by Nick Brown
‘Pirates? Slavers?’ suggested one of the men.
‘On Chios?’ said Agapetos. ‘Hardly.’
Cassius walked back into the study. The only picture left on the wall was a large piece mounted on wood. It appeared quite old and seemed to be the original architectural plans for the villa. He noted the date; the plans had been drawn up fourteen years ago. Across the top right corner was a line, and when Cassius realised what was drawn inside it, he hurried out of the atrium and towards the rear door.
‘Corbulo?’ said Tarchon.
‘He had three more structures built. They’re at the end of the headland.’
Cassius’s untethered horse had wandered off. He mounted the first one he came to and set off up the path. It was not that he thought he would necessarily find something; more that he needed to be sure there was nothing to find.
It soon became clear why none of the locals had mentioned the other buildings. The dusty track that led to them was barely visible and was surrounded by thick, low bushes. It followed the increasingly narrow headland, descending past two broad, natural ‘steps’ before emerging on to an exposed promontory a hundred feet above the sea.
Cassius dismounted and ran up to the first structure: a miniature temple perhaps only ten feet across. On either side of the colonnaded entrance were faded murals of Jupiter. Within the shadowy interior, he could make out a marble altar and offerings of food, wine and money, all covered in a thick layer of dust.
He walked past it to the second structure. It was a viewing area; nothing more than two stone benches covered by a narrow roof.
There were three. Three buildings. Can that be it?
In front of the viewing area was a hollow tower of stone about eight feet high. Inside were some burned timbers. He had seen such things on many coastlines: it was a beacon, not a building.
Cassius walked close to the edge and looked over. The drop was vertical. Below, white spray blew up as the sea struck a cluster of dark boulders.
He turned to his left and saw it: the roof of a small hut on a flat area just below the promontory. He spun round and spied another faint trail leading downwards behind the temple.
By now Tarchon and Simo had caught up. As Simo dismounted and jogged towards him, Cassius reached the trail. He had time only to glimpse the figure outside the hut before he lost his footing and slid down on his backside. He got to his feet and descended the last few yards on to a patch of grass perhaps only ten yards across.
The man looked about sixty: he was lying on his back beside the door, head against the wall. His eyes were shut and the wind was tugging at his thin hair, which was far lighter in colour than his beard. Though he was clutching a dagger in his right hand, he appeared to be dead.
Cassius walked up to the body and tapped it with his boot. The man’s head slipped down another inch.
Cassius lifted the latch, opened the door and looked inside. ‘Simo. It’s him.’
Cassius fell against the doorway and held on to it. He could not move.
Indavara was lying on a bed equipped with strange metal poles on either side. His arms – each covered in blood-stained bandages – were splayed outwards and his eyes were shut. A blanket lay upon his body. He seemed to have halved in size and he was not just pale, he was white.
Simo hurried past his master and knelt beside his friend. He held his wrist and put his ear to Indavara’s chest. When he turned, his eyes were wet with tears.
‘I can hear his heart. He’s alive.’
XXXIV
Agapetos was despatched to the town to summon a surgeon. The soldiers ran back to the house and returned with more blankets. They also had fresh water but Simo could see no way of helping Indavara drink. He tried to rouse him but he simply wouldn’t wake. It was as if his body had gone into hibernation, like an animal enduring the winter.
‘His skin is so cold,’ said the attendant, holding his hand under the covers.
‘Outside, men,’ Cassius told the soldiers. ‘Move the body away.’
‘Leave the door open though,’ said Simo, ‘we need to keep some air circulating.’
‘So they bled him,’ said Tarchon, who was leaning against the wall between two windows.
Cassius said, ‘The rumours about Cornelius must have been true. He thought that a gladiator’s blood could heal him.’
‘He’s not the first. They used to sell it right outside the arena in Ephesus.’
‘It didn’t even occur to me,’ said Cassius quietly.
‘How could it?’ said Simo. ‘This is barbaric.’
‘Can he recover?’
‘Sir, we don’t know how long he’s been like this; how much blood they have taken. The body can make it’s own but unless he regains consciousness we can’t give him food or water. He will … he will fade away.’
‘Have you put it together yet?’ said Tarchon, crossing the little room to where Cassius stood at the end of the bed.
‘What?’
‘Cornelius dead outside with his dagger? The empty house? The missing staff?’
Cassius had been considering little other than the torture Indavara had suffered in this foul place.
Tarchon continued: ‘I think Cornelius might have had a late change of heart. He must have always admired your friend in some way. He came down here to protect him, probably when his employees realised that he was on his way out and they could do as they pleased. But there are no wounds. The effort must have been too much for him. His men just left them both for dead.’
‘The surgeon – we don’t have a moment to waste.’
‘I’ll do what I can.’ Tarchon hurried outside.
‘Hold his other hand, sir,’ said Simo. ‘We might warm him up a bit and at least he’ll know we’re here.’
Cassius was wary of going near him. To be so close would make the truth inescapable. But he knelt opposite Simo and felt under the blankets until his hand was on top of Indavara’s calloused fingers.
‘By the gods – freezing. Clammy too.’
‘That may be a good sign, sir, his body has not yet dried out, though he is in great need of water.’
‘His wounds?’ Cassius had been unable to watch as Simo unwrapped the bandages.
‘They have partially healed. Which is something.’
‘Can we give him blood somehow?’
‘I’m not sure that would work, sir.’
‘I suppose it didn’t for the old man.’
‘It would also make him sick.’
Cassius looked at Indavara’s face. His black hair had grown long, almost completely covering his eyes. The pallid skin made every mark and scar even clearer. The cheeks were pinched and he even seemed to have lost weight from his neck.
‘I can hear his breath.’
‘It is steady, sir. But the beat of his heart is not.’
‘Perhaps we should just try and put the water in his mouth.’
‘That might wake him, sir. But it might also be too much of a shock for his body. I would prefer to wait for the surgeon. Bleeding is a common practice for some in his profession. He may have some other ideas.’
‘Is there nothing else we can do?’
‘We can pray, sir.’
‘I shall. To all the gods.’
The surgeon arrived two hours later. Cassius would have preferred a military man but was glad to hear from the soldiers that the fellow had a good reputation. He was also glad to find he was middle-aged. Cassius felt that this was ideal for a physician – old enough to have acquired some experience and knowledge but not past his best. His name was Metrophanes and he concurred with Simo that Indavara should not remain in the chilly, dank hut.
Having dismissed the rest of the soldiers, Tarchon and Agapetos built up a good fire in the villa’s main bedroom. A makeshift stretcher was crafted from sheets and the metal poles from the hut and – with Cassius and Simo assisting – they took Indavara to the villa. He did not stir but his saviours were relieved to find no change in his condition.
Once Simo had cleaned his wounds, he and the surgeon discussed the next course of action. Cassius was soon won over by Metrophanes: the man had a kindly way about him and lacked the arrogance of many in his profession. He was also open to Simo’s contributions, though the Gaul had no formal training at all. They concluded they simply had to get water into Indavara, which meant they had to somehow wake him up.
First they shouted in his ear. Then they shook him, gently at first, then harder. Simo took the responsibility for the slap that finally drew a reaction. Indavara – who had been propped up in the bed – threw his head back. When it lolled forward again, his lips moved and drool came out. His breathing intensified and he began to cough. Only a few sharp blows on his back from Metrophanes prevented him from choking.
Indavara’s eyes opened for a moment. But they were not his. There was no life in them. They rolled back in his head and he lost consciousness again.
But when Simo held his head up and Metrophanes carefully poured water from a small mug, Indavara swallowed some down. They managed to get most of the water in before his head lolled again. They watched him intently for the next few minutes but there seemed to be no ill effects.
‘Thank the gods,’ said Cassius. ‘Do you think you’ll be able to do it again?’
‘We must,’ said Metrophanes, eyes still on his patient. ‘And then we must give him milk – if he can keep it down. I would guess they had been doing this for weeks and I doubt he would have been capable of ingesting much food.’
‘He has lost at least a quarter of his weight,’ said Simo. ‘Maybe more.’
Metrophanes stood up. ‘You said he was a gladiator?’
‘Yes,’ replied Cassius. ‘A champion.’
‘Then he is no stranger to a fight; and that is exactly what he faces.’
Though much had been stolen, Cornelius’s men had at least left a few sheets, blankets and pillows. With Metrophanes and Simo taking it in turns to watch Indavara, Cassius and Tarchon made up some beds in the neighbouring room. Cassius was astonished to find he slept and – when he awoke the next day – was greatly heartened to learn that during another brief moment of consciousness, Simo had got another mugful of water into Indavara.
With nothing else to do, Cassius rifled through the cupboards and was able to prepare a basic meal of cured ham and dried fruit. Tarchon unearthed what seemed to be the last remaining flask of wine, which he watered and delivered to the others.
Once breakfast was over, the agent announced that he would be leaving. Taking an order of equipment and supplies for Agapetos to bring to the villa, he bade the others farewell and spoke to Cassius upon the terrace.
‘Apart from the fact that the hire of that ship is costing a fortune, I need to get word to Abascantius – about this and my return to Cappadocia. You must contact him as soon as possible yourself.’
‘Of course. I’m sorry that you got involved in all this. And I am truly thankful for your help.’
‘I just go where I’m told to. Your friend’s in good hands at least.’
Tarchon untied his horse and walked it over to the road.
Cassius was still curious about him. ‘You don’t have any servants? Or a bodyguard?’
‘Never seen the need.’
They shook forearms.
‘We may well meet again,’ said Tarchon.
‘I hope so.’
‘One last thing. You’ll have noticed that I haven’t asked any more questions about what happened in Byzantium. That’s because I don’t want to know.’
Cassius nodded.
‘Abascantius will. So make sure you have the right answers.’
Waiting. Thinking.
Despite all he had endured in the last few weeks, Cassius felt as if he had done nothing else. More than ever, he longed for a life of comfort and routine: the kind of life he had enjoyed before having to join the army; the kind he wanted to enjoy in the future. After all the weeks of not knowing what had become of Indavara, he now faced the torment of wondering if his friend would survive.
Standing alone on the dock, he looked out at the dark sea. Cloud and mist had rolled in, leaving the air damp. Three large gulls were bobbing around on the water, seemingly depressed by the change in the weather. Cassius tucked his hands into his belt and wandered along the dock. Evening was approaching and he reflected on the events of the day.
Around the sixth hour, a party of soldiers and officials had arrived to collect Cornelius’s body. Cassius had explained what seemed to have happened and the locals agreed that was the logical conclusion. Though all were shocked at what had been done to Indavara, they were less surprised that the old man’s subordinates had turned against him. Apparently, he was known for his poor choice of staff and no longer had any family left to advise him. Cassius learned that in his time Cornelius had owned a fleet of some twenty ships and would often travel with his crews, visiting every corner of the Empire. Cassius imagined one of those trips had taken him to Pietas Julia, where he had seen Indavara fight. The man must have been truly desperate to have embarked on such a bizarre, cruel scheme. Cassius had nothing but hatred for him, despite his ultimate change of heart.
He arrived back in the atrium to the sounds of panic. Rushing into the bedroom, he saw Indavara over on his side, vomit sliding from his mouth. Simo and Metrophanes were holding him, angling his body so he wouldn’t choke. Once all the liquid was out, Indavara’s body spasmed twice but then became still.
Cassius came forward. ‘Is he—’
‘He’s all right,’ said Metrophanes, as they settled Indavara back into the pillows.
‘Fortunately,’ said Simo.
‘Water alone will not sustain him,’ added Metrophanes. ‘Your attendant believes it is too early to give him milk. I disagree.’
‘The strain on his heart from the convulsions,’ said Simo.
Though Cassius would always value Simo’s expertise, the surgeon was an experienced professional.
‘I think we must defer to Metrophanes in this case.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Metrophanes said, ‘We will let him sleep tonight, then try again tomorrow. I’m afraid I must leave now – I have other patients. Shall we say the third hour?’
‘That’s fine,’ said Cassius. Once the surgeon had departed, he took up the chair opposite Simo, who put his hand against Indavara’s heart.
‘It’s not beat this fast before.’
‘I think his colour is a little better but that might be wishful thinking.’
‘No, sir – it is. On that we agree.’
Indavara’s head moved to one side. Simo used a cloth to clean away the spittle that leaked from his mouth.
Cassius looked at the ex-gladiator’s arm. Once so thick with muscle and fat, it was now thinner than his own.
Simo put the cloth down then rubbed his eyes.
‘You’re exhausted,’ said Cassius. ‘We’ll take it in turns tonight.’
‘Very well, sir.’
It was during Cassius’s second shift (from the sixth hour of night to the ninth) that he decided to talk to him. Simo was asleep – and snoring – and the only other noise came from some unsecured shutter that neither man had been unable to locate.
Cassius moved his chair close to the bed and spoke in a whisper. By then, he already had some idea what he would say.
‘I doubt you can hear me. I’m sure you can’t, in fact. It’s strange; I’ve not known you even two years. I can hardly believe it. I remember that accursed tavern in Palmyra – those bloody auxiliaries who tried to strangle me. They would have too, if not for you. Asked for your money first though, didn’t you, you swine?’
Cassius suddently felt stupid and remained quiet for several minutes before starting again.
‘We did everything we could. In Berytus. Afterwards. I’m so sorry we didn’t come sooner. I … I’m praying for you, Simo too. Perhaps the gods will help, I don’t know. But you can help yourself.’ Cassius reached out and held Indav
ara’s shoulder. ‘You are the strongest man I have ever known. You must fight, Indavara. Fight like you always have – for your life. I’ve pledged it before but I’ll pledge it again – I’ll get you home. We found you, didn’t we? So we can find your home, your family. If it’s the last thing I ever do, I will get you there. By all the gods, I swear it.’
On the next day, they made several attempts to rouse him. Simo and Metrophanes agreed that they could not risk shocking his body too much so they began with his hands: gripping them, poking them, pinching them. Nothing worked. Metrophanes administered some increasingly strong slaps to his face. Indavara murmured something but did not open his eyes.
Late in the afternoon, before Metrophanes had to leave, Simo suggested cold water. They used a little at first, dropping it on to his face. Then Metrophanes took a handful and threw it at him.
Simo tutted. To Cassius, it seemed unpleasantly aggressive. But that was nothing to what came next: a full-bodied slap that knocked Indavara’s limp head to one side.
‘Stop it!’ yelled Simo.
‘By the gods, man, you’ll hurt him.’
Metrophanes ignored them. ‘Indavara, wake up! Wake up!’
He gripped his jaw and shook his head.
Indavara’s mouth puckered. His eyes opened. The pupils were moving around, unable to focus.
Metrophanes kept one hand on his chin; put the other on his neck.
‘Indavara, can you hear me? Can you hear me?’
Cassius could hardly watch. Seeing this ox of a man reduced to such a state was more than he could bear.
One pupil stopped moving, then the other.
‘Can you hear me?’
The head tilted forward slightly.
‘My god,’ cried Simo, holding his friend by the shoulder.
‘You must have sustenance. You must drink.’
Simo passed Metrophanes the milk. The surgeon held it to Indavara’s lips; he closed his eyes as he drank. He took only small sips and faded away twice but, by the end of it, Metrophanes had given him half a mug.
As they settled him down again, Indavara’s right hand pawed at the air. Simo held it.