by Nick Brown
the place.
Salonius was shaking his head. ‘As I said, most of the followers are artisans – of working age. I wish we had more young people.’
Cassius couldn’t think of any more questions. ‘If you do come up with any names, you can contact me at the basilica. Corbulo.’
‘Very well.’
Cassius took the steps three at a time.
Simo dismounted and wiped sweat from his brow.
‘Bit of a trek out here, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Gaius all right about borrowing the horses?’
‘Yes, sir. We really are blessed with pleasant neighbours. Oh, there was also a message from Mistress Helena: she found out that … er …’
Cassius realised Simo really was weary; the Gaul could usually recite even long messages without hesitation or omission.
‘Eustathios’s wife?’
‘Yes – she has been out of the city for some weeks.’
‘Right. I’m not sure that tells us much one way or the other. It might suggest she has nothing to do with the fires; or that she was bright enough not be around when they happened.’
‘What brought you out here, sir?’
‘I had thought I was on to a more promising lead but now I’m not sure. I was trying to think - which other gods and goddesses have an association with fire?’
‘Well, sir, there’s …’ Simo stopped. He was looking over Cassius’s shoulder.
‘Centurion.’
Cassius turned. Salonius had put on his toga and was no longer holding the broom.
‘Yes?’
The priest squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before continuing. ‘I am guilty of lying. Thankfully the gods have spoken to me; given me clarity of thought. I must of course tell you the truth.’
‘About what?’
When it became evident that there was quite a bit to tell, Salonius suggested they sit on one of the benches at the bottom of the temple steps. While Simo went to find some water for the horses, Cassius listened carefully to the priest.
‘Do you know I saw an owl last week? And the week before. I should have known something terrible would happen. You must believe me – I had truly heard only of the one fire until tonight.’
‘I believe you; but can we hurry this along please?’
‘His name is Lykourgos. I believe his uncle is a blacksmith. His mother is alive but his father died many years ago. He must be about fifteen now but I suppose he started coming here about three or four years ago. There was one particular day when he and some of the other boys were tidying up the grounds. Somehow they set fire to the undergrowth. It was summer and it took us a while to put it out. They all blamed each other, of course, but Lykourgos’s name was mentioned the most. Some time later, I also heard about an incident with the uncle. After that he stopped coming. I hadn’t seen him for months, maybe years, but he appeared again at a ceremony alone, just a few days ago. I didn’t get a chance to talk to him and I haven’t seen him since.’
‘And the uncle?’
‘He’s gone. He was an ex-legionary and returned to service to fight the Palmyrans.’
‘This incident? Do you know any specifics?’
‘No – but from what I remember Lykourgos had done something dangerous.’
‘Do you know where I can find him?’
‘I know where the smithy is.’
It was two miles away, in an undistinguished area not far from the city centre. Cassius and Simo were without a lantern and arrived there in pitch black. The smithy was on a patch of open ground between two apartment blocks. Seeing a light on in one of the adjacent dwellings, Cassius dismounted and left Simo with the horses. Cursing at the pain in his backside from the ride, he jogged up to the door and knocked.
Eventually a woman opened it, a tiny clay oil lamp in her hand. Small and grey-haired, she could have been anything between forty and sixty. The first thing she looked at was the crested helmet under Cassius’s arm; just as he had intended.
‘Gods have mercy,’ she wailed in Greek before grabbing the door to steady herself, oblivious to the oil spilling from the lamp. When she had taken a few breaths, she looked up at Cassius.
‘It’s him, isn’t it?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The fires. It’s my boy, isn’t it?’
‘Lykourgos?’ Cassius’s hand drifted to his sword hilt. He instantly wished he’d controlled himself.
‘You mustn’t hurt him, sir,’ pleaded the mother. ‘He doesn’t know what he’s doing. It must be the lord of flies – he’s possessed him; he wants him to bring fire and ruin to the world, he-’
‘Just tell me where he is.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘He’s been out the last few nights?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did he say anything about-?’
She shook her head. ‘He hardly says a word even to me now. He left about an hour ago. I tried to stop him.’
She pointed north.
Due mainly to concerns about Palmyran spies, the magistrate had the watchmen out in force; and they were to be found at most important sites and the main avenues. Ranked just below city sergeants, they always had at least one lantern and one sword between them. As Cassius and Simo rode towards the coast, they consulted every pair they met. Five of them had seen no sign of the youth; the sixth had.
‘About half an hour ago,’ said the man as he looked up at Cassius, ‘said he was taking some food to his uncle at the harbour.’
‘Was he carrying anything?’
‘A sack. We didn’t need to check it – we could smell the fish half a mile off.’
Their route took them past the imposing edifice of Cyzicus’s amphitheatre. Said to be five hundred feet wide, the arena was one of the largest in the Empire. They then traversed a small, single-arched bridge, crossing the narrow river that ran through the centre of the city. Cassius and Simo kept their horses at a trot and were soon nearing the large warehouses and cranes that surrounded the harbour. They had encountered two more pairs of watchmen: none of them had seen any trace of the lad.
As they rode on, Simo spoke up. ‘Apologies if this sounds impertinent, sir, but what about using them to search for him?’
‘We could,’ said Cassius. ‘But watchmen are not known for their subtlety. If he realises we’re after him and gets away, this could go on for days or weeks and we might never track him down. I want it settled tonight. For now we will play hunter and use our heads: if we need beaters to flush out our prey later on, so be it. There is help close by.’
Cassius chose not to add that - having made so much progress and eclipsed Stolo’s efforts - he was now determined to conclude this affair himself. Why should some halfwit watchman get all the glory?
The help he had spoken of was on the Via Galatia, halfway between the harbour and the amphitheatre: the headquarters of the city sergeants. Cassius knew there would be a senior officer on duty throughout the night and at least two dozen men in the building. The city’s fire-fighting equipment was also located there.
As the salty tang of the air grew stronger, the pair rounded a bend and came out at the western end of the main harbour. The wind was from the north; rattling the spars and lines on the boats, lapping water against the quay. From one of the larger ships came a roar of laughter.
‘Might he try to fire a ship, sir?’ asked Simo, panting from the exertions of the ride.
‘Unlikely. If he wants to see a big blaze, then one of the warehouses would be ideal - there are plenty to choose from.’
‘I just don’t understand it, sir - to inflict such needless damage and destruction.’
‘His mother seems to think he’s possessed. More likely some form of insanity.’
‘Possessed? By a demon?’
‘Some such nonsense. Anyway, let’s make sure he hasn’t already got to work. We’ll get a good view from up there.’
To their left was a promontory that formed one sid
e of the harbour. Its flanks were sheer rock but the top was a pleasant, tree-lined path that ran out a hundred yards to a viewing platform known as ‘the Perch’. Cassius had walked there with one of his young ladies.
‘Come on, Simo.’
Evading an aged fisherman carrying a net over his shoulder, they guided their mounts to the promontory. Though the horses protested about starting up the gloomy path, it was easy enough to follow: the trees had been cut back recently and the ground was firm.
‘Shame we don’t have a lantern.’
‘Sorry, sir.’
When they were about two thirds of the way to the Perch, the trees began to thin out. Cassius was considering dismounting when Simo spoke.
‘Is that … sir!’
Cassius looked over his shoulder. What caught his attention was not the shadowy figure of the Gaul but the flicker of orange: a fire was alight somewhere behind the buildings that lined the quay.
Before Cassius could say anything he heard a cry. The noise was not one of anguish or pain; it was a squeal of delight. Then came another, followed by gleeful laughter.
‘By the gods, it’s him,’ Cassius whispered. ‘He came up here to watch. Simo, back to the magistrate’s building – raise the alarm. Take the horses. And get back here as soon as you can.’
Cassius dropped carefully to the ground and passed his reins to Simo. He winced at the noise of the departing horses but even if Lykourgos heard something, he didn’t have anywhere to go.
As Cassius continued upward, the path became steeper. Eyes fixed on the open space of the Perch ahead, he moved to the right side. Apart from making him harder to spot, he was now walking on soft grass and less likely to alert his foe.
But