intelligent; he knew a lot about the world, he spoke well, and he would sometimes argue with Abascantius, even though the older man gave the orders. But he seemed to have little time for anyone else. He did listen to Simo sometimes but Indavara thought that was just because they’d been together so long.
Corbulo had probably had an easy life: a family to look after him, money for an education and all those expensive clothes. He knew nothing of what Indavara had been through; what he’d endured simply to win his freedom – to walk free of chains, and walls and the whims of a man like Capito.
Indavara had seen men like Corbulo at the games. Rich men. Comfortable men. For them someone like him would only ever be useful for either entertaining them or protecting them. Indavara didn’t want to work for men like that any more. He would have to try to find another way of earning money. He was free now – free to choose the company he kept.
But it was a pity; because Simo really did seem like someone who might make a good friend. Yes, he would probably miss him.
A jaunty whistle from the other side of the street.
‘Now.’
Abascantius drew his blade and led the others across the street. Indavara checked first left, then right, then followed them to the gate. There was no sign of anyone approaching. The lock-picker waited for the others to come through, then quietly pulled the gate to behind him. One of the men was carrying a shuttered lantern, which he now opened a crack as they made for the rear of the mint. The lock-picker hurried past Indavara to a second gate and went to work again.
Indavara turned round. Above the walls he could see several lighted windows on the higher floors of the forum and the basilica. He heard a dog growl. It sounded close – like it was on the street beyond the wall. Then the dog barked. Abascantius came and stood by him, staring at the gate. They saw nothing but heard another bark, then a man cursing. Then a long moment of quiet. When the dog barked for the final time, it was some distance away.
Abascantius exhaled loudly and returned to the gate; and a few moments later it was open. Indavara was last inside. The chilly room was dark but he could tell it was a large space. Abascantius took the lantern, opened the shutter a little more and led them further into the building. The air was stale. Dust went up Indavara’s nose. He squeezed it and managed not to sneeze. They entered a narrow passageway, then stopped. He looked over the shoulder of the man in front; there were lights up ahead.
With Major leading the way and Simo behind him, Cassius barged through the dense stream of revellers thronging down the slope towards the river. A sizzling piece of animal skin fell from a torch on to his shoulder. Cursing, he flicked it away as he reached the comparative safety of the street that led to the guild house.
Though he still had no idea what this new development might mean – or how it might tie in with Octobrianus – his initial hunch had been right: at least one member of the Sons of Antioch was involved in the theft of the imperial banner.
‘Where now?’ asked Major.
‘This way.’
Cassius hurried past him along the street. He waited for another group of festival-goers to pass, then approached the guild house gate. Beyond the bars lay only darkness; there were no lights in the grounds or at the villa. Cassius tried the gate. It was locked. He ushered Major forward and drew his sword. There was a bell just like the one at the side gate. Without a second thought he rang it, somehow certain that no one would emerge from the darkness.
Apart from the light patter of the rain and the noise of the festivities, the only sound was the rustling of the high trees swaying in the breeze.
‘Simo, go to that inn on the corner. I need a ladder and a lantern; pay whatever you have to. Hurry, man. Major, follow me.’ As Simo ran towards the inn, Cassius started along the wall to the corner. A boisterous gang of youths strode past them, singing and drinking. Cassius went on up the slope to the side gate and looked inside. No lights, no sound. He rang the bell and again no one came.
They retraced their steps and saw Simo emerging from the inn, a lantern in his hand. Not far behind him was a small fellow with a ladder under his arm. Cassius sheathed his sword and took the ladder.
‘Thank you. Now back inside,’ he said.
‘You’re not going in there, are you?’ asked the man, nodding at the guild house.
‘That’s none of your concern. Back to the inn.’
‘We’ll return these presently,’ said Simo.
‘For what you paid, you can keep them,’ said the man as he left. ‘Just don’t tell anyone I helped you get into that villa.’
Cassius laid the ladder up against the wall next to the gate. ‘We must be quick – there’ll be plenty of sergeants around tonight.’
He climbed to the top then clambered on to the rough stone wall. ‘Now you two. Hurry.’
He steadied the ladder as first Major, then Simo followed him up. The wall was two feet wide and there was plenty of space to manoeuvre as they hauled the ladder up then lowered it over the other side. Once it was firmly set on the ground, Cassius climbed down. Stepping off the last rung, he drew his sword again. The thick branches of the trees ahead completely obscured the villa.
‘Come on.’
Once the others were down, he took the lantern from Simo and led them towards the villa, pushing his way through the branches until he was on open grass. When the dark bulk of the building was close, he stopped and listened. The noise of the festivities down on the waterfront seemed distant now. The villa was silent.
Major came close and spoke in his ear. ‘What is this place?’
‘A guild house. And something more.’
‘I don’t like it. It’s too quiet. Why are we here?’
‘I’ll worry about why we’re here. You worry about whether anyone else is.’
Cassius ventured close to the arched front door. He opened the lantern shutter and handed
it to Major. The door was latched but not locked. Dread dried his throat as he put his hand on the latch but the fear didn’t halt him. He wondered what it was that drew him onward. Curiosity? Or simply a desire to bring this whole accursed affair to a close? It hardly mattered. But he had to see inside.
He raised the latch slowly then eased the heavy door open. Major stepped up next to him, the lantern held high. They stared into the huge room that took up the front of the villa. There were a couple of oil lamps alight; pockets of murky yellow in the pitch black.
Cassius stepped inside, followed by Major, then Simo. The room was even more bare than it had looked from the outside, with only a few bits of furniture and some well-worn rugs. Several capes and cloaks had been left on a table. Cassius continued forward, sure that if he stopped he might not take another step.
He reached the far end of the room. To the right was a wide corridor leading to the rear of the house, to the left was a wall. In front of it a steep staircase led down to a door that had been left ajar. As he descended towards it, Cassius was assailed by a smell he now knew well. The smell of blood; the smell of death.
Indavara was surprised: first because he’d expected Abascantius to advance slowly, not speed up; and second because there was not a small group ahead but at least a dozen men.
The passageway emerged into a big warehouse with high walls and a domed roof, lit by several giant braziers. Piled up around the edges of the warehouse were innumerable pallets and equipment that reminded Indavara of the glass factory. The men were gathered around a big wooden table. Whatever lay on top of it had been covered by a single white sheet.
The men all turned to examine the new arrivals striding into the warehouse. Indavara noted no fear or anxiety on their faces. They just seemed surprised. He recognised only a single face: Octobrianus.
The procurator was standing next to a tall, lean man wearing a purple cloak over his toga. Four of the other men looked like clerks or attendants. The other eight were legionaries and they now moved up to shield Octobrianus and the tall man, pushing their cloaks away and gripping their sword hilts. One was a centurion, wearing a red-crested helmet like Corbulo’s.
‘What in Hades are you doing here?’ asked the tall man, narrowing his eyes as Abascantius came to a stop by the table. The agent was now holding one spear-head.
‘I might ask you the same thing, Governor Gordio.’
‘By the gods, man, you’re already on thin ice with me as it is. Sheathe your weapon, tell your men to do likewise, and answer me: what are you doing here?’
Abascantius replaced his blade in the scabbard and gestured for the others – Indavara included – to do the same.
‘You will recall that I was asked to deliver a rather valuable cargo to the capital.’
‘Of course,’ said Gordio impatiently.
‘Information has come to me suggesting that the procurator here is responsible for its theft.’
Octobrianus laughed.
‘What?’ snapped the governor. ‘It’s been stolen? When?’
Abascantius nodded approvingly. ‘Very good, Governor. Almost convincing.’
‘This is preposterous,’ hissed Gordio. ‘First you accuse me of being in league with the Persians, and now this outrage.’
Abascantius glanced at Octobrianus and continued calmly: ‘I’m certain of his involvement. What interests me now is your role in all this, Governor. You may as well forget the theatricals; your bluff is admirable but not even you will survive a part in this conspiracy.’
Gordio coloured. The centurion had fixed Abascantius with a stony stare and was tapping his thumb against his sword.
‘By Jupiter you’ve a nerve,’ said the governor. ‘I’ve no idea why Marcellinus entrusted you with such a task. How I wish the Palmyrans had caught you – we would have been spared your ineptitude and deranged imaginings.’
‘Thanks to that little shit they almost did,’ Abascantius retorted, nodding at Octobrianus. ‘In any case, there’s one simple way to establish what exactly is going on here.’
He darted forward, gripped the sheet and whipped it off the table. As it fluttered to the ground, every man present stared down at the glittering gold that covered the table. Indavara saw no silver, nor any jewellery; only rows of coins in furrowed wooden racks.
Abascantius stood still for a moment, then picked up one of the coins.
‘Indeed there is,’ replied Gordio, glaring at the agent with imperious disdain.
Octobrianus placed his hands on the edge of the table. ‘The first true Roman aurei produced in Antioch for almost three years. Prototypes – they were finished yesterday. Rather good image of the Emperor, don’t you think?’
‘Why wasn’t I told?’ Abascantius asked shakily.
‘Why in the name of the gods would you imagine that you are important enough to be told?’ Gordio bellowed. ‘Your inflated ego and tawdry methods have sullied the reputation of my staff for long enough. You will surrender your spear-head at once. I am placing you under house arrest until Marcellinus returns. He can decide what to do with you.’
Abascantius looked first at Gordio, then at Octobrianus. The procurator gave a slight smile.
‘You. You arranged this to discredit me.’
Octobrianus shook his head. The mocking smile remained.
Abascantius dropped the spear-head and launched himself across the corner of the table, reaching for the procurator’s neck. Gordio got in front of the smaller man and blocked his way. Abascantius only had time to shove the governor once. The centurion was quick; Indavara didn’t even see the dagger coming out. The soldier held the glittering blade close to Abascantius’s throat.
Twelve men reached for their swords.
‘Nobody move!’ barked the centurion. With his spare hand he gently eased the governor back and away from Abascantius. He looked down at the agent, still sprawled across the corner of the table. ‘If those blades come out we’re going to have a bloody mess in here. My boys outnumber your lot two to one. Tell them to stand down, surrender their weapons and come quietly.’
Indavara could see only the back of Abascantius’s head.
The centurion inched the blade closer. ‘Well?’
Indavara turned. If he ran now, he could probably get out. But what chance of ever getting his money if he abandoned Abascantius? And what might be the consequences of resisting the soldiers?
‘All right,’ said the agent. ‘Do it.’
Indavara hadn’t been particularly impressed by Abascantius’s other three operatives and he wasn’t surprised when they immediately undid their sword belts and dropped them to the floor. Four of the legionaries advanced towards Indavara, whose hand was still on his sword.
‘You too, One Ear,’ ordered the centurion.
‘Do as he says, Indavara,’ said Abascantius without turning round. ‘You’ll get your weapon back later. This won’t last long.’
Indavara took off the sword belt and lowered it to the ground.
The centurion backed away from the table but kept the dagger in his hand as he nodded at Abascantius’s sword belt. Abascantius straightened up and removed it, then picked up the spear-head.
‘Forget house arrest,’ growled Gordio, rearranging his robe. ‘You can go to the prison tower with the rest of the scum.’
‘What?’ Abascantius said through gritted teeth.
‘Quite apart from the fact that you dare to lay your grubby hands on me, do you think I’m going to leave you and your lackeys on the loose with the Persian delegation arriving in the morning? You’ve already done enough damage. You shall tell us exactly what happened and I shall charge General Ulpian and Magistrate Quarto with recovering what you’ve lost. You better pray it’s not too late.’
‘Nothing’s been lost. It was stolen. You can’t use Ulpian or Quarto – it must have been one of them.’
Shaking his head, the governor reached out and took the spear-head from Abascantius. ‘I’ve no idea why you think it necessary f
or Octobrianus to discredit you – you’ve done an immaculate job of that yourself.’
Gordio turned to the centurion. ‘Get him out of my sight.’
Like the walls of the cavern, the tunnel had been faced with plaster and moulded to resemble rock. The pool of light from the half-shuttered lantern ran over the undulating surface as Cassius led the way down the shallow slope of the tunnel. He turned every few moments to make sure Major and Simo were right behind him. The smell was growing stronger, the cold too.
The tunnel suddenly widened out. Directly ahead was the rear of the Mithras sculpture, and beyond that the darkened expanse of the cavern itself. Only two braziers were alight, close to the benches at the back. Cassius stopped; and the three of them stood in silence behind the sculpture, listening again. A faint, whistling wind blew through the cavern. Cassius noticed the holes behind the eyes of the god. Inside each one was some kind of glass or crystal. Behind was ash, where the hot coals would have been placed. There was also a jug of water on the floor below the snake’s mouth. Cassius wished Indavara could see it; and admitted to himself that, though Major seemed capable enough, he wouldn’t have minded having the ex-gladiator by his side.
He peered round the side of the sculpture, the back legs of the bull. The front of the cavern was inky black. He stepped out on to the platform, knowing he would be a clear target for anyone concealed by the darkness – but nothing happened. He walked in front of the sculpture, the lantern still in his hand.
Two green dots caught the light. Eyes – staring up at him from in front of the platform. He shrank back towards the sculpture.
‘What is it?’ asked Major.
‘I saw . . . something.’
‘By Hades, that smell,’ said the bodyguard.
Cassius walked forward again. He sheathed his sword and pulled back the shutter on the lantern. The iron was warm under his fingers. The light spilled out, filling the cavern.
Lying in the space between the front row of benches and the base of the platform were at least twenty bodies. Feeling Simo’s hand on his arm, Cassius nonetheless advanced, lantern held high.