by Brown, Nick
‘I would expect nothing else. Let’s drink. A busy day awaits tomorrow but that tribune was quite right – we must celebrate.’
Just as they sat down, the courtyard door rattled open. ‘That’ll be my sister’s girl,’ said Muranda. ‘Come to help me with the bronze.’
Something heavy thumped down on the floor then a large figure filled the doorway.
‘Simo!’ cried Indavara, spilling his wine as he jumped to his feet.
The big Gaul stepped over his saddlebags and walked wearily into the kitchen. His hair was in a tangle, his tunic coated with dust. He gave a brief nod to Indavara and staggered forward, eyes wide with nerves. ‘Master Cassius, a thousand apologies for this disgrace. I will make amends in whatever way you see fit.’
Simo seemed on the verge of tears but watched along with the others as his master calmly got up, walked around the table and stopped in front of him. Cassius looked him up and down and shook his head. But when he could contain himself no longer he smiled and gripped Simo’s heavy shoulders. ‘By the gods, you had me worried there, you big bastard. Welcome back.’
Simo’s head dropped.
‘Look at the state of you,’ added Cassius. ‘Some Surrentine will see you right.’
‘Sir, please, no. I deserve nothing.’
‘Nonsense.’
Indavara shook Simo’s hand and coaxed him onto a bench, even though he insisted he was too dirty. Muranda looked rather perplexed by this turn of events but welcomed Simo back and brought in his saddlebags.
Cassius turned away to pour the wine. He raised his eyes to the heavens. Thank you, Jupiter. Thank you.
IX
‘Time to wake up, sir.’
Cassius actually smiled as he heard those words spoken in Simo’s sunny, reassuring tones. He opened his eyes and saw him already at work, sorting through the clothes strewn across a chest of drawers.
‘Water’s there, sir. Nice and fresh.’
As he drank, Cassius was relieved to note he had no headache. ‘I’m glad we stopped after three mugs.’
‘Me too, sir. I imagine we have a busy day ahead.’
‘Extremely. Having concluded one unpleasant journey, Simo, you must now embark upon another. Damned bad luck with those two lame horses. I still think you could have sent a letter on but I appreciate it can be difficult to find someone reliable.’
Simo said nothing as he put the window shutters back on their hooks. The dawn light revealed the full extent of the mess.
‘You should probably start with some washing,’ suggested Cassius. ‘At least with this sun it’ll be dry by tomorrow. Then we need to think about our horses and, believe it or not, I’m going to have to outfit myself like a merchant. There’s a hundred and one things.’
Simo dropped a cape on the dirty pile then looked at his master and rubbed the back of his neck.
Cassius knew what that meant. ‘What is it?’
‘A difficult matter, sir.’
‘Your father? Didn’t you say all’s well with him?’
‘It’s not that, sir. What I told you about why I was late.’
‘Spit it out, Simo.’
‘I lied, sir.’
Cassius put the water down. ‘By Jupiter, first you disappear and now this. What’s happening to you?’
‘I barely slept, sir, thinking of how I deceived you. I thought it better to tell the truth now.’
‘I suppose that’s something. Well?’
‘As you know, I have now reached the stage where I can receive direct instruction about the teachings of the Lord. I should have done so far earlier but we have been rather busy of late. I needed a letter of recommendation from Antioch so that I might be taught here in Bostra. Elder Nura was away so I had to wait for him to return and sign the letter. It delayed me by four days. I am sorry, sir. Deeply sorry.’
Cassius threw his blanket aside and got up, naked but for his loincloth. ‘I wonder sometimes if you know how lucky you are. Upon hearing something like that, many a master would take a whip to your back. Lies, deceit – just the beginning, I expect. Soon you’ll be running off to join your Christian “brothers” permanently.’
‘No, sir. I would not do that.’
‘Perhaps I have been too weak. Allowing you the leave seems only to have encouraged disobedience. Well, you can forget getting any more coin for the time being. I expect you wasted everything I gave you on charity as usual.’
‘Not entirely, sir. I bought two medical texts.’
Cassius crossed his arms. ‘We have always been open with each other, Simo.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘If we lose that, we lose trust. I have enough uncertainty around me. Can I be certain of you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Do you know, yesterday I thought I might have to go and find myself another attendant. Buy a new man at an auction.’
The very mention of the word drew a marked reaction from the Gaul. Satisfied he’d made his point, Cassius pointed at the pile of dirty clothes. ‘They’re not going to wash themselves.’
‘Shall I fetch your hot water first, sir?’
‘Do so.’
‘Well, well. Reunited at last.’
Abascantius walked into the atrium and inspected the trio, then pointed at Simo. ‘So what happened to you? You had your master very worried.’
‘Sir, I—’
‘Simo was unlucky with transportation,’ interjected Cassius. ‘But now he’s back with us I’m sure he hasn’t a minute to spare.’
With a bow to the agent, Simo hurried out through the front door clutching a list of supplies.
Abascantius wore his riding trousers and a light cloak over his tunic. He had dispensed with his helmet and was now virtually unidentifiable as a military man. He turned his attention to Indavara. ‘And how’s the Fourth Legion’s newest recruit?’
Indavara offered a cordial nod.
‘Not saying much today, eh? All that talking last night perhaps. Corbulo, the auxiliaries have been paid and the rest of the money is with Pontius’s clerk. Mercator assures me they’ll all be ready tomorrow morning and he’ll be along presently. He has a few questions for you.’
‘And I for him.’
‘Any for me? Last chance.’
‘This Ulixes character, sir. He didn’t sound particularly reliable. What if he’s not in Petra or his information turns out to be false?’
Abascantius took a step forward. ‘Let’s be clear, Corbulo. You must do your utmost to locate and recover that stone, whatever happens in Petra. I expect your next letter to me to be one that brings a smile to my face.’
‘On that subject, sir, where should letters to you be directed? I assume you’ll be on the move.’
‘Address them to the chief clerk of the Fourth at Raphanea. I will ensure he knows where I am at all times.’
‘Sir, if we do recover the stone – where should it be taken?’
‘Ultimately, here. But considering where you’re going, the fortress at Humeima should perhaps be your first stop. It’s just south of Petra. The walls are three feet thick and there are never less than two centuries stationed there.’
‘One other thing, sir – Mercator. Seems rather odd for an ambitious optio to leave his cohort for an assignment with us. Any explanation?’
‘It’s very simple. Inside the headquarters office is a list – a list of those optios ready to take over when one of the legion’s centurions is killed, gets ill, or retires. Despite the resistance of Chief Nerva, I have successfully moved Mercator from somewhere near the bottom to somewhere near the top.’
‘I see.’
‘It’s interesting,’ said Abascantius, struggling to straighten the lines of his cloak around his paunch, ‘I found our little ceremony in the shrine rather inspiring. Last night I gave offerings to the great gods, asking them to assist this operation. It’s been a while since I did that.’
He grasped Cassius’s forearm. ‘Remember what you stand to gain, Corbulo; the ap
preciation of the Emperor and some time to yourself. That enough for you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Abascantius held onto his arm. ‘For Rome.’
Despite himself – and the usual whiff of rancid breath – Cassius felt a brief surge of enthusiasm. ‘For Rome.’
‘Here!’ The shout came from outside.
Abascantius shook his head. ‘At least that Gaul of yours has some manners.’ He bellowed a reply towards the street. ‘Out in a moment!’
The agent then put a hand on Indavara’s shoulder and nodded at Cassius. ‘You watch his back. Anything happens to him and I’ll make sure something happens to you.’ He grinned. ‘And try not to argue. He’s usually right.’
‘Usually,’ said Indavara.
Abascantius turned to Cassius. ‘And the “wine” is safe?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Indavara frowned.
‘I’ll show you later.’
Abascantius let out a long sigh as they walked outside. ‘Ah, shit, another week in the saddle.’
Shostra was standing at the end of the path, trying to control the two horses, who’d been disturbed by a squad of cavalry trotting out of the fortress. Abascantius took charge of his mount, the same sturdy black stallion he’d been riding when Cassius had first met him the previous summer.
‘He looks like he could do a fair few miles a day.’
‘Antheon? Yes, he’s served me well.’
Abascantius took hold of the saddle and hauled his heavy frame up. Once settled, he patted the horse’s sleek shoulder. ‘Farts every ten paces but that’s not my concern. Old Shostra gets the worst of it.’
The attendant muttered something as he mounted up.
‘Farewell, then, you two,’ said the agent. ‘May the gods favour you.’
‘Farewell, sir,’ said Cassius and Indavara.
As usual, Shostra ignored them.
Cassius tutted. ‘The miles must fly by, sir, what with such stimulating company.’
Abascantius turned around and glanced at Shostra. ‘Oh, he’s not so bad. If you ask him nicely, he’ll tell you one of his wrestling stories.’
‘Really?’ said Cassius. ‘Interesting, are they?’
‘Boring as shit. He lost most of his fights – why do you think he works for me?’
With Shostra still muttering – and Cassius and Indavara laughing – Abascantius guided Antheon away along the Via Cappadocia.
‘So, what’s this about wine?’ asked Indavara.
‘Ah yes, come, I’ll show you.’ Cassius was already on his way back inside. ‘You may have to keep an eye on me, but we both have to keep an eye on this.’
Mercator called in later as agreed. With Indavara busy cleaning his weaponry and Muranda out fetching firewood, Cassius spoke to him in the courtyard. The trusty charcoal and paper were already on the table. With time so short, almost everything had to be organised by the end of the day. He checked his notes.
‘So what about your horses?’
Mercator rolled his eyes. ‘Officer Abascantius insisted we not use army animals so Andal and Yorvah are with the men at the horse market right now. Lot of buying to do.’
‘Legion mounts are branded. They might give us away.’
‘Ah, of course,’ said Mercator. ‘Sorry, all this cloak-and-dagger stuff is new to me.’
Cassius didn’t think it politic to confess just how new it still was to him.
Mercator crossed his bulky, vein-ridged arms. ‘The prices will be high what with the army manoeuvres but I was thinking twenty-five horses and eight mules. We can travel fairly light but if we find ourselves down in the Hejaz there aren’t many settlements or much grassland. We’ll need to carry plenty of water and fodder.’
‘Sounds about right,’ replied Cassius. ‘I’ll be sorting out our mounts this afternoon. Do you think we’ll manage it in five days?’
‘As long as we keep up the pace.’
Cassius consulted his list again. ‘What about accommodation?’
‘Way-stations are out of the question, I suppose.’
‘Correct. We must keep contact with soldiers to an absolute minimum. Someone will recognise someone and it’ll get awkward. No, taverns would be better.’
‘But twenty-four of us, with all that gear? What about tents?’
‘Certainly more authentic,’ said Cassius.
‘Quite a bit more weight to carry.’
‘Worth it, I think.’
‘We will use the traditional type,’ said Mercator. ‘The men and I can have them up in half an hour. By the way, some of them were asking about identification. Leaving our tablets and papers behind is all very well but what if we have a problem with the army or some other official?’
‘I will have my spearhead with me, my papers too – well hidden, of course. If there’s no other alternative, that should be enough to get us out of trouble.’ Cassius leaned forward. ‘Leave your auxiliaries in no doubt. They are to bring nothing that can identify them as soldiers. I notice a few have tattoos – tell them to cover them up. No letters from wives, no mementos from home. Nothing.’
‘What about sacred items: figurines and suchlike?’
‘Which gods do your men worship?’
‘The great gods, of course.’
Cassius knew he shouldn’t have been surprised; it was often auxiliaries and provincials who showed most dedication to the Roman pantheon.
‘All of you?’
‘Most.’
‘What about the desert people, the tribesmen?’
‘A mix. Some worship local deities. Or Greek, or Egyptian, or one of the sun gods.’
‘Then such items will also have to be left behind.’
Mercator scratched his chin. ‘To ask them to forgo worship when they may be facing battle—’
‘They can still pray.’
‘It could be a problem.’
Cassius had seen this before too. Though generally tolerant of differing beliefs, the army encouraged joint worship – especially of Mars and Jupiter and especially amongst auxiliaries. The unifying benefits were manifest but the relentless routine of devotion sometimes made soldiers prone to superstition and – worse – more concerned with the gods than their immediate superiors.
‘I trust you to ensure that it won’t be, Mercator.’
The optio hesitated before replying. ‘Yes, sir.’
Cassius checked the list once more. ‘Now, where shall we depart from tomorrow morning?’
‘Just east of the hippodrome is a piece of waste ground between two old temples. We can gather there out of sight and set off without drawing attention.’
‘Sounds perfect. Let us say the third hour.’ Cassius stood up. ‘I must sort out these horses then get myself along to an outfitter who can dress me like a merchant. Anything else?’
‘Just one thing.’ Mercator stood too and adjusted his sword belt. ‘Officer Abascantius didn’t tell me much more than he told the men. I don’t suppose you can give me any more details?’
‘Not right now. When you need to know, you will. Let’s just concentrate on getting to Petra.’
Organising the horses turned out to be a lot quicker than organising the clothing. As soon as Simo returned with two lads helping him carry the supplies, Cassius took him back along the Via Cappadocia. The attendant knew of a reliable Spaniard with a large stables from whom they secured three healthy-looking horses and a mule for a month; they would be brought to the villa first thing.
From the stables they hurried into the centre of Bostra and got the name of a Greek outfitter’s just off the cloth market.
‘Caesar’s length,’ moaned Cassius as they squeezed past a loud crowd of locals bidding for some colourful offcuts. ‘I don’t mind playing a role now and again but keeping this merchant act up for days and weeks will be a nightmare.’
‘Sir, forgive me for saying so, but you also don’t really have the colouring for a travelling man.’
‘That had occurred to me. Well, I
shall get plenty of sun on the way down to Petra.’
‘You must be careful, though, sir, you know how you burn. Remember when we took that river trip in Cyzicus? Your knees were bright pink.’
‘Yes, yes.’ Cassius looked up at a sign above one of the wider storefronts. ‘Here it is – Apri’s.’
As they walked under an awning and into the store, a young lad scrubbing the floor got to his feet and retreated to the back. Standing there was a middle-aged couple examining a square of cloth laid out on a counter. The man hurried forward.
‘Good day, sir, how may I be of assistance?’
Cassius blew out his cheeks. ‘First of all, this needs to remain between us.’
‘Of course, sir. Discretion is always guaranteed at Apri’s.’
‘Basically, I need to look like a merchant. A bit of colour, some patterning. You know how they are.’
‘I see, I see. What exactly would you need?’
Cassius turned to Simo.
‘Three tunics,’ suggested the Gaul, ‘a cloak, and some riding trousers.’
‘That should do it.’
Apri’s smile had broadened. ‘Shall I measure you up first, sir, or would you like to look at some material?’
‘Er, measure me.’
Cassius handed his sword belt to Simo. While Apri’s wife brought in some rolls of material, the clothier took a knotted piece of twine from behind the counter and began. ‘I’m wondering how much you would like to spend, sir. We have some excellent linens and cottons, then of course there’s silk.’
‘No silk,’ said Cassius. ‘I shall be on the move.’
Apri finished up, then gestured towards the cloth. ‘Let’s start with colour. We have some lovely spring shades here.’
Cassius looked over his shoulder and noticed a few locals peering into the store. Worse was to follow; two well-dressed young women strolled in and one looked vaguely familiar. As they examined hoods draped over wooden models, Apri’s wife went to assist them.
‘Well, sir,’ said Apri. ‘Which colour catches your eye?’
‘I am an army officer,’ stated Cassius loudly, ‘fashion is not my strong point.’