by Nick Brown
‘It was rather more complicated than that but … yes.’
Gurges leaned on the table and poured wine from a jug into the glass a maid had just delivered. ‘And it’s true – about shining the light into the leader’s eyes? The crystals from The Black Stone of Emesa?’
‘It’s true. The leader had used trickery to convince his followers that the sun god’s light was shining upon them.’
Though the restaurant was warm, Cassius felt a chill wash over him as he thought of the scene in the valley that day.
‘And you brought it back dragged on a litter by camels, with the Arabians pursuing all the way?’
‘Er, no. It was returned in a cart. Word of mouth tends to lead to exaggerations and untruths.’
‘And the German giant who worked for the leader?’
‘Oh, he’s real enough.’
‘You defeated him?’
‘I suppose … Listen, can we get down to business?’
‘Yes, of course, just one more question. Didn’t the Emperor want the stone for himself? Have you met him?’
‘No, though I did receive a personal message of thanks.’
Gurges’s eyes widened and he offered his glass for a toast. ‘By the gods, what a job you have.’
Cassius clinked his glass. ‘There are more disadvantages than benefits, believe me. Now, who is here that can help us?’
‘Right, well, when I came in I spotted Gaius Scribonius Costa; he’s a tribune with responsibility for the city prison. He would probably know what happened to most of the men that have been through there. He just left.’
‘What?’
Gurges held up an appeasing hand. ‘Fear not. Sitting behind you, quite close to the door is Numerius Sentius Merenda. The small fellow, sitting with another small fellow.’
Cassius did not turn around. ‘How long have they been in here?’
‘Not sure. I only noticed him just before my stew came.’
‘What’s his position?’
‘First assistant archivist to the deputy judicial prefect. I’ve spoken to him a few times. If he doesn’t know every sentence handed down since the summer, I’ll be very surprised.’
The maid returned to the table, offering to recite the menu.
‘No thank you,’ said Cassius, ‘just wine for me.’
He turned his chair to retie his bootlaces and glanced towards the door.
‘Facing us,’ whispered Gurges, who seemed to be enjoying himself. ‘With the big ears.’
Cassius turned around. ‘They’ve finished eating. We’ll wait then talk to him outside. Do you think he’ll tell me about Meliton?’
Gurges’s head bobbed from side to side. ‘Probably. The prefect runs a tight ship but it’s a matter of public record. Plus you have that letter from the marshal.’
While Cassius considered other methods of twisting Merenda’s arm, Gurges pledged to keep on eye on the archivist. He could not, however, resist pestering Cassius about the black stone and his other assignments. Cassius remained vague; much of the rest he wasn’t supposed to discuss.
After about ten minutes, Merenda and his dining companion left. Gurges had already paid the bill (Cassius contributed half) and they intercepted the pair outside.
‘Master Merenda?’
The diminutive archivist was already hurrying away along the street.
‘It’s Marcus Arius Gurges, senior inspector of markets.’
When they turned around, neither Merenda nor his companion showed any sign of recognition.
‘Might I introduce Officer Corbulo; he’s with Imperial Security.’
‘Good day to you both,’ said Cassius. ‘I have a simple enquiry but I need the information urgently. My credentials.’
Simo had backed both letters on to leather so that they didn’t get damaged. One was from Prefect Venator, who commanded the Fourth Scythican Legion and belonged to one of the most important families in Rome. The other was from Marshal Marcellinus, arguably the second most powerful man in the Empire. Both letters recommended Cassius as an officer of good character and requested that the reader offer him help. Cassius had lost count of the amount of times these two pieces of paper had made a crucial difference while on assignment.
Merenda seemed suitably impressed. ‘Perhaps we should adjourn somewhere—’
‘As I said, it’s rather urgent. My enquiry concerns a slave trader by the name of Meliton who was apprehended recently. Gurges here thinks it possible that he has already been sentenced. I need to speak with him.’
Merenda took a while to reply. ‘Well, normally I would suggest that you go through the normal channels but’ – he gestured at the letters as Cassius replaced them in his satchel – ‘Meliton was part of a group convicted of serious offences in the last few weeks. I believe the entire gang was apprehended.’
‘And the slaves they had with them?’
‘From what I recall, no.’
Cassius only just stopped himself cursing out loud.
Merenda continued: ‘Certainly none were used as witnesses. It’s possible they had been sold on. There was more than enough evidence from previous cases against Meliton. I believe it was suggested that he knew the sergeants were closing in. That may be why he moved the slaves on quickly.’
Cassius grimaced. He was not looking forward to telling Kabir and the others that Aikaterine could still be hundreds of miles away.
‘Not that it did him any good in the end,’ added Merenda. ‘Over a hundred aurei were taken off him and the rest of the gang. All in the provincial coffers now.’
‘How many others were there?’
‘Three, I think. Perhaps four. All long-time accomplices.’
‘What about the court records? There might be information I can use.’
‘Such as?’
‘Anything relating to female Syrian slaves or known associates of Meliton. Could you get me copies of the documents?’
‘For that you would have to go through the proper channels.’
‘Master Merenda, I am helping someone who has been of great service to the Empire. His daughter and two other girls are missing. He and the family are in a terrible state.’
Cassius took some comfort from the fact that only part of what he’d said was exaggeration.
‘I could look through the documents for you, I suppose.’
‘By the end of today?’
‘I don’t see why not. There won’t be too much – the court session lasted less than an hour. This Meliton was a wanted man; and the judicial prefect is known for quick decisions and strong sanctions.’
‘If I gave you the address of the inn where I’m staying could you let me know of anything relevant?’
Merenda looked at Gurges, then back at Cassius. ‘Very well. I shall contact you by the twelfth hour, whether I have found anything or not.’
‘My thanks. Now, what about the sentences?’
‘Hard labour for all of them. I expect a military escort has taken them north already.’
‘To discourage appeals,’ said the other man with a knowing grin.
Merenda didn’t seem to appreciate the interruption.
‘North?’ said Cassius. ‘To where?’
‘I couldn’t tell you for certain but in all likelihood the Galatian salt mines. Tuz, probably.’
Cassius knew the name; nothing more.
‘The Galatians always need more labour, especially now.’
‘Tuz,’ said Gurges. ‘About one hundred and fifty miles. You don’t know when they left?’
‘No. But these escort parties depart from the fortress, organised by Chief Centurion Terentius. He should be able to give you the details.’
‘Right,’ said Cassius. ‘Thank you. Sorry, you said “especially now”. Why?’
‘Some of the areas close to the salt mines were struck by plague over the summer. They say there are whole villages and towns that have been deserted. The soldiers in the escorts are paid double – danger money for passing through.
If you’re headed that way, best be careful. Very careful.’
They returned to the inn before the Syrians and waited in the courtyard. While the innkeeper and his lads unloaded firewood from a handcart, Cassius examined the bag which Simo had laid out for him to inspect.
‘Looks good. Bit ragged but the leather’s still thick.’
‘It needs a bit of stitching, sir, but I got a good price.’
‘You don’t see many sword-bags around. Where did you find it?’
‘A military supplier, sir.’
‘Good work.’
Cassius observed a large jug of wine being delivered to a nearby table by a maid. ‘There is at least one advantage of our parlous condition – it stops me spending too much on drink.’
‘If I may say so, sir, I am glad to see you cutting down.’
‘Don’t mention that business about my shaking fingers again, Simo. That was entirely a product of your imagination.’
The attendant did not reply.
‘Though I must confess, my mind is rather clearer now.’ Cassius glanced towards the gate, then up at the sky. ‘Must be close to the eleventh hour. Gods, I hope they won’t be much longer. We probably shouldn’t have split up – there are innumerable ways that lot could get into trouble.’
‘Sir, what this man told you about the plague. I thought the worst of it had passed?’
‘The worst, yes, but it never really goes away. You’re lucky to have been in Syria, Simo – the East didn’t suffer like the central provinces. The first deaths came in the year of my birth and by the time I was ten, my father had moved all his affairs out of Rome. They say two thousand people were dying every day. I lost two uncles, an aunt and three cousins. There was an outbreak in Ravenna when I was about thirteen or fourteen. My mother would hardly let us leave the house but my friends and I heard about a cove where the plague-ridden went to die – many of them driven there by the authorities. Being young and stupid, we had to see the place. We climbed down from the cliffs. We saw a few tents, some piles of belongings. And bodies – out in the open, unburied. The children – I can still see them as clear as day. Poor little sods with every last portion of their skin blistered. Lying on the sand, writhing around, some of them coughing up blood. On our way out, we met some soldiers whose job was to keep the diseased in the cove. They had been to fetch bows. They were going to put the children out of their misery.’
As he observed Simo’s reaction, Cassius realised he had suppressed the full horror of that memory for a long time.
‘I thought not everyone died from it, sir.’
‘That was the bleeding type of plague – the most lethal. Even those spared death are often terribly scarred, or blinded, or crippled.’
Simo touched his cross, which – at Cassius’s insistence – was hidden under his tunic.
‘Many blamed your people, of course. Punishment from our gods because some had turned to a new power.’
‘I am not sure that it is gods who cause disease, sir.’
‘Are you referring to Columella? His contention that they derive from unhealthy areas; stagnant water and such like?’
‘I think there might be some truth to that, sir, yes, but I was thinking of the works of Varro. He agrees with Columella about the dangers of unhealthy areas but believes disease can be spread by small creatures.’
‘Like flies – yes, I’ve heard of this. They do gather upon corpses and waste. It makes sense, I suppose.’
‘Varro also argued that there are even smaller creatures – ones we cannot see, that float in the air and enter our bodies through the nose and mouth and corrupt the four humours.’
‘Also possible – there are some little insects that are barely visible at all so there might well be some even more minute. But you know there were whole areas that almost avoided the plague entirely. The people in such places considered themselves blessed.’
‘Sir.’ Simo pointed at the gate.
Kabir and the other three had at last returned.
IX
The twelfth hour passed and there was still no letter from Merenda.
The Syrians were restless. They had discovered nothing of use themselves and – once over the initial shock of hearing that Aikaterine had probably been sold on – were keen to head north. Cassius told them they had to wait; the information from Merenda could be crucial. But by dusk, it seemed likely that nothing would come.
Realising he could delay no longer, he went to speak to them outside the inn’s stable. All four had already packed and saddled their horses.
‘Here is what I propose. I know you’re keen to get on the road but I must first try and talk to the chief centurion; find out all we can about exactly where Meliton is being taken.’
‘Now?’ asked Kabir. ‘It’s late.’
‘We should just be able to reach the fortress before sundown. I will have to go in alone, of course. Simo can remain here, in case a message does arrive. He will meet us at the north gate.’
‘The innkeeper says that the road is safe at night as far as Podandus. We have the torches and your lantern. These prisoners would be taken on foot, yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘If this place Tuz is one hundred and fifty miles away, might we may be able to catch them before they reach it?’
‘Possibly. You there.’ Cassius pointed at the stable lad, who had been helping the Syrians. ‘Bring out my mount. Did you clean her as I asked?’
‘I did, sir.’
Simo had just emerged from the inn, with Cassius’s saddlebags over each shoulder. As he lowered them on to the nearest table, Cassius took his money bag from his belt and handed it to the Gaul. ‘I’ll leave you to settle up. Wait for half an hour after sunset. If no message comes, ride straight to the north gate. Understood?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘We’ll see you there.’
‘Do you remember the directions to the fortress, sir?’
‘Of course.’ He hurried back across the courtyard to find Kabir and the others had already mounted up. The groom had just led his horse out of the stable. Cassius gripped his saddle and launched himself upwards.
An hour later, he marched into the headquarters building, situated at the exact centre of Tarsus’s fortress. He had sent Kabir and the others on to the gate, having advised them to stay away from legionaries and watchmen if possible. The sight of the four nomads on the city streets at night would undoubtedly draw attention; they would struggle to deflect it without Cassius present.
The pair of soldiers on duty at the gatehouse had seemed rather confused about exactly what the Imperial Security Service was but mention of Marcellinus had been enough to persuade them to summon the guard officer on duty. He in turn had been sufficiently alarmed by talk of the marshal to take Cassius straight to the headquarters. Apparently, the chief centurion maintained a residence there and was currently present.
Cassius gave a brief nod of thanks to the gods as he passed from chill darkness into the well-lit warmth of the building. Glowing braziers lined the central corridor and there was a strong smell of roasted meat in the air. The legionaries on duty all cast curious glares at the young ‘civilian’ in their midst and Cassius attracted more interest from a tribune standing by a map mounted on the wall.
The guard officer led him almost to the end of the corridor. As the soldier knocked on a hefty door, Cassius noticed that two of the legionaries had followed them. One was an optio, with two red rings upon his tunic sleeve.
A gruff voice sounded from beyond the chief centurion’s door, which the guard officer then opened.
‘The Service agent, sir.’
Chief Centurion Terentius walked up to the doorway. Like almost all men of his rank, he was a veteran in advanced middle age. His grey hair was very thick but none grew in the pink, furrow-like scar that ran across the top of his head. Cassius dragged his eyes downward; not quickly enough.
‘Good evening, sir. Thank you for agreeing to see me at such notice.’
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br /> ‘You are with the Service?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘By all the gods, I must be getting old.’ He turned to the guard officer. ‘Dismissed.’
Terentius – who wore only a modest red tunic and a plain belt – pointed at the optio and the second man. ‘These nice fellows will have to accompany us. Official policy for visitors – some provincial fanatic tried to stab the prefect last month. You’ll also have to give them your dagger. Hope you don’t mind.’
‘No, sir.’ Cassius took the sheath off his belt and handed it to the optio, a grim-looking individual with a tattoo of a bird on his neck. Cassius followed Terentius inside. The chief centurion went to sit behind his desk and gestured to the chair facing him. The office was a large room made smaller by walls packed with shelves containing waxed tablets and scrolls. Lying in front of the hearth was a bearskin. Mounted above it was an exotic-looking curved blade.
Cassius sat down, conscious of the two guards directly behind him.
‘Well?’ said Terentius, leaning back into a voluminous cushion. ‘You told my men the matter was both urgent and important. I am of course always happy to help Imperial Security.’
Cassius felt sure that the opposite was true. He also felt as if he was being toyed with. Then he realised.
‘Ah,’ said the chief centurion, reading his expression. ‘Yes – you have made a big mistake.’
Cassius could not believe he hadn’t considered it. He’d been so busy trying to assuage Kabir that he’d missed the obvious conclusion to be drawn from Merenda’s failure to make contact.
‘You received a communication from Antioch?’
‘Just this afternoon.’
‘I suppose a copy might also have reached the governor; and the basilica staff?’
‘Indeed. The note sent out by the prefect’s clerk mentioned a young agent named Corbulo – currently absent without leave. Any information regarding his movements or activities is to be sent to Antioch. If possible, he is to be arrested and held until further notice. The order was signed by one Aulus Celatus Abascantius.’
Cassius just sat there, numbed by a full appreciation of his own stupidity. They had already been in Tarsus for more than a day; of course the imperial post could have caught up with him. Why had he not been more careful? Perhaps deep down he’d thought the agent might just let him go.