by Nick Brown
Indavara pointed at the wine jug. ‘Pass me that. Quick.’
The girls took a long time to tidy up. By the time they meekly ventured out on to the terrace, Cassius’s three-mug rule was long forgotten, though he’d at least managed to limit Indavara’s intake. Much of the intervening period had been spent giving the bodyguard some hints and reminding him that women liked to talk, especially about themselves. Cassius knew from experience that lowly girls in particular appreciated a friendly ear and a pleasant respite from their labours.
Kitra was clearly the more forward of the two. She came out with a fresh jug of wine and two mugs for her and her sister, who seemed reluctant to sit down or make eye contact with the men. As she clearly represented more of a challenge, Cassius stood up and took her hand.
‘And your name?’
‘Hanina,’ she said quietly.
‘Ah yes, it means gracious. Surely one so named will accept our friendly invitation.’
A slight smile.
‘Please.’ Cassius sat down opposite Indavara. Hanina elegantly lifted her tunic as she sat beside him. Her curly black hair was identical to her sister’s but she had rather more delicate features and a slimmer figure. Cassius would have classed neither girl as pretty but they were both pleasant enough, especially with all that hair and that smooth, dark Syrian skin.
Kitra was standing at the front of the terrace, peering up at the balcony of the house next door.
‘Come and join us,’ said Cassius.
‘I’m just checking that old mother Adelphe is in bed. She loves to tell tales on us to Master Neokles. We must be quiet.’
Indavara began to look twitchy when Kitra sat beside him. As usual, he pressed down his hair over his disfigured left ear. Cassius had told him countless times that his other physical attributes more than compensated but he remained self-conscious about it. Kitra poured wine for herself and her sister and topped up the men’s mugs.
‘Thank you,’ said Indavara.
‘Kitchen all done, then?’ asked Cassius.
‘At last,’ said Kitra.
‘Is Neokles a good master, Hanina?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I told your sister, please call me Cassius.’ He gestured across the table. ‘And that is Indavara. Don’t let all the scars put you off, he’s just been in a few scraps.’
Indavara looked down at his wine.
‘He was just telling me how much he enjoyed dinner,’ added Cassius.
Kitra smiled.
Cassius stretched out a leg and tapped Indavara with his foot.
The bodyguard looked up at the girls. ‘I did. It was lovely, thank you.’
‘Hanina’s the real cook,’ said Kitra. ‘She did the bream.’
‘Very tasty it was too,’ said Cassius. He then waited for Indavara to weigh in.
‘It was,’ said the bodyguard after an awkward pause. ‘Very … lemony.’
Cassius rolled his eyes. ‘Neokles is a lucky man. Personally I’d pay you girls just to brighten up the place.’
Kitra smiled again. Cassius reckoned the two of them could have quite a bit of fun together but as she was the friendlier of the two sisters he would leave her for Indavara. He turned to Hanina.
‘Does Neokles give you much time off?’
‘About an hour in the afternoon, sir, yes. When there’s not so much to do.’
‘Cassius, please. And what do you do when you’re free?’
Hanina looked at her sister. ‘Sometime we go to see our mother, sometimes we go to the temple.’
‘Ah, which temple’s that?’
Cassius had never met a girl he couldn’t get talking and as Hanina began to warm up, the other two were left to make their own efforts. Cassius listened in.
‘Where are you from?’ asked Kitra.
‘Pietas Julia,’ said Indavara.
‘Where’s that?’
‘A long way away.’
The maid drank her wine. ‘So how did you get to Syria?’
‘On a horse. Walked a bit too.’
‘Do you like Tripolis?’
‘Yes. It seems … nice.’
‘It’s not bad. I like being close to the sea.’ Kitra drank more wine.
Cassius thought about intervening. Despite his earlier enthusiasm, Indavara had clammed up as usual. But he had to learn.
‘What about you?’ he asked suddenly. ‘Were you born here?’
‘No,’ she said, ‘a little village down the coast.’
And off they went. Cassius switched his full attention back to Hanina, who was now enthusing about all the different types of fish that were caught at Tripolis and which ones went with which herbs and how Master Neokles didn’t mind her experiments because they always turned out well. Cassius found it all rather dull, and he now noticed the girl had thin lips (which he was not fond of), but the wine and the wait had made him keen to move things along.
He wouldn’t go too far – they might be staying at Neokles’s inn for a while – but he wanted at least a kiss before bed. After a few minutes he turned the talk around to Neokles’s wine collection and persuaded Hanina to show him what they had behind the bar.
By this point, Indavara and Kitra were getting along well. The maid was trying – but failing – to stop herself touching both Indavara’s marked, bulky forearm and his equally marked, bulky knee. When Cassius announced that he and Hanina were off to fetch more wine, the pair barely seemed to notice.
Hanina lit another lamp in the parlour then went behind the bar. Cassius sat on a stool as she showed him each and every barrel mounted on a large wooden rack. ‘Here is the raisin wine, here is the sour wine, here is the honey wine. Then there’s the Rhaetic and the Caecuban. And this unlabelled one is actually Alban. Master Neokles doesn’t tell anyone; he keeps it for himself and his friends – never lets guests have it.’
Cassius knew she wouldn’t take much persuading. Even if they weren’t slaves, maids and servants generally enjoyed minor acts of sabotage against their employers. Apart from Simo, of course.
‘I do love Alban,’ he said. ‘Have you ever tried it?’
She smiled guiltily. ‘Just the odd drop.’
Cassius grabbed his glass and her mug and emptied the contents into a bowl.
With a squeak of delight she poured them both a generous measure.
‘Wonderful,’ Cassius said when they’d tried it.
‘It is.’
Cassius put his glass down and leaned across the counter. ‘May I kiss you, Hanina?’
She surrendered with a coy pout.
Realising she was not the type of girl to appreciate an aggressive approach, Cassius kissed her softly on the cheek. Noting that her eyes were shut, he reached across and gently gripped her neck. He was just closing in again when a door latch snapped open.
‘Gods, he’s back!’
Cassius could tell by the panic in her voice that discovery might well endanger her job. As Neokles announced his return, he downed his wine and pointed at the barrel. ‘You’d better plug that.’
Cassius ran out to the terrace, where he found Indavara sitting sideways on the bench and Kitra sitting on him, one large, pale breast encircled by the bodyguard’s hand.
‘Sorry to interrupt but Neokles is back.’
‘Gods help me!’ In her haste to get off Indavara, Kitra fell to the floor, giving Cassius a flash of her wobbling thighs.
He laughed as Indavara helped her up. Kitra rearranged herself then hurried back inside.
Cassius heard something smash on the floor and Neokles telling Hanina off. He sat down opposite Indavara, who looked as if he’d just awoken from a dream.
‘Bad timing, eh? You’d better not get too excited, not in your condition.’
Indavara looked down at his groin. ‘At least I know everything’s working.’
‘Again – really didn’t need to know that.’
Neokles popped his head outside. ‘I do apologise for the noise, Master Crispian. I trust these
wretched girls haven’t disturbed you.’
‘Oh, not at all. On the contrary, they were most compliant.’
VI
The mosaic that took up most of one wall was a simple geometric pattern: hundreds of red and white triangles. After a while, Cassius’s eyes began to swim. He looked away and shook his head.
‘Hangover, sir?’ asked Simo, who was standing beside the only window.
‘No.’ He was angry with himself for breaking his three-mug rule – by some distance.
The servant standing outside the waiting room drew back the curtain and a new man walked in. Cassius had so far been through three of them and was starting to get annoyed. Even so, he stood and offered his hand; it usually paid to be polite at first – other tactics could be deployed if necessary.
‘Good day.’ This fellow was about thirty; well built but with the pasty, unmarked skin of a career bureaucrat.
They shook forearms; Cassius was purposefully forceful. ‘Officer Crispian, Imperial Security.’
‘Assistant Procurator Dominicus.’ He looked down at the table. Lying across it was Cassius’s ceremonial spearhead.
‘At last, a man of standing. I do hope you can help me.’
‘What is it exactly you need from us? My subordinates didn’t seem entirely clear.’
‘Good,’ said Cassius. ‘It is important that as few people know about this issue as possible.’
‘I see.’ Dominicus sat down and adjusted his toga until he was comfortable.
Knowing his uniform would get him a long way at the basilica, Cassius was in a scarlet tunic and wearing the widest and most martial of his belts. He also had his sword belt over his shoulder, though he had left the helmet at the inn – it was far too hot. He held up the sword as he sat to avoid scraping the floor.
‘You are aware of the ongoing investigation into counterfeiting?’
‘Isn’t the treasury in charge of that?’
‘It is. But Marshal Marcellinus has also asked the Service to get involved.’
Though he masked it reasonably well, the mere mention of Marcellinus caused a change in Dominicus’ expression. Cassius held the equivalent rank of a centurion and the spearhead marked him out as a specialist officer but in normal circumstances a soldier wouldn’t dare make demands of a senior city official. Being a ‘grain man’ wasn’t all bad; especially when one was acting on behalf of the Emperor’s second-in-command.
‘I need some information regarding recent significant land purchases in Tripolis and the surrounding area. Would you have that type of information here?’
‘Yes. Any change in ownership has to be reported. That information would appear on the land register, including the value – for tax purposes.’
‘I’m interested in purchases from the last two months.’
Dominicus put a finger on his chin to check what looked like a shaving cut. ‘What would you consider “significant”?’
‘It depends. What’s the going rate for a square mile of decent farmland around here?’
‘Anything between one and two thousand denarii.’
‘It would probably be a large plot.’
‘If memory serves the register is divided up. The roll for the largest purchases deals with values of above ten thousand denarii.’
‘Could you provide me with that immediately?’
‘Certainly within an hour, I should say. I would need some sort of authorisation from the magistrate’s office.’
‘I don’t have time for that. Marshal Marcellinus considers this an urgent matter.’
Cassius was prepared to take out his letter but the second mention of Marcellinus was enough to persuade Dominicus.
‘Very well.’ He stood. ‘Will you wait here or should I have the information copied out and sent to you?’
‘I shall go for lunch then return.’
Dominicus checked the shaving cut again then left.
Cassius put the spearhead in his satchel. It was two feet long and didn’t quite fit so he put the sharp end (protected by a cork) in first, leaving the shaft sticking out of the top. He gave the satchel to Simo.
‘Let’s go and fetch Indavara; I expect he’s ready for some lunch.’
Behind the basilica was a walled garden where the bodyguard had taken refuge from the heat beneath a tall pine. Spotting Cassius and Simo, he ambled over.
‘Feeling better?’ asked Simo.
‘A bit.’
‘Pitiful effort,’ said Cassius. ‘I doubt you had more than four or five mugs. I can do that and still recite a dozen different poems.’
One of the soldiers on duty opened the gate at the rear of the garden. Cassius nodded to the legionary and his compatriot as they walked out on to the street.
‘Still a good night,’ said Indavara.
‘Maybe for you,’ said Cassius. ‘That bloody Neokles spoiled my fun. You didn’t waste much time, though.’
Indavara blushed and smothered a grin.
‘Lucky swine,’ said Cassius. ‘You’re fortunate I let you have Kitra.’
‘Let me? It’s not my fault if she knows a real man when she sees one.’
Cassius unleashed a roar of laughter at that. He would allow the bodyguard this victory; relations with women were one of the areas where Cassius was so unquestionably superior that there was no real element of competition. Come to think of it, apart from perhaps running, there were very few areas where they were close enough to compete. All things considered, Cassius reckoned that was a good thing.
‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘where are we going for lunch? We’ve got an hour to kill so we might as well sit down.’
‘The soldiers said there’s a decent place by the statue of Marcus Aurelius. Plenty of choice, apparently.’ Indavara nodded along the broad avenue that ran west from the basilica towards the coast.
‘Let’s give it a try,’ said Cassius, leading the way. The avenue was busy with folk of all kinds, and they also had to get past a line of six plush litters, the occupants of which remained completely hidden. Emerging from under a portico, the trio passed a series of street entertainers who had attracted quite a crowd. There was a troupe of mimes, a juggler (who they stopped to watch for a couple of minutes), a pair of adult acrobats no taller than four feet, and – least popular of all – an elderly woman playing a flute.
Seeing the impressive bronze statue of Marcus Aurelius high above the multitude ahead, Cassius began looking for the tavern.
‘What was it called, this place?’
Receiving no answer, he turned round.
Only Simo was behind him. ‘I don’t know, sir.’
‘Where’s Indavara gone?’
He looked back through the endless stream of pedestrians. The bodyguard was standing in front of the flautist, staring at her.
Cassius tutted. ‘Fetch him, would you, Simo.’
The Gaul navigated his way back through the crowd. Cassius moved closer to a nearby stall to avoid the worst of the foul-smelling throng. He watched Simo speak to Indavara but the bodyguard didn’t move. Simo spoke again and gripped his arm but Indavara completely ignored him.
‘By the gods.’ Cassius hurried back, cursing at a pair of young girls who seemed unable or unwilling to get out of his way.
‘What are you doing?’
The flautist seemed rather disturbed by Indavara’s stare. She stopped playing, lowered her instrument and looked curiously back at him.
‘Indavara.’
He was standing completely still, arms by his sides. ‘That tune … I know it.’
‘So what?’
‘I know it,’ he repeated, now staring at the ground.
Simo said, ‘Do you mean …’
Cassius said, ‘From before?’
‘I … I think so.’
Cassius inspected the woman. Her clothes were thin and dirty, the flute roughly carved. The cloth hat between her bare feet contained only a few brass coins.
‘Keep playing.’
The woman’s only
response was to adjust the headscarf that covered most of her grey hair. Cassius tried Greek but again got no reply. Simo spoke in Aramaic. The woman smiled and started playing again. It was a simple, repetitive tune, no more than a dozen notes in all.
Indavara gazed at her.
‘You sure you haven’t heard it somewhere else?’ said Cassius. ‘We’ve been through a lot of cities, heard a lot of tunes.’
Eyes now wet, Indavara whispered something to Simo.
‘What?’ asked the Gaul.
‘Ask her to stop. Tell her to stop.’
Simo did so.
Cassius took a sesterce from his money bag and dropped it into the hat. The old woman bowed to him.
Indavara seemed frozen to the spot. He was still looking at her but had wiped his eyes before the tears fell.
‘Do you remember something more?’ asked Simo.
‘I – I thought so, but …’
‘Simo, ask her where the tune is from.’
The attendant had to think for a moment about his Aramaic. Despite his best efforts the woman couldn’t help. ‘Her mother taught it to her but she doesn’t know where it comes from.’
‘Damn it,’ said Cassius. ‘Tell her to keep playing. Loudly.’ He turned to the passing crowd and spoke up. ‘Anyone here know this tune? A denarius to anyone who knows it.’
At the mention of money, several people stopped and listened.
Indavara put up a hand. ‘Corbulo, don’t. There’s no point.’
‘Nonsense. We might learn something more. You need to know.’
He repeated his announcement and soon a dozen people had gathered. When the flautist stopped for a moment Cassius yelled at her to continue.
An old man with a walking stick came to the front and spoke in Latin. ‘I don’t remember the name but I know where it’s from. My neighbour used to play it on his flute. He was a Gaul and he said his province had the best music in the world.’
‘You’re sure?’ said Cassius.
The old man listened carefully. ‘Certain. I always liked that tune.’
Cassius addressed the small crowd once more. ‘Anyone know the name? Anyone?’
When there was no reply, he gave the old man his denarius and turned to Indavara. ‘Gaul. Do you think you heard it there? Do you think that’s where you might be from?’
