by Brown, Nick
The next section of the avenue turned out to be the busiest part of the town they’d seen. Beyond two large, fallen apartment buildings were a series of inhabited villas with washing hanging from lines and children playing outside. Some of the villas were newly built, and even a cursory glance showed they’d been constructed with durability in mind.
Not far past the last of them was a fenced yard containing a broad warehouse, which also looked new. Close to the front of the property, surrounded by the only patch of grass, was a tall gum tree. At the base of the pale, mottled trunk sat a young girl playing with carved wooden toys. Seeing the group arrive, she ran over and opened the gate for them.
‘Thank you,’ said Noster.
In front of the warehouse was a cart. A man appeared from behind it and waved. ‘Morning, Noster.’
‘Morning, Maro. I’ve got some clients for you.’
Noster introduced Asdribar and Korinth, then the timber merchant led the three of them back towards the warehouse.
The little girl grabbed Annia’s hand. ‘Do you want to see my toys?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘You can show me if you want,’ said Clara, trying to coax the girl away from her mistress.
‘I want to show her!’
‘Oh, very well,’ said Annia, and the two women followed the girl towards the tree.
Despite the predominance of blue in the sky, cloud had arrived overhead and released a light rain. Cassius glanced at the warehouse. ‘Come, Simo, I need to discuss something with you.’
Indavara walked under the tree. ‘I’m going to lie down.’
Cassius and Simo set off across the yard as drops of rain darkened the dusty ground.
‘One of the names on that list we made is Helvetius Cornix. Do you remember anything of the case?’
‘I do recall the name, sir. I think it was from the documents I dealt with.’
‘Obviously, or I would be able to remember more. I must have reviewed it though.’
‘Er …’
They walked around the cart, which was stacked with freshly cut timber complete with branches and leaves, and sheltered from the rain under the warehouse roof. The others were sitting at a table. Maro was making notes with a piece of charcoal.
‘Come on, Simo. Think.’
‘Sorry, sir, I—’
‘Yes, yes, I know. The wine’s still clouding your mind. Perhaps I should remind you of the time I got home from an all-nighter at the second hour and was delivering an extended oration on the works of Marcus Antistius Labeo by the fourth.’ Cassius looked up at the white, bulbous cloud. ‘Helvetius Cornix … Helvetius Cornix.’
‘Would you like me to run back to the Fortuna to fetch the documentation, sir?’
Cassius didn’t answer; he was looking at a long-legged spider descending upside down from one of the branches sticking out of the cart.
‘Helvetius Cornix, Helvetius Cornix …’
He was vaguely aware of a horse galloping along the Via Roma.
Indavara heard the horse too but was happy to stay where he was, eyes shut, lying flat on his back under the tree. Thankfully, the ache at the front of his head was at last starting to recede. The little girl was describing her toys to Annia and Clara. Simply by listening, he was able to picture each one.
As the horseman came closer her voice was lost in the pounding of hooves. The first voice Indavara heard when the rider had passed was Clara’s.
‘Oh,’ the maid said thoughtfully.
‘What?’ asked Annia.
‘That man. I think I’ve seen him somewhere before.’
‘Where?’
Indavara sat up.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Clara.
Annia turned to Indavara. ‘She’s never left Rhodes.’
Indavara scrambled to his feet, ran to the gate and vaulted over it. He looked along the Via Roma. The rider was thirty yards away already but still close enough to see he was not the largest of men.
‘Get Corbulo!’
He set off down the road.
‘Helvetius Cornix, Helvetius—’
‘Officer! Officer Corbulo!’
Cassius darted round the side of the cart and saw Annia, holding up her stola as she ran across the yard.
He came out to meet her, Noster and the others not far behind. ‘What is it?’
‘A man rode past. Clara recognised his face. It could be him.’
Cassius looked past her through the fence and saw Indavara sprinting along the road. ‘Noster, with me!’
Clara watched Cassius speed past. She had her hands on the shoulders of the little girl, who looked like she was about to cry.
Once over the gate, Cassius and Noster bolted after Indavara, who had just reached the inhabited villas. The rider – whose mount was tall and dark – was already a long way away.
‘Recognise him?’ asked Cassius between breaths.
‘Not from here,’ answered Noster.
As they ran past the houses, several dozen of the townspeople now sheltering from the rain looked on.
‘Caesar’s balls,’ said Cassius. ‘So much for blending in.’
Indavara had already given up his attempts to look casual; it wasn’t easy while sprinting along a wet road trying to keep up with a horse. The rider slowed his mount to a trot as he crossed the town square heading east. He now had a hood up and hadn’t looked back once.
By the time Indavara reached the market, the rider was well on his way along the Via Cyrenaica. With no way of knowing how far he was going, Indavara tried to slow his breathing, prepare for a long haul. But once on the road, he could see that the buildings petered out after a mile or so. Assuming the rider wasn’t leaving the town, he would at least be able to see where he turned off.
Indavara felt himself slowing; it was a while since he’d run like this and the slippery paving stones and his sodden tunic didn’t help. Just as he lengthened his stride, the rider veered towards the right side of the road.
Attracting more stares from a couple of market vendors, Cassius and Noster cut across the square. They’d been close enough to see Indavara turn east and Cassius reckoned they hadn’t lost much ground. Despite Noster’s disadvantage in years and height, the sprightly legionary had easily kept pace. When they reached the road, however, both the rider and Indavara had disappeared.
But the Via Cyrenaica wasn’t empty. Six soldiers on horseback trotted out from a side street to the left, every man clad in helmet and armour. They came to a halt in the middle of the road and stared at the villas on the other side.
‘Yours?’ asked Cassius as they slowed to a walk.
Noster shook his head. ‘First Century. Wonder what they’re doing in town.’
Indavara knelt by the corner of a low stone wall and peered round the edge. The soldiers were about fifty feet away, half the group obscured behind a villa. He pulled back his head as one of them glanced in his direction.
‘Shit.’
The rider had turned off about a hundred yards ahead of him. He’d been considering whether to continue up the road or try to find a short-cut when the first of the legionaries had appeared, making the decision for him. He’d sprinted into the nearest side street, then turned down an alley.
Cassius had briefed him earlier about what Eborius had disclosed, but Indavara had no idea which century the soldiers were from or what they would do if they saw him. He peered round the corner again. One of the legionaries was pointing to the east and the two others he could see were also looking that way.
He stood up and ran across the street into the next alley. There was no shout or clatter of hooves. He ran on.
‘Shit,’ said Cassius.
‘That’s not good,’ added Noster as the soldiers urged the horses off the avenue into the maze of villas. He and Cassius were standing still, trying not to look as if they were watching the legionaries.
‘Hope they don’t run into your friend,’ Noster continued. ‘Carnifex’s men aren’t known f
or their restraint.’
‘Neither’s my friend.’
‘Got you.’
Indavara looked across the street. Twenty yards away, the rider had just led his horse into a high-walled courtyard. He was indeed short, his head lower than his mount’s saddle. He returned to the street for a moment, took a brief look around, then pulled the gate shut behind him. The courtyard and the villa to which it belonged seemed to be in good condition compared to the other houses nearby.
Indavara retreated into the shadows next to one end of what looked like a sanctuary. There were gaps in the front wall that he thought might provide a good view of the villa. He smiled. He liked it when he was leading the way, getting things done. He reckoned it reminded Corbulo how much he needed him.
The arched gateway into the sanctuary had lost a lot of bricks and looked as if might collapse at any moment. As he passed warily underneath it, Indavara’s wet legs brushed against the knee-high weeds that carpeted the interior. Once inside, he realised the structure wasn’t a sanctuary; there were no flower beds or benches or fountains.
Ahead of him, arranged in pairs, were six large cubes of a pink-tinged marble, each five feet across. Well-rendered faces and lines of text had been etched on each one, though much was now obscured by moss and grime. At the far end was another arched entrance. This one still had a gate, which had been left ajar.
Indavara heard the legionaries calling out to one another. They were getting closer.
He walked on, between the first pair of what he’d now decided were probably tombs. The black and white tiles beneath his feet were barely visible through the grass and a dense tangle of weed. He passed the second pair of tombs and looked for a suitable gap in the wall to his left; there were a couple of missing bricks but both were too high to look through. Approaching the last pair of tombs, he looked straight at the gate. Or rather the wet ground in the alley beyond it.
The marks in the mud looked fresh.
The faint sound of breathing seemed to be coming from ahead of him. He turned his good ear towards it.
The flash of movement came from the tomb to his right.
Indavara turned; and had time to register only three things. A lithe, dark figure springing at him; a pair of wide, bright eyes; and a narrow blade coming at his neck.
He swung his left arm into the man’s wrist, smashing it into the tomb, but the assailant’s impetus kept him moving forward. Indavara reached out with his right hand and grabbed whatever he could, which turned out to be the diagonal belt across the man’s chest.
He heard boots scuff the ground behind him.
Second man. Moving in.
Gripping the belt tight, Indavara spun round and launched the first attacker towards the second. To his surprise, the man came right off his feet.
A moment after he let go, he heard two simultaneous yelps. Unbalanced, he fell on to his backside and reached for his dagger but when he saw his assailants he realised he wouldn’t be needing it. He got up and drew it anyway.
They couldn’t have been more than fourteen or fifteen, and one was lying on top of the other. Their skin was dark, their long black hair tied into tails with twine. Despite the rain, they were barefoot and wore only baggy, roughly made tunics. Each carried a small, circular shield of hide on a strap over his back. They had both dropped their daggers and Indavara could see the identical leather sheaths fixed to the inside of their left forearms. Surely these were two of the local tribesmen Eborius had spoken of. The Maseene.
The youth lying on top rubbed his head, then rolled off his compatriot. The other warrior was still on his back. Wincing, he pushed himself up off the ground and stared at Indavara. Then he glanced down at the weeds where one of their daggers lay. Indavara retrieved it and tucked it into his belt. Spotting the other one, he grabbed that too.
The pair got to their feet.
‘Down there!’ cried one of the legionaries. He sounded very close.
The bulkier of the two youths also looked to be the youngest.
‘Soldier?’ he asked quietly in Latin.
The accent was like nothing Indavara had ever heard but the word was clear. He shook his head. Even though he’d been close to taking a blade in the neck, he couldn’t help admiring the young warriors for taking him on. But though there could be no doubting their bravery, their fear was equally evident as they stood there, narrow chests rising up and down, rain soaking their faces.
He waved the youths towards the tomb – so they’d be out of sight. Once they’d hesitantly complied, the three of them just stood there in silence, listening to the legionaries moving through the streets and alleys around them. Indavara didn’t know what he’d do if they were discovered, only that there was no way he was going to give up the tribesmen to the legionaries – not after what he’d heard and seen in the square.
Thankfully, it seemed the soldiers were reluctant to dismount and search every hiding place, and before long their voices and the clip-clop of hooves moved away.
Indavara approached the young warrior who had spoken. He held up his spare hand in what he hoped the youth would recognise as a signal of peaceful intent, then pointed at his left forearm. The Maseene exchanged a confused look with his friend but eventually realised what Indavara intended. He offered his arm.
Indavara took one of the daggers from his belt and slipped it into the sheath. The warrior pushed it into place, then dropped his arm. Indavara returned the other dagger to the second warrior in the same manner, then stepped away from them. He aimed his blade towards the gate.
The pair retreated, eyeing Indavara all the way. Their smooth, measured movements reminded him of the hunters he’d seen at work in the arena. As the older lad disappeared behind the tomb, the younger one gave a respectful nod and then a cheeky grin. Indavara walked forward and watched them slip silently into the alley.
‘At least they’re moving away,’ said Noster, looking down the side street from the Via Cyrenaica.
‘But where’s Indavara?’ said Cassius. ‘We don’t even know if he came off to the left or right. That bloody rider could be anywhere by now.’
‘There he is,’ said Noster as Indavara suddenly appeared on the street.
Cassius and Noster ran over to him.
Indavara grinned. ‘What kept you?’
‘Know the place?’ asked Cassius as the three of them squeezed together in a corner of the mausoleum, all looking at the villa through a hole in the wall.
‘No,’ replied Noster. ‘I didn’t even know anyone still lived round here.’
‘Indavara, did you check the perimeter to see if there are any other gates?’
Indavara glared at Cassius. ‘When was I supposed to fit that in?’
‘It’s strange,’ said Noster thoughtfully, leaning back against the wall. ‘Maseene hardly ever come into the town in daylight.’
‘Just children, messing around,’ said Cassius.
‘You’re lucky they didn’t “mess around” with you,’ replied Indavara.
‘Children or not, it’s still unusual,’ said Noster.
‘You must go and find Eborius,’ Cassius told him. ‘Bring him here, tell him he can forget everything else. But be damned careful. We can’t afford for our friend over there to know anything’s amiss.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Noster left and Cassius took his first proper look at the building. The villa was modest but well maintained, the only unusual features the high wall and shuttered windows.
‘I think it’s him,’ said Indavara. ‘Looked pretty small.’
‘Well, we’re due a bit of luck. Gods, I never even questioned the female staff at Memor’s place about Dio. But remember that servant Cimber? He saw the son of a bitch heading for the village earlier in the day. Looks like Clara saw him too.’
‘Someone’s coming,’ replied Indavara, looking left along the street.
They heard a bell chiming and a voice cry out in Latin: ‘Water! Nice clean water!’
An eld
erly man appeared from the direction of the Via Cyrenaica, trudging along towing a mule. Tied to a yoke over the saddle were two large barrels. ‘Get your water here!’
The gate of the villa swung open and the resident walked out on to the street holding a water skin.
‘That’s him,’ said Indavara.
Little could be gleaned from the man’s nondescript attire. He was wearing a well-cut beige tunic and a pair of sandals.
‘Just the one, sir.’ The vendor stopped and began filling the skin from one of the barrels.
‘Short and slight,’ whispered Cassius. ‘Dark hair. Not very light-skinned, not very dark; not particularly handsome, not particularly ugly.’
Once the skin was full, the vendor rested it against the gate while the man reached into a money bag and paid him.
‘And left-handed,’ added Cassius.
‘Dio,’ said Indavara.
Now came Cassius’s turn to grin. ‘Dio.’
XXII
Once Noster and Eborius returned, the legionary was posted as a lookout while the other three gathered at the far end of the mausoleum. Cassius estimated an hour had passed since the assassin had emerged from the villa. There had been no further sign of either him or Carnifex’s men.
‘You don’t know the place either?’ he asked.
Eborius shook his head. ‘I thought this area was empty. We do see the odd new face from time to time, but I try to keep track of who arrives and leaves. He can’t have been here that long.’
‘Or he’s purposefully kept a low profile,’ said Cassius. ‘He seems rather good at that.’
Eborius tapped the pommel of his sword. ‘So, are we going in? Before he has another chance to get away.’
‘He can’t,’ said Cassius. ‘I just checked. The gate’s the only way in or out. How did you fare with this Helvetius?’
‘My mistake,’ Eborius said sheepishly, running a hand through the tight curls of his hair. ‘The man’s name is Helvetius Cordus, not Corvix.’