by Nick Brown
Venator turned to Indavara. ‘Do you remember anything?’
‘Just a few things, sir.’
‘The chances are we’ll be heading north, away from Narbonensis.’ Venator addressed Cassius. ‘I did tell you that if you succeeded, I’d get you out. I don’t suppose Abascantius will be very happy about it but a letter to Chief Pulcher should suffice. When they – and the emperor – understand exactly what you accomplished here, I doubt there’ll be many complaints.’
Indavara could not stop himself smiling.
Cassius said, ‘I am very grateful, sir.’
‘You’ll need some paperwork. Come first thing tomorrow. Both of you.’
XXV
Despite his injured hand, Cassius slept well and was again woken by Simo. Propping himself up wearily on his good arm, he peered up at the kind, round face he knew better than any other.
‘Gods, I could sleep forever. What’s the hour? I’m supposed to report to Venator.’
‘I know, sir. Don’t worry, not even the second yet.’
‘Ah, well done. Where’s Indavara?’
‘Still searching.’
‘And Amarante?’
‘I thought it best to let her sleep, sir.’
‘Quite so. Keep a close eye on her. Don’t let her wander off on her own.’
‘Of course.’ Simo knelt outside the tent. ‘Sir, now that the battle is over, perhaps I could go and search for Patch?’
‘You’re not serious? He could be anywhere by now. Where’s my bloody tunic?’
‘Under the blanket there, sir.’
‘Ah yes. Simo, listen, we’ve got a chance to get Indavara home. We can’t go off on a wild donkey chase. People value a good animal – he’s probably on some farm.’
‘Sir, there is-’
‘The decision has been made, Simo. Listen, I like that donkey too. I wish he was with us but at the end of the day it’s just an animal.’
Cassius sat up to pull his tunic on over his head.
‘It’s not that, sir. There’s something else I’d like to discuss.’
‘All right, just not now – I’ve got to go and find Indavara. Where are my boots?’
Where there had initially been no more than a dozen tents, there were now too many to count. Some had been erected in the gaps between the vines like those Cassius had obtained but many were in the field on the far side of the road. The building was still the centre of activity and he again had to navigate through casualties, vehicles and stacks of newly-arrived supplies.
Reaching the road, he looked around for Indavara but it was another familiar face he saw. Enca was sitting on the low wall, munching an apple. Propped up beside him was a wooden crutch. Cassius slipped between a squad of legionaries and a wagon.
Enca looked up when Cassius’s shadow struck him.
‘Officer Corbulo!’
Cassius could not stop himself smiling. ‘Morning, Enca, very nice to – careful!’
In his excitement, Enca sprang to his feet, forgetting his injured knee. Cassius helped him back on to the wall and sat beside him.
‘I see I’m not the only one who’s been in the wars, sir.’
‘I was silly enough to fall off a horse. How did you end up here?’
‘The Christians went downstream to seek refuge in Cravana. I asked them to drop me on this side and I headed south. Got here last night. The others?’
‘We all made it.’
Enca clasped his hands together, shut his eyes and nodded skywards. ‘I prayed it would be so.’
‘I’m very glad to see you – alive if perhaps not well.’
‘It’s just a sprain, sir. That looks worse.’
‘Two broken fingers. They do ache, I must admit. Didn’t stop me sleeping though. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so tired.’
‘We barely stopped once we crossed over, sir. Not a pleasant few days.’
‘I won’t argue with you there but, from what I’ve learned, rescuing the general was crucial. We could not have done it without you.’
To Cassius, the expression on the scout’s face was one of pride.
‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen Indavara, have you?’
‘No, sir. Where’s Simo?’
‘We’ve two tents – about a hundred yards upriver, between the seventh and eighth row of vines.’
‘I’d like to see him.’
‘Of course. He’ll be relieved to hear the Brethren are safe. We can catch up later.’
Cassius smiled again as he watched Enca hobble away on his crutch. The scout had truly outdone himself more than once and, despite the trials they’d endured, all five of their party had survived.
The wall was as good as place as any to keep an eye out for Indavara, who eventually appeared from the new encampment on the far side of the road. Cassius stood and hailed him.
‘Anything?’
Indavara shook his head wearily. ‘Corbulo, you didn’t tell me what happened at the farmhouse. With Volosus and Amarante.’
‘We killed him. Let’s leave it at that.’
Indavara nodded then glanced towards the bridge.
‘Listen,’ continued Cassius. ‘We’ll set off as soon as we can – begin the search. Come on, we don’t want to keep the prefect waiting.’
In fact, it was they who ended up waiting. The prefect’s staff informed Cassius that Venator was still in a briefing with Gratidius and his senior officers. Indavara kept an eye on the bridge while Cassius could think only of some strong wine – his fingers were throbbing again.
The briefing was taking place in the large tent and Cassius was interested to hear a great shout and a deal of laughter before the officers departed and went their separate ways. The two prefects exited the tent together and Venator’s eyes fell swiftly on Cassius.
When the two men strode towards him, Cassius hurried over.
‘Corbulo, may I introduce Prefect Decimus Flavius Gratidius.’
‘Morning, young man, I understand we owe you a considerable debt.’
‘We simply did as ordered, sir.’
Gratidius raised an eyebrow. ‘From what I’ve heard, it was anything but simple.’
‘Excellent news from the north, Corbulo,’ said Venator. ‘The First Italian have taken Lugdunum virtually unopposed. The emperor is now heading north for a reckoning with Tetricus.’
‘Victory is close, Oppius,’ remarked Gratidius.
‘Let us hope so, Decimus.’ Venator looked over Cassius’s shoulder. ‘Indavara, come and join us!’
Once the bodyguard arrived, the prefect continued: ‘Not much time for ceremonials, I’m afraid. We shall have to be quick.’
Prefect Gratidius and several tribunes looked on as the presentation was made. The setting was rather inauspicious: a patch of well-trodden grass beside the large tent. Cassius and Indavara stood in front of Prefect Venator and the chief centurion. Bantius held two hardwood boxes inscribed with the insignia of the Twenty-Second Legion. Cassius could not help feeling excited about the contents.
Venator rubbed his hands together before speaking. ‘I shall spare us all any excess sentiment. These awards are given in recognition of a job done well and none can doubt that they are well deserved. These two men prevented vital information falling into enemy hands and operated behind the lines with little support. It is through such courage and resourcefulness that great victories are won. On behalf of Rome and Emperor Lucius Domitius Aurelianus, we honour you.’
Venator took the first box from Bantius. He approached Indavara, shook his forearm and presented him with the award.
‘Wear it with pride, for you deserve this honour.’
Venator shook Cassius’s forearm and gave him his box.
‘Wear it with pride, for you deserve this honour.’
With a cordial nod for Cassius, Gratidius departed, as did the tribunes.
‘I must go too,’ said Venator. ‘But I wish you all the very best. Write if you can – I doubt the Twenty-Second will be leaving
Gaul for a while. When I have a moment, I’ll contact Chief Pulcher. As your commander, it is my right to end your service but we’ll make sure Abascantius understands you are free men.’
‘Very grateful, sir.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ added Indavara.
Cassius felt embarrassed by his next question but he had no choice.
‘Prefect Venator, excuse me, but we lost almost all our money. Is it possible-’
‘Of course. Bantius will see to it – take three months’ pay each.’ Venator turned to Indavara. ‘I hope you find your family, son. Horses?’
‘Er, yes, sir,’ said Cassius. ‘We’ll need mounts.’
‘Bantius.’
‘Of course,’ answered the chief centurion.
‘Thank you, sir. One last thing, the scout Enca is here. Shall I send him across?’
‘Tell him to report to Tribune Plinius.’
As the prefect hurried back into his tent, Bantius led them away.
Indavara opened his box and showed Cassius the broad silver armilla inside. The bracelet was three inches wide, also inscribed with the insignia of the Twenty-Second Legion and the legend, FOR VALOUR.
Cassius had not seen the man smile for some time.
‘These will go nicely with the gifts we received from Memor’s daughter while we were on the Fortuna Redux. I hope you know most legionaries will never see one of those, let alone wear one.’
‘Probably worth a bit too.’
‘Indeed.’ Cassius now opened his box and showed the golden armilla to Indavara. ‘Not as much as this though.’
‘Typical.’
Cassius shrugged. It was unfair but he had led the mission and he did hold the senior rank. ‘How perceptive of the prefect to know my favourite colour.’
‘Bloody typical.’
Back at the tent, they found Simo, Enca and Amarante sharing breakfast. While Amarante prepared some food for the two new arrivals, Indavara and Enca gave each other a hearty handshake and sat together to catch up on recent events. The scout soon enquired about the box and Indavara proudly showed off the armilla. Despite his cynical attitude towards the empire, Cassius felt sure it would mean a great deal to him.
‘Enca, I’ve told the prefect you’re here,’ he interjected. ‘You’re to report to Plinius. I’m sure your contribution will also be acknowledged.’
Cassius dumped a leather bag full of denarii next to Simo. ‘That should keep us going for a bit. Take your pay out of it. Venator’s arranged horses for us too.’
‘Very good, sir.’
Cassius approached Amarante. ‘Did you sleep well?’
‘I did,’ she said, brushing her hair away from her eyes. ‘Sorry about last night. I didn’t quite feel myself.’
‘I don’t suppose any of us do.’
‘Simo tells me we’re going south.’
Though he tried not to show it, Cassius was thrilled to hear “we” and know that she wanted to stay with them. Even so, he had a responsibility to make her alternatives clear.
‘Can I speak with you privately for a moment?’
Cassius walked around to the rear of the tent, the barefoot Amarante with him. He could still not decide if what he felt for her was a combination of lust and admiration or something deeper.
‘Amarante, what do you want to do now? I suppose you may not wish to return to your family. What about friends?’
‘There are none that I care enough about to go back to. Simo tells me you’re looking for Indavara’s people?’
‘Yes. A long-held promise.’
‘I don’t know what to do,’ she said. ‘Perhaps I can just come along, at least get some time to think.’
‘That sounds very sensible.’
Cassius was still only half-convinced that there was something between them but he couldn’t bear the thought of Amarante leaving. At the same time, he didn’t want her to stay because she had no choice.
He knew his face must have betrayed his feelings because she clearly noticed them.
Cassius flushed. ‘I’m sorry. You must tire of men looking at you.’
‘Depends on the man.’
Cassius felt his cheeks grow warmer and was relieved when Amarante pointed at the box he was still holding.
‘What’s in there?’
‘Ah, well, glad you asked – prepare to be impressed!’
Having learned from Enca that they could reach a town with accommodation by nightfall, Cassius and his party fetched their horses then said their goodbyes to the scout. Cassius insisted on adding twenty denarii to what he’d receive from the legion; and he advised him to find a less hazardous occupation. Enca told them that he would wait for his knee to heal then return to his family.
The bridge was so busy that the quartet crossed on foot. Once past the building, however, there was enough space to mount up. Amarante had been given a pony, which Simo tied to his horse as it seemed the calmest of the three. Cassius had a medium-sized bay which felt small in comparison to the great black horse. Seeing the glum faces upon Simo and Indavara, he knew they were thinking about the absence of their beloved Patch. But Indavara said nothing, and Cassius could sense his impatience to get moving.
They were not far from Narbonensis’s northern border and Cassius’s intention was to ride the length of the province, making enquiries wherever they could. It wasn’t much of a plan, but he was determined to give it his best shot. There were a few clues: firstly, it seemed evident that Indavara hailed from a small settlement in a forested area. Then there was the gang of slavers who’d taken him to Pietas Julia. Eight years had passed – it was unlikely they were still active in the area. But had someone else been taken? Was there still someone involved in the trade? Cassius thought it might even be possible to establish what conflict Indavara had been involved in. Some local trouble? A revolt against Rome? The provincial capital, Narbo, was far to the south and some two hundred miles away, almost on the border with Hispania. There might be more to learn in the capital regarding the slavers but Cassius considered that very much a last resort.
‘Apologies, sir,’ said Simo once he’d mounted up. ‘I should help you first.’
‘Not at all,’ said Cassius. ‘I must get used to it.’
He had actually ridden with injured hands and arms several times in his youth. Most of the injuries had been caused by being thrown during races or jumping competitions. Corbulo senior had insisted on putting his son back in the saddle after every fall. Cassius had often cursed him but he knew now that many such harsh lessons had served him well. The very thought of showing him the golden armilla gave him a burst of pride.
Keeping his injured fingers out of the way, he made sure he reached the saddle first time.
‘Not bad,’ said Indavara. ‘You’re probably still a better rider than me with one hand.’
‘I’m a better rider than you with no hands.’
Cassius checked that Amarante and Simo were ready, then started off along the road.
Indavara felt numb and hollow, as if he wasn’t really there. Barely aware of his surroundings, he stared down at the paving stones as the horses ambled on.
He was not used to things going well; and even the morning’s events were hard to take in. He had been honoured by Rome – a strange idea that brought a strange feeling. Indavara could never love the empire because he hated so many Roman things: the gladiatorial contests, the constant warmongering, the lust for power, the arrogance. But he’d enjoyed helping Corbulo over the years, and taken pride in their successes. Sometimes, he’d been sure they’d done the right thing, sometimes it was less clear. As for Aurelian, Indavara trusted Corbulo’s opinion of the man, certainly when compared with previous emperors. If his rule brought stability and peace, all the better.
He would keep the armilla, if only to sell it if times got hard.
Corbulo cleared his throat. Indavara looked up, saw him wincing at his injury. He was glad that he’d not been badly hurt and not only because he cared for his fr
iend. Corbulo had skills that Indavara could never match. He had a sharp mind and remarkable persistence; and he had repeatedly proven himself able to find people, places and things.
Indavara wondered if the goddess Fortuna had returned to watch over him – perhaps even watched over them all – because somehow they had made it back across the river. He did not dwell on those events: they had survived them, and that was enough.
Now came something that might prove even harder. But he had a chance to find his family, and great help in doing so; for that he was truly grateful.
It seemed there might even be reason to hope but Indavara would not allow himself that. He had been unable to find that familiar man and now wondered if his mind had played a trick.
Narbonensis was a large province. For all he knew, his family had perished long ago.
He told himself to hope but not to expect.
He was not used to things going well.
Cassius possessed no map nor directions but he did not anticipate a problem; all the territory east of the Rhone was in friendly hands. He did know that much of their route south would be upon the well-known Avennio road, which ran roughly parallel to the river. Around midday, they reached a junction close to what looked like an army way-station. There was only a handful of legionaries present but they were supported by a squad of auxiliaries, who were currently shooting at targets on the grass beside the road.
‘Afternoon,’ said Cassius to the legionaries, aware of some curious looks at his injured hand. He was wearing a red tunic and military belt, sufficient to identify himself as an officer.
‘Afternoon, sir,’ said one man, shielding his eyes from the sun.
‘I’m assuming it’s left towards Valentia?’
‘It is.’
‘And we should make Kasates before nightfall?’ This was the town where he was hoping they would find an inn.
‘Easily, sir. Only seven miles. Have you heard the news?’