by Nick Brown
‘I think we were selling the timber to a merchant. Don’t remember much about him. After we’d unloaded, I was waiting for something.'
'Then you saw the girls by the well,' said Cassius with a grin.
'Yes. They were laughing, flicking water at each other.'
'You didn’t speak to them?'
'I don’t think so. I was some distance away.'
'You didn't know them?'
'Don't think so.'
'What do you feel when you remember it?'
Indavara took a while to answer. 'Not sure, I think it was something new, maybe.'
'Seeing the girls?'
'Yes. And the village … town, whatever it was.'
'A first trip perhaps, from where you lived. How old do you think you were?'
'Don't know.'
'All right, well perhaps that's your father’s occupation – at least a way to make money. Given the other memories, it's fair to assume your family live in an area of forest. But not every forest has good timber. It could all be important. Anything else from that memory? Any other detail?'
'No.'
'And the one with the bow?'
Cassius glanced to his left. Simo had moved up beside him, Patch trailing behind. The Gaul was off the road but with the low grass and level ground, it made little difference.
'It's definitely practice,’ said Indavara. ‘I'm firing at a wooden target – a circle with a red dot on it. I keep at it for a long time, until my fingers bleed.'
'A full bow? Like an adult would use?'
'Think so.'
'You're alone?'
'Yes.'
'Older than in the first memory?'
'Yes. I think I did it many times.’
'Does it relate to the third memory? Is that why you were practising?'
'It's not the third one. It’s the fourth.'
'I know. But you’ve told us about your mother and father and the house with the conical roof so many times that we all know it off by heart.
The last one?'
Indavara answered wearily. 'There are two parts to it. Running through the forest, holding a spear.'
'No bow?'
'Don't think so.'
'How many of you?'
'Not sure.'
'More than ten?'
'Think so.'
Indavara’s horse shied at a cloud of insects. Cassius waited until he’d calmed it before continuing.
'More than twenty?'
'Maybe.'
'Running away from something? Or toward it?'
'Toward it.'
'To the precipice?' asked Cassius.
'Maybe.'
'And there, you see …'
'The river and the village within one of the bends. Smoke coming up from the houses. I think it's early.'
'You're going there?'
'I think so,' said Indavara.
'Why?'
'Don't know.'
They'd been through this many times before. To Cassius, it seemed that Indavara was somehow less keen to investigate this particular memory.
'You were armed. Moving in a group. Quickly. Were you going to attack it?'
'Don't know.'
Simo spoke up. 'To defend it, perhaps?'
'Then why weren't they already there?' said Cassius.
Indavara shook his head. 'I don’t know.'
'In rural areas there are many groups and tribes, especially in Gaul. Conflict is common – over land, water. It wouldn't be unusual.'
'I don't know. We don’t know.'
'Fair enough,' said Cassius.
'Maybe we were going to attack Romans,' said Indavara after a while. 'It's possible, isn't it?'
'Yes,' said Cassius, who had previously elected not to mention this alternative. 'Yes, it is.'
By midday, they had reached the western end of the pass and begun the descent. Saddle-sore and keen to stretch his legs, Cassius joined Indavara and Simo on the ground. Much of the sky was now covered in dark cloud and a dank fog obscured the territory below.
'Time for lunch?' asked Indavara.
'Much as I'm glad to see you regaining your appetite, I did say we’d stop when we reach that well Mistress Laurentius told us about. Apparently, there’s shelter. We can water the horses properly and have a rest.'
'Fine.'
'There are plenty of walnuts if you're hungry,' said Simo.
'No thanks,' replied Indavara, 'got my mind set on those rolls and that dried sausage now.'
Frowning as his horse slowed almost to a stop, Cassius yanked on the reins. 'Come on, you stupid beast.'
Digging its hooves in, the horse shook its head, snout narrowly missing Cassius's face.
Indavara laughed.
'Bloody thing.' Cassius threw the reins to Simo. 'Here, tie him to Patch, I'm sick of his antics.'
'Er, sir-'
'What?'
Indavara was still laughing.
Simo pointed at Cassius. 'You have some, er …'
Indavara managed to get some words out. 'You have horse snot in your hair. That's what he's trying to say.'
'Caesar's balls!' Cassius put a hand up and wiped his hair. The thick liquid dripped off his hand. 'Ugh! Disgusting. Bloody disgusting.'
Before he could locate his handkerchief, Simo had darted forward with his own. 'Hold still, sir.'
Cassius did so and was pleased to see the smile disappear from Indavara's face when he had to grab the reins of the unsettled horse.
'Don't mind the mounts,' the bodyguard muttered. 'As long as your hair's all right.'
'I'd say it's pretty far from all right!'
Simo dabbed at his head for a bit longer then withdrew. 'I think that's it, sir.'
Cassius checked with his hand. 'It's all sticky!'
'We can clean it at the well, sir.' Simo took his master's mount, located a piece of rope and tied the horse to the rear of Patch's saddle. Among the donkey's numerous gifts was his ability to settle down the larger horses, no matter their temperament or mood.
Cassius looked at Indavara, who was stifling a smile. He felt himself grin. The bodyguard's smile grew broader still.
'Enjoy that, did you?'
'Yes.'
'Come on, I'm hungry too now after all that talk of bread and sausage.'
Cassius tightened his belt – which he always left loose while riding – and led the way down the road. The others didn’t see it but his grin remained; he was so very glad to see Indavara laughing.
They reached the well half an hour later. It was on the edge of a small village, inside the walled yard of a ruined farmhouse. Next to the farmhouse was a track that led away at right angles towards the settlement. Inside the courtyard were four men sitting around a fire. They were not the only people present: on the far side of the track, three men stood in the shadows of a tall fir tree. Cassius detected an air of tension between the two groups.
Exchanging a curious look with Indavara, he approached the courtyard entrance. 'Good day. May we use the well?'
'Of course, sir,' said the oldest of the men. 'If you wish to risk it.'
Cassius waited for Indavara to join him then walked into the yard. Only then did he notice that all four men had large pendants around their necks: metal phalluses and fists – symbols to bring good fortune or ward off evil.
'What’s the risk?'
As the man stood, his bronze fist pendant swung from side to side. He wore the sandals and simple tunic of a peasant.
Cassius was not wearing his cloak or helmet but his thick belt and scarlet tunic marked him as an army officer.
'Sir, a demon has been sighted here – twice in recent months. We are here to watch for it and warn our village if necessary. We do not use the well and no man stays longer than a day for fear of pestilence.'
'A demon?'
'Yes, sir. A winged beast, dark and foul.'
Cassius sighed. This sounded like provincial nonsense, probably caused by the report of some drunkard or madman.
&
nbsp; 'I'm sure the water's fine.'
'What?' snapped Indavara, 'didn't you hear him?'
'Don't you start.'
Cassius had often been bemused by Indavara's blind acceptance of any superstition or old wives’ tale. He put it down to the gladiator’s five years in the arena, a place where men had more need than most to attract good fortune and avoid bad.
He spotted a stone bench in one corner of the yard. 'Simo, try the water on the horses – if they drop dead, then we shan't drink any.'
Ignoring the curious looks from both groups, Cassius walked to the bench and sat down. His feet were tired and hot so he removed his boots and socks. By the time he’d finished, Simo had tethered the mounts just outside the yard. Indavara, meanwhile, was recovering a roped pail from the well. Once it was up, he investigated the contents.
'Does it smell demonic?' asked Cassius.
'Very funny,' said Indavara as he poured the water into their own pail and took it over to the horses.
Simo arrived next to his master with a saddlebag and set about preparing lunch.
Cassius observed one of the men under the fir tree speaking to his compatriots then approach the courtyard. When he climbed over the wall, headed for the new arrivals, the four locals instantly set about intercepting him.
'Sir! sir!'
Cassius ignored the man’s hails. Faced by the yelling, gesticulating locals, the interloper swiftly retreated.
'Wonder what all that's about. Something to do with this demon perhaps. They’re Christians, Simo.'
The attendant looked up, watching the man climb back over the wall and return to his fellows by the tree.
'He has a cross around his neck,’ continued Cassius. ‘Anyway, hurry up – I'm starving.'
'Yes, sir.'
Cassius didn't wait for his plate. As soon as Simo had taken out the rolls, he grabbed one and started eating.
Indavara came over and sat beside him.
'Well?' asked Cassius between mouthfuls.
'Horses don't seem to mind it. Even yours and he's very picky.'
'Patch?'
Indavara looked mildly outraged. 'I didn't give him any. I'll see how the horses do first.'
'By the gods. I wonder you two don't set up some sort of sect devoted to that beast. You can have donkey pendants made and wear them around your necks.'
Simo gave his master the apparently neutral look that all three of them understood as disapproving. He never took his cross off, though he usually kept it covered at his master's insistence. Cassius had not tried to influence his servant's spiritual beliefs, even though they had often caused him difficulty.
'You shouldn't say that,' observed Indavara.
'Do you still have your Fortuna figurine?' asked Cassius.
'Yes. Somewhere.'
'Haven't seen it for months. You used to stare at that thing for hours on end. Even though I bought you a much nicer silver version that you completely ignore.'
Indavara shrugged. He and Cassius took their plates, each with a roll, three sausages and some dried apricot.
'Sir, might I go and talk to those men? I'm curious.'
'Go ahead.'
As Cassius and Indavara ate, Simo crossed the yard.
Out on the road, a group of workmen passed by. They were heading upward, equipped with picks and hammers.
'Good sausage that,' said Indavara when he'd finished.
'Bit fatty if you ask me.' Cassius tipped his last one onto Indavara's plate and reached for one of the three drinking flasks. He downed some wine then turned to Indavara.
'Come on then, tell me – what about Fortuna?'
Indavara put his plate aside then leant back against the wall behind the bench and stretched out his legs.
'I prayed to her. So many times. Hundreds. Thousands. Maybe even … what comes after thousands?'
'Don't worry about it. What's your point?'
'I did nothing but pray. But no help came.'
'It did eventually.'
'Because you and Abascantius found out where I was.'
'A number of things had to happen to allow us to do that. The woman who saw you on Rhodes, for example. Very lucky. You don't put that down to Fortuna?'
'I don't know. But when I used to look at my figurine, it made me feel better. Like maybe there was someone out there watching over me. Not now.’
'I see. You know, if we were to go back over the last few years, all the situations we've got out of, it would be tempting to think someone or something was looking out for us. Do you ever think about Africa – about Carnifex?'
'Not often. You?'
'Only every time I look in a mirror.'
'You should probably be happy that all you got from him was a broken nose. I honestly didn't think I stood a chance against that old bastard.'
'I did,' said Cassius honestly.
'I wouldn't now,’ said Indavara morosely. ‘He'd tear me apart.'
'Not true. Anyway, I'd help you. On that subject, we must fit in some practise when we can.'
Indavara nodded.
Cassius continued: ‘And now that you’re feeling better, we should continue with your mathematics and writing.’
‘I’d like that,’ said Indavara thoughtfully before departing to give Patch some water from their own supply. By the time he returned, Simo had concluded the conversation with his fellow Christians.
'What do they have to say for themselves then?' asked Cassius.
'They too observed a vision here, sir. They contend that it was an angel.'
'An angel?' said Indavara as he returned. 'What's that?'
Cassius answered. 'A divine figure that appears to an individual or group, usually a guardian or a guide.'
'A ghost?'
'No,’ said Simo firmly.
Cassius said, 'What did it look like – this "angel"?’
'A man, floating above the ground near the fir tree. A man with a light shining from within. He carried a staff and beckoned for those watching to follow him.'
'No wings?'
'No, sir. One man saw the angel some weeks before the villagers saw … what they saw. Those three are waiting for another appearance. They believe the angel has a message for them from the Lord.'
Indavara turned around and looked at the two groups. The locals were still casting suspicious glares at the Christians.
'How could they see a demon and they see one of these angel things?'
'It's not a thing,' countered Simo forcefully. 'Visions of that type are not uncommon. I wish I could be so fortunate.'
'Perhaps it's a coincidence,' replied Cassius. 'Or more likely someone imagined it or made it up. Then the other side heard about it and felt they had to contradict the interpretation. Once the idea exists, people wish to see it, so they do. It's much like asking the gods to speak to you. Many people contend that they actually hear a voice replying to them. My grandfather would tell you that it is invariably their own voice, their own mind replying – in the way that we communicate with ourselves all the time.'
'The Lord has spoken to me, sir,’ replied Simo. ‘Not in the form of words, but I felt his presence beside me, within me.'
'We shall have to take your word for that. Do the Christians come from the village?'
'No, sir. From a small community not far away – inside a system of caves. Thirteen men, all devoted to the Lord. They live a simple life with few trappings. They concentrate on prayer and worship. They have tried to spread the word to the village but-'
'As I thought,’ said Cassius. ‘So, the villagers dislike them and are suspicious. Hence this nonsense about the demon. Which, with respect, is about as likely as the appearance of the angel.'
'And yet they are here, sir.'
'Indeed they are – wasting time. Your friends don't look as if they've eaten a decent meal in months, Simo. Fasting, I expect.'
'Probably, sir.'
Cassius turned to Indavara. 'When you're hungry – I mean very hungry – how do you feel?'
'Tired. Light-headed.'
'Ever had strange thoughts? Seen things?'
'Yes. I once punched one of the trainers so Capito withdrew my food for six days. By the end of it I was seeing strange creatures and people in my cell. Even though I was locked in. And loaves of bread. And cheese. And bacon. And-'
'-You see my point, Simo.'
'I do, sir. Though it is said that those who devote themselves utterly to the Lord acquire the ability to see such things; become worthy of such revelations.'
Simo's gaze soon shifted to the three men and the tree they dutifully attended.
'You wouldn't mind joining them, I suppose? Up in their cave, seeking enlightenment?'
'Perhaps, sir.'
'Might lose some weight at least,' said Indavara.
It was most unusual for Simo to glare at his friend but that was exactly what he did.
Cassius tried not to smile. Though he had always regarded Simo's devotion and zeal with some cynicism, he respected the man's consistency and goodness. He felt that this was simply his character but there could be no denying his beliefs played a part. Cassius had not encountered a kinder, gentler man.
'Well, all this sitting around in caves strikes me as a tad self-indulgent. You've often spoken of spending a life doing good deeds, Simo. Perhaps that appeals?'
'Like the women in Berytus rescuing the abandoned babies,' said Indavara. 'There’s no better work than that.'
Cassius yawned. 'Well, I don't know about you two but all this rumination is making me tired.' He turned and laid down with his back on the bench and his feet on the ground.
Indavara shook his head. 'How can you sleep when there might be a demon around?'
Cassius couldn't be bothered to reply to that.
Simo grabbed a small cushion from his pack and placed it under his head. 'Here, sir.'
'Thank you. Wake me in an hour.'
Simo did just that; and they departed not long after. Once at the bottom of the steep road, they passed a milestone. Axima was twenty miles away and the Second Parthian Legion was apparently only five miles to the north-west. They wouldn’t reach it before night, probably the following morning. Cassius was glad to have another day of freedom; he had resolved to enjoy it as best he could.
As the afternoon wore on the sun grew hotter and the last remnants of cloud disappeared. All three men were down to their tunic sleeves and Cassius requested his sun hat. He did not usually mind his fair colouring – though it had occasionally been troublesome in the East – but at such times he envied Simo and Indavara their dark skin and ability to endure the heat. His family – like many in northern Italy – had clearly been influenced at some point by bloodlines from colder regions. Cassius even had a few freckles on his arms and face. During summer, his sister Claudia was covered in them.