by Nick Brown
‘Think carefully,’ said Cassius. ‘You never saw the man’s face or heard a name or any other information?’
‘He made sure of it. That’s all I know, I swear.’
Cassius lowered the sword and turned away. He placed a hand on Kammath’s shoulder. ‘Watch him.’
The youth gave a grim nod.
‘Byzantium?’ said Kabir, rubbing his brow. ‘Will this ever end?’
‘At least we know.’
‘How far?’ asked Idan.
‘No further than we’ve come.’
‘How far?’ demanded the nomad.
‘About two hundred miles.’
Kabir rushed past him and stood over Meliton. ‘What do they do to the girls? What do they do?’
Meliton retreated back into the puddle. ‘Hey, officer – can I go now?’
Cassius turned round. ‘You knowingly bought illegal slaves and sold them on. I don’t know what my friends think but I reckon your present punishment just about fits your crime.’
‘You said I could—’
Meliton dragged himself to his feet. He had taken only two steps when Kammath swept a crunching kick into his ankle, sending him on to his back once more.
Cassius said, ‘I suppose we should make sure our friend here lacks the means to get away from the guards.’
Kabir glanced back at him as Cassius continued. ‘Some damage to his legs, perhaps?’
The chief spat in the captive’s face. Kammath put his foot on Meliton’s chest. His father took out his blade and reversed the hilt, then knelt over the squirming figure. He hammered the hilt down on to his knee.
Meliton screamed.
Cassius told himself that he hadn’t really allowed it – because he could not have stopped the Syrians. At least this way they wouldn’t kill him; and they could take out their frustrations on a deserving target. Leaving Meliton behind might also dampen Draco’s ire.
While Yablus and Idan looked on, Cassius walked over to Simo, who had taken Patch around to the other side of the trees.
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ he said. ‘I’d gladly do it myself if I had to.’
XX
The ship crashes through the waves. Spray strikes the cabin. Annia’s hand is warm in his. The lantern swings from side to side. He glimpses her face, her smile.
He and Mahalie walk along the street together, happy. The men seem to come out of nowhere. Suddenly, he’s surrounded. He shouts at her to run.
His cheer of triumph is drowned out by the crowd. Around him lie his fallen foes, bloody and broken. He walks towards the gate. Nothing else matters but reaching the light.
It took Indavara a while to realise what he was looking at. Then the outline of the doorway appeared; and a familiar face and voice.
‘Wakey wakey,’ said Slab. Warty and Narrow Eyes were with him.
Slab slapped him on the arm. ‘How you doing then? Recovered yourself? I think you’ve got a bit more colour about you today. What do you reckon, lads?’
‘Better,’ agreed Warty. ‘White as a sheet yesterday.’
Indavara rubbed his eyes. He could not recall ever feeling so weak. The only thing he could compare it to was when he and all the other fighters had picked up some sort of illness. It left the victims completely devoid of energy, barely able to lift a limb or eat. Eventually a third of the fighters had succumbed.
Then he remembered.
Blood spurting out of his vein, hosing the bowl as Surgeon collected it. The old man had filled two more before Indavara lost consciousness. Waking half a day later, he had found his arm bound tight with bandages. At least the straps had been removed.
Surgeon had returned yesterday, or was it two days ago?
‘How much?’ Indavara hardly recognised his own voice; it sounded thin and faint. ‘How much did he take?’
‘Three bowls both times,’ said Slab. Only then did Indavara realise he was holding his knife.
‘Couldn’t believe how much came out,’ said Narrow Eyes.
‘You’re doing well, considering,’ added Warty.
Slab loomed over him, the morning light picking out his weathered features. ‘Surgeon says we’ve got to move you around a bit. Can you get up?’
Regardless of what these evil bastards wanted, Indavara knew he had to do it if he could. He gripped the side of the bed and tried to push himself up but it was a struggle.
Narrow Eyes came forward.
‘Leave me.’
Indavara turned to his right, then lowered his legs to the floor and eventually hauled himself into a sitting position. He was astonished to find that he felt out of breath.
‘He’s a fighter, this lad,’ said Slab, knife still in hand. ‘Don’t worry – old fellow says you can make new blood.’
‘Still don’t believe it,’ replied Warty.
‘You can make shit and piss,’ said Slab. ‘Why not?’
‘A man loses a few pints, he goes to sleep and never wakes.’
‘Old fellow knows what he’s doing. Help him up.’
Narrow Eyes did so.
Indavara felt another wave of light-headedness as he got to his feet for the first time in more than a week.
‘We’ve got some food for you too,’ said Slab. ‘Let’s try a few steps first – across the room and back.’
Even though he would have liked to fling Narrow Eyes into the wall and disembowel Slab with his own blade, Indavara had to devote all his energies to moving. He needed help to traverse the room but then continued on his own, at which point Narrow Eyes moved clear and Warty slipped his cudgel from his belt.
‘Scared?’ said Indavara as he walked gingerly past the end of the bed.
‘Of you? Yes. Don’t mind admitting it.’
‘I told them about your performance in the arena,’ said Slab.
‘Your master knew of me?’ said Indavara, halting for a moment to get his breath back.
‘He watched you fight. He said you were the closest thing to a god walking the earth.’
Indavara almost laughed at this. ‘And he thinks my blood will save him?’
‘He does.’
‘Do you?’ Indavara set off again. Warty kept his eyes on him and his cudgel at the ready.
‘Not my place to say.’
‘What does he do – drink it?’ Indavara stopped at the wall and turned himself around.
Slab nodded. ‘Mixed with wine. A little at a time. Says he’s already feeling better.’
Indavara reckoned this might be his only hope. He had no doubt whatsoever that Slab would happily dispatch him as soon as he was no longer useful. But if his master really did believe all these things about him, perhaps he would let him live.
‘He doesn’t want to come and see me?’
‘Maybe if he improves.’
‘What’s wrong with him?’
‘Enough questions. Few more minutes’ exercise then you can eat.’
‘When I’m ready.’
Slab scowled. ‘Need to use the latrine?’
‘Yes. Actually, tell you what – your master drinks my blood, maybe you want to eat my shit?’
Warty’s chuckle did not last long. The flicker of amusement on Slab’s face disappeared even quicker. He gestured with the knife for his captive to keep moving.
‘No?’ said Indavara. ‘Up to you.’
Back straight, chin up, he continued walking.
XXI
The horse died quietly. Startled by something in the undergrowth beside the road, it had reared then tripped and come down on the metal stake used for the tethers. Once they had moved the other mounts away and seen the severity of the wound, the outcome was obvious. The gash was upon the haunch of its rear right leg. The beast had already lost a lot of blood and there seemed to be considerable damage within.
Idan held the horse’s head for a time to calm it, then opened its throat with his dagger. Having dragged it a little further from the road, Yablus and Kammath were now butchering the carcass: the meat would sa
ve them some money.
Cassius looked over his shoulder to the south. Some way behind them lay the rocky spurs they had traversed over the last four days. Progress had been painfully slow since they’d reached the northern end of Lake Tuz, even though they’d taken the shortest possible path across the high ground to the Ancyra road. The Galatian capital – recently reclaimed by Aurelian after Zenobia’s adventures and Goth advances – lay some twenty miles to the north-east. Cassius looked ahead along the road. Bordered by woodland, it ran as straight as an arrow.
He sighed. They had covered a pitifully small section of the overall journey and now would be slowed even further. Yablus could take turns riding with the others but midday was not far off and there was only a slim chance of reaching the capital by nightfall. Even if they did, they had barely enough money for another mount and at least another hundred and twenty miles between them and the coast.
As ever, their collective determination had driven them on but the weeks of travelling and uncertainty were taking their toll. Kabir was not the only one looking weary and Cassius’s rump and thighs were in dire need of a rest from riding. He watched Simo petting Patch. The sturdy donkey had coped with the relentless pace better than any other man or beast.
Yablus continued his work, carving pink handfuls of flesh from the animal that had served him so well. Cassius couldn’t imagine himself or many other Romans of his class doing so. Though the Syrians valued their steeds greatly, they were far more pragmatic.
‘He’ll be quick,’ said Kabir, noting his interest.
‘But will we?’ Cassius drank from his water flask.
‘At least we’re clear of the mountains now.’
Cassius – who could now be completely sure that he had avoided the plague – was also relieved that they had left the area of the outbreak. On the previous day, they had encountered a half-century of legionaries at a well. The soldiers were heading south to man the barricades at Pessinus; all part of the governor’s policy to prevent the spread of the disease.
Kabir looked to the north. ‘It could happen again, I suppose. We find these men then discover they’ve sold the girls on.’
‘I’m not sure. It sounded to me like this might be the end of the chain.’
Cassius had given a good deal of thought to these ‘Earthly Gods’. Though they evidently took great precautions to protect themselves, the name suggested an arrogance he hoped to exploit. It seemed obvious to him that this was essentially a high-class brothel for rich men, of which there would be plenty in Byzantium.
‘The name gives us something to work with. Don’t lose hope.’
‘Never.’
‘What did the signs tell you?’
On the previous evening, Cassius had watched the Syrian plant sticks in the ground then examine the length and pattern of the shadows.
‘I cannot be sure. None of us here are holy men.’
‘Something, though?’
Kabir seemed to be about to say more but Yablus interjected.
‘Done,’ he said as he placed the full sack of meat inside another.
‘Shall we walk to start with?’ suggested Cassius.
As the Syrians got under way, he took the reins of his horse from Simo.
‘Would you like to keep your cloak on, sir? We’ll be warmer when we walk.’
‘For now. There’s still a chill in the air from that rain.’
As they set off, Simo looped the reins to his belt. As with people, animals generally remained calm around the gentle attendant; his mount and Patch followed obediently.
Simo took a leather pack from his shoulder and retrieved a little cloth bag. He always kept some snacks on hand and this one contained Cassius’s favourite: chopped dates and mixed nuts. He held out his hand and Simo dropped some on to his palm. Cassius ate his way through them then found himself looking down at his boots. He told himself that every step took them closer to salvation for both the Syrian girls and Indavara.
‘I’m so glad to have you with me, Simo.’
Unused to such sentiment, the Gaul took a while to respond. ‘I am glad to be here with you, sir.’
Once beyond the woodland, the road crossed an area of gently rolling hills and isolated farms. There seemed to be few large estates here, just small properties with their own fields, olive groves and orchards. The lush green pastures were well suited to grazing and they saw countless sheep and goats. It was clear that the vagaries of fate had spared this land from the plague.
Just after a milestone that denoted there were only ten miles to Ancyra, they reached the peak of a hill. About a mile ahead of them, the road crossed a river via a large, single-arched bridge. The river was broad and a similar green hue to the Cydnus. The waters were calm.
‘The Sakarya,’ said Cassius. He and Simo had journeyed this way before with General Navio’s convoy; long before he had been recalled to Syria by Abascantius.
As they guided the horses down the sloping road, Cassius found himself behind Yablus, who was now the only one on foot. The youth dropped back.
‘These bridges – how do you Romans make them?’
‘Well, it is not only us,’ replied Cassius. ‘And to be honest that is not the most impressive example you’ll ever see.’
‘But how?’ Yablus had expressed similar amazement at the aqueducts, towers, arches and other structures they had passed.
‘Well – one step at a time, I suppose. It’s not really my area but I believe the piers go in first.’
‘Piers?’
‘Yes, the towers of brick or concrete that support a wide bridge.’
‘But the arches – how can they build them so they meet without them collapsing?’
‘Er …’ Struggling to pick details out of his memory, Cassius was saved by an unusual sight below.
‘Look,’ said Kabir. ‘I wonder who they are.’
Distracted by the river and the bridge, Cassius hadn’t noticed the thirty or so travellers sitting at the bottom of the slope. They were close to a farmhouse and some seemed to be purchasing produce. They had only a few pack animals with them, which were munching their way through the grass beside the road.
‘Make a stop?’ suggested Kabir.
‘Yes,’ replied Cassius, who was desperate to get out of the saddle. Considering their predicament, they had made good time and would reach Ancyra not long after dusk. He planned to find the nearest army way station and use his letters to borrow more money. With a new horse for Yablus and perhaps a spare, they could be heading west for the coast the following morning.
They dismounted on the opposite side of the road from the farmhouse. Though there was no time to unburden the mounts, they could at least graze for a while and Simo and Kammath had soon filled enough containers for them all to drink.
Cassius accompanied Kabir and Idan as they crossed the road to inspect the farmer’s offerings. He and his wife were standing behind a broad wooden table. Upon it were jugs of wine and milk, plates of cheese and dried meat, as well as collations of fruit served in leaves.
‘No bread?’ asked Cassius.
‘Sorry, all gone,’ said the farmer. Cassius glanced over at the travellers. He noticed two things: first, that there was an unusual number of women in the party; second, that several of the group had wooden crosses around their necks.
Simo had also seen the Christians. After a moment’s hesitation, he crossed the road and hailed one of them.
‘Anything for you then, sir?’ asked the farmer. His wife was already doling out meat to the Syrians.
‘What’s that cheese? Goat? Give me a taste.’
Cassius plucked the sample from the end of the farmer’s knife and ate it. ‘Not bad. My man will come and get some.’
As he turned away, Idan and Kabir supped from the mugs supplied to them and grimaced.
‘Never buy wine from a farmer,’ advised Cassius quietly.
He didn’t see the little boy until he came out from under the table. The wife called to him but
the boy was interested in the new arrivals. When he spied Idan’s maimed face, however, the youngster’s expression turned to horror. He ran back under the table and gripped his mother’s leg, pressing his face into her apron.
Idan coughed and continued drinking his wine.
Cassius felt great sympathy for the quiet warrior. ‘How did it happen? If you don’t mind me asking.’
‘I don’t mind. Just wish it was a better story.’
Kabir gave a slight grin then drained his mug, returned it to the table and walked back across the road.
‘It was a knife fight. Over a woman.’
Even now, Cassius always had to force himself to look only at the Syrian’s eyes. The tangle of flesh and bone where his nose should have been contorted when he spoke and ruined an otherwise distinguished face.
‘She had been pledged to a man from a neighbouring village. When he heard we were together, he challenged me. The two of us fought in the market square with a crowd looking on. I caught him twice but neither was a telling blow. I slipped and he stuck the blade into me as I fell.’
‘Gods. You did well to survive it.’
‘At the time, I wished I hadn’t.’
‘That’s understandable, I suppose.’
‘I was as vain as any young man, present company excepted.’
Cassius smiled. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘At the first sight of a woman, your hand goes to your hair, then to check the shape of your tunic.’
‘There doesn’t seem much sense in denying it. What about now? Back home? You have a woman?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s good to have someone.’
‘Face like a camel’s arse, to be honest but …’ Idan shrugged and gestured at himself.
Cassius laughed so loudly that everyone present turned towards him. He couldn’t believe how much the taciturn Syrian had disclosed. Then again, he hadn’t really tried to talk to him before.
‘It made me what I am, in many ways,’ added Idan. ‘I vowed I would never be outfought again.’
Cassius had by now recovered himself. ‘Kabir is lucky to have you by his side. Tell me something, how do you do it? With the sling? I know you practise incessantly but—’