The Earthly Gods

by Nick Brown

  Cassius, Kabir and Idan walked over to the youngsters. Yablus stretched out a single strand of black hair more than ten inches in length. Though the nomads wore their hair long, very few men in a Roman city did.

  Kammath shook his head and shut his eyes.

  His father put an arm around him. ‘They were here. I’m sure of it.’

  They all left via the front entrance apart from Yablus, who remained behind to secure the double doors then exited through the window. Kabir thought it was important to leave no trace of their entry as he wanted to return later in the day. Cassius considered the warehouse little more than a distraction compared to what Tarsus’s senior officials would know but he agreed they could leave no stone unturned.

  As they passed the fisherwomen, Cassius watched a man reach the bank upon a skiff. He gave a last shunt with his pole and came alongside a rickety pontoon. Once he’d tied up, one of the women came to help him take some baskets from the boat. Cassius spied a notice with a poorly spelled Greek warning that the pontoon was private property. It seemed likely the fisherman would know the riverside area and its people well.

  ‘Wait a moment.’ As the others halted, he directed Simo towards the Cilician, who was an older man wearing a ragged cap and an equally ragged tunic.

  ‘Ask about the rope merchant’s – if he’s seen anyone going in and out. Meliton and his friends, too.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Catch us up. We’ll ask over here.’

  Cassius led the others back to the shipyard. Once there, he looked for a foreman.

  ‘We’ll have a word with them,’ said Kabir, pointing at a group of dark-skinned labourers who were transferring timber from the building into the yard. There didn’t seem to be anyone supervising them.

  ‘Good idea.’

  Just as Cassius entered the building, a man hailed him and strode over. Unlike the workers, he was wearing shoes.

  ‘No visitors in here, sir – the office is out the back.’

  ‘I don’t need the office. I’d like to ask you about that rope merchant’s.’

  They both had to shout above the noise of the work.

  The man ushered Cassius outside. ‘What was that?’

  ‘About the rope merchant’s.’ Cassius pointed back along the road. ‘Know if anyone’s still using it?’

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘What about a man named Meliton?’

  ‘Don’t know the name. Listen, I have work to do. Stay out of here.’

  Cassius almost admonished the man; it was difficult to get used to being ignored while out of uniform.

  He stood at the corner of the building and watched the Syrians. Kabir was sensibly talking to the labourers alone, leaning over the wall as they stacked the timber. He didn’t seem to be faring much better; the locals were shaking their heads and shrugging.

  Cassius crossed the road and stood close to the ramp. A couple of lads were fishing; sitting either side of a pail and each holding a line.

  ‘Catch anything?’

  They were either too shy to answer or didn’t speak Greek.

  Cassius looked back at the busier area of the docks. They had passed an inn; that might be the most likely place to pick up some useful information.

  He checked on Simo. While the women kept working, the old fisherman seemed happy to talk. He pointed at the rope merchant’s twice. Cassius was about to join the pair when a group of men strode past.

  There were six of them, each carrying a heavy-looking wooden chest on his shoulder. Though none of them were speaking, one was whistling. Their clothing told Cassius little: middling tunics, middling sandals. Judging by their physiques, the six were either soldiers or labourers.

  Cassius looked back at the pontoon. When the fisherman spied the men, he instantly bowed his head. Simo kept talking to him but the Cilician retreated towards his boat. Simo glanced over his shoulder then opened his hands towards the local, as if asking a question. Cassius switched his gaze to the six men. He was not surprised when they reached the rope merchant’s and turned into the yard.

  Kabir and the others crossed the road. They’d been so intent on questioning the workers that they’d completely missed the new arrivals. Though they carried only daggers on their belts, Kammath had a large leather pack on his back containing their long knives and slings. Cassius had advised against this but was now glad he’d let Kabir have his way.

  ‘Nothing,’ said the Syrian. ‘Useless.’

  Before Cassius could disclose what he’d seen, Simo arrived. ‘Sir, he told me that he only found out the slave-trader had been using the place after he and his gang were arrested. No one had been seen there for several weeks but in the last few days, some men have been coming and going. Then he just went quiet, I couldn’t get anything more from him.’

  ‘Did you find out anything?’ asked Kabir.

  Cassius said, ‘Follow me.’

  Whoever they were, they clearly weren’t stupid. Apart from designing their appearance to blend in, the gang posted a lookout at the front of the rope merchant’s.

  Once Cassius passed on what he’d observed, the Syrians swiftly devised a plan to surround and enter the building. Cassius had always known this type of situation might arise. There was no question of involving the authorities; that would take far too long and lead to far too many complications.

  When Kabir outlined what they intended, Cassius agreed but reminded them all to use the minimal force necessary. The last thing he needed ahead of the later meeting was for them to draw attention to themselves. Having said that, he guessed the gang might not be keen on involving the city sergeants either.

  Asking only for a corner of paper from Cassius’s satchel, Kabir sauntered off down the road alone towards the sentry. Cassius and Simo remained behind Idan and the others, who advanced quickly across the waste ground towards the side of the building. As Kabir neared the sentry, the five of them waited behind the scant cover offered by a cluster of leafless trees.

  Kabir hailed the sentry, who was standing outside the yard, slouching against the wall. When the man came forward, Kabir showed him the piece of paper. As soon as he looked down at it, the nomad clubbed a hand into the side of his head. The sentry dropped like a stone.

  Kabir dragged his prone form to the front of the building then lowered the sentry to the ground. Idan and Kammath ran across the waste ground to meet him, with Cassius and Simo not far behind. Yablus made for the rear. As they neared the doors, Kammath and Kabir retrieved their long knives.

  Idan took his sling from inside his tunic. The weapon was a two-foot length of braided hemp, with a small leather cradle for the shot. At one end was a loop of cord, which Idan slipped over his little finger. With what appeared to be a single movement, he dropped a lead ball into the cradle and gripped the other end between thumb and forefinger. Despite the circumstances, Cassius was reminded of what he’d observed of the Syrians at Alauran; they were so comfortable with the slings that the weapons almost seemed like an extension of their arms.

  As they gathered by the doors – which were slightly ajar – Cassius looked around once again. Other than the fisherman, nobody in that direction seemed to have noticed. The locals mending the net, however, had. When they saw Cassius watching them, they all looked away.

  It had been agreed that Simo – who was even more of a liability in a fight than Cassius – would remain outside. His master had decided to leave his dagger in the sheath; it would only make him a target and he had the utmost faith in the nomads.

  With a nod from Kabir, Kabbath swung one of the doors open and the pair slipped inside. Idan shifted so that the sun was behind him and raised his arm to deploy the sling if need be.

  Cassius moved up beside Kabir and got his first view of the men. They were gathered in the open space, some on their knees, some standing. All were now staring at the interlopers. The lids of the chests were open. They were packed with straw to protect the religious icons and other trinkets within.

 
‘Who in Hades are you?’ grunted one of the men, a broad fellow with a greying beard. As he got to his feet, he pulled out a dagger.

  Cassius glimpsed a whirl of movement to his right. The man cried out and dropped the blade. As it clanged to the floor, he gripped his hand.

  ‘Uh! You piece of shit.’

  Idan had another shot ready.

  ‘Leave the blades where they are,’ ordered Kabir.

  Cassius had just realised he could see only four men when two shapes emerged from the shadows at the rear of the building. Yablus was being pushed forward by a man with a knife to his throat. The light coming from the door glinted off the blade, illuminating the Syrian’s unblinking eyes.

  ‘Never send a boy to do a man’s work,’ said the fifth man.

  The rest of the gang looked relieved. ‘Nice one,’ said the injured man as his compatriots drew their blades.

  Idan and Kabir spoke to each other.

  ‘Cut that foreign chatter.’ The injured man seemed to be their leader.

  ‘All weapons on the floor.’

  Cassius tried to stay calm. Apart from the fact that this had gone so wrong so quickly, he noted how these men had overcome their initial shock with some speed. The situation had turned completely; the best he could hope for now was to get himself and his allies out alive.

  ‘I can make them to do that,’ he said. ‘But you’ll have to take that knife from our friend’s throat.’

  ‘Why should we?’ spat the leader. ‘That ugly prick damn near broke my hand. And look at him.’

  Outside, the sentry was now up on his knees but still looked in a bad way.

  Idan said, ‘Your hand’s not broken. If I wanted to break it, I would have.’

  ‘We just need information,’ said Cassius hastily. ‘It’s in none of our interests for this to turn nasty.’

  ‘You’re funny,’ said the leader. ‘It was you lot came in here with blades drawn.’

  ‘You ain’t getting these,’ said another man, pointing down at the chests.

  ‘We don’t want them,’ said Cassius. ‘Just infor—’

  He heard the familiar whoosh of the sling, then saw the man holding Yablus stagger backwards. The youth took his opportunity and elbowed his former captor in the ribs. Already stunned by the blow to his head, the man tottered back and tripped over a chest.

  The remaining four men raised their knives.

  ‘No!’ yelled Cassius, fearing this was about to turn into a bloodbath. He didn’t fancy his chances of emerging unharmed from a knife fight.

  Yablus joined the others and took the blade Idan offered him.

  Simo appeared and ran over to join his master.

  Cassius put his hands up high and positioned himself between the two groups.

  ‘There is no need for this.’ Cassius was close to the leader, no more than a sweep of a blade away. ‘We don’t want your stuff. You tell us what we need to do know and we’re gone.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know Meliton?’

  ‘The name, yes. If you’re after him, you’re too late.’

  ‘What about illegal slaves?’

  ‘That’s not our trade.’

  Cassius glanced down at the chests. ‘Smugglers?’

  ‘What we do is our concern. Who are you?’

  ‘An interested party. Meliton traded three young Syrian girls recently. We think they may have been kept here. You know anything about them?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Any of you?’

  Those that were able shook their heads.

  ‘They could be lying,’ said Kabir in Latin, apparently assuming the men might only speak Greek.

  ‘We’re not,’ said another man, also in Latin. ‘We used this place because we knew it was empty. We’ve only been in here three times, the first barely a week ago. Trading girls – we wouldn’t do it.’

  ‘I would,’ said the tallest of them, a beady-eyed man who also happened to possess the largest knife. ‘I’ll trade anything that makes a profit. But we don’t know anything about these girls, and you’ve already hurt two of my mates. So why you don’t you lot piss off before I run out of patience and stick this in one of you!’

  The leader seemed displeased by the interjection.

  Cassius didn’t dare turn his back on the gang. ‘Kabir, they’ve told us what they know – that good enough for you?’

  During the time it took the Syrian to reply, Cassius alternated his gaze between the four men. The groans coming from the fellow struck by the second shot were not helping the situation.

  ‘Kabir?’ demanded Cassius through gritted teeth.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You leave first. I’ll follow.’

  When he heard the Syrians move, Cassius spoke again to the leader, who was still nursing his hand. He got the feeling he was less inclined to violence than his fearless friend.

  ‘Some recompense for your injuries is only fair. Shall we say five denarii each?’

  Cassius thought it essential to avoid the possibility of a fight outside or a later revenge attack. Before the leader could reply, the tall fellow intervened, knife now aimed at Cassius.

  ‘Ten. I’d say ten would be fair.’

  ‘As you wish,’ said Cassius, who was relieved that Simo was still beside him. The Gaul’s fingers shook as he counted out the money. Cassius took it from him and handed it to the leader.

  He and Simo then turned and walked out of the building and into bright sunlight.

  Yablus was several shades paler than the others. The other three were still holding their knives.

  ‘Put those away,’ said Cassius. ‘And let’s get out of here. Now.’

  VIII

  ‘Peace and quiet at last.’

  Cassius and Simo were alone, sitting on a bench facing a pretty fountain in a sanctuary devoted to Juventas, goddess of youth.

  ‘Another roll, sir?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘May I have the last one?’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  Cassius watched Simo slice off a lump of hard, yellow cheese with his pocketknife then place it inside the fresh bread roll. While the Gaul ate, Cassius picked at the little basket of dates and walnuts they had also purchased for lunch.

  ‘Gods, I hope this afternoon is productive. I still haven’t recovered myself from that face-off and we learned virtually nothing of use.’

  ‘It was horrible, sir. Horrible. All those blades … to think what could have happened.’

  ‘I shall simply have to remember that Kabir and the others are not soldiers. They can be unbiddable. And unpredictable.’

  ‘Young Kammath went too far, sir. He was very disrespectful.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  The intervening hours had not gone well. Once safely away from the rope merchant’s, Cassius had asked Yablus what went wrong. It appeared that the youth had completely missed the man stationed at the rear, who had sprung out of the shadows and disarmed him. Hearing this, Kabir lambasted his nephew, who appeared on the verge of tears by the end of it. Kammath took his cousin’s side and got into an argument with his father and Idan.

  Kabir’s son had then turned his ire on Cassius, questioning why he hadn’t even drawn his blade. Cassius countered that it was fortunate for them that he hadn’t; and that they’d been lucky to extricate themselves at all. The youth seemed to think they should have fought the smugglers anyway; that they undoubtedly knew more than they were letting on. At this point, Kabir and Idan – who did not concur – shouted him down.

  Even so, Cassius had given much thought to Kammath’s words. He imagined the Syrians would be talking about him. Kabir and Idan had known Cassius when he was even less able with a sword. They knew he didn’t have the stomach or the skill for a fight against a practised foe. What they didn’t know was that Cassius had killed a man in Arabia, though he hadn’t meant to. All he had done was strike him with the hilt of a dagger: that had been enough.

  He looked down at the blade on his belt. Thank
s to Indavara, he now felt comfortable wielding a sword but he’d always rather hated daggers, though he’d carried one ever since joining the army. Nasty, common little weapons.

  ‘You all right, sir?’ asked Simo as he finished his roll.

  Cassius was watching a family who had occupied a nearby bench. Two young boys – twins by the looks of them – were both holding toy chariots. They dropped to the ground instantly and placed the little vehicles side by side, ready for a race.

  ‘Simo, while I’m in the Golden Arrow, you can go and find a long bag – it will need to be hardy and easily carried.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘It’s for a sword.’

  Gurges was at a table by himself and just finishing off a bowl of stew when Cassius arrived.

  ‘Please,’ said the market inspector, gesturing to the empty seat opposite him.

  Just as Cassius sat down, a maid whisked away the bowl.

  ‘Two sesterces for that?’ said Gurges. ‘My mother makes better and could do a whole pot for half the price.’

  ‘I’m happy to reimburse you, of course,’ said Cassius. ‘This is much appreciated.’

  Gurges waved at another maid. ‘A glass for my friend.’

  Cassius looked around. The Golden Arrow was indeed exceptionally well appointed for a city eatery, with marble upon the floor, mosaics and hanging tapestries; and silver cutlery for the diners. Close by was a large table occupied by eight important-looking fellows all clad in spotless togas protected by eating bibs.

  ‘Any likely candidates?’ asked Cassius.

  Gurges was trying to get his tunic to hang correctly. Cassius guessed he was trying to disguise his paunch, which rather spoiled an otherwise impressive physique.

  ‘Yes, I would think so. You know, I thought your name sounded familiar. Then I recalled the tale of the young Service officer who raised his spearhead amongst a tribe of rampaging Arabians and brought them to heel. Was that you?’

  As he had already given his name, Cassius saw little point in denying it. Improving his currency with Gurges and whoever else he dealt with here was important.