by Nick Brown
‘May I go now, sir?’ asked Cosmas. He pointed to the arch on the opposite side of the courtyard, where Nemetorius had just appeared, accompanied again by his two legionaries. Cassius would have preferred not to have been so outnumbered but there was little a man of Cosmas’s rank could do.
‘What about the deputy magistrate?’
‘I’m sure he won’t be too much longer. I will collate anything useful that came in from the inspections and come to the tower tomorrow.’
As the sergeant departed, Cassius turned his attention to Nemetorius. The chief centurion was marching towards him at a prodigious pace, the rhythmic tap of his boots echoing across the courtyard. Cassius wished he had his own uniform on but he’d changed into civilian attire to cross the city. With Cosmas gone, he now faced the prospect of braving the streets alone.
Gods, what a day. Where is bloody Diadromes?
Nemetorius held up a hand and his men halted some distance away. The centurion didn’t come particularly close himself; perhaps because that would accentuate Cassius’s considerable height advantage.
‘Well, Crispian?’
‘Chief Centurion?’
‘I’ve seen him. The man’s windpipe has been crushed. He can hardly speak.’
‘I am sorry to hear that.’
‘Where is he? Your man?’
‘At the residence we are using.’
‘I will speak with him.’
‘I don’t think that’s necessary. Shall I describe to you what happened?’
‘The poor bastard’s already told me.’
‘So he can speak?’
Nemetorius’ glare instantly made Cassius regret his reply. He elected to deliver his version of events anyway. ‘We had stopped these two cart drivers. I was questioning one of them when Legionary Scato grabbed him and threw him to the ground. He then pulled out his sword and was about to strike him. I instructed my bodyguard to disarm him, which he did without causing harm. Scato took exception to this and struck not only the first blow but the second. At which point my bodyguard retaliated.’
‘By almost killing him. The other legionary told me that if you hadn’t intervened he would have. Several witnesses attest to the same.’
‘I agree. He went too far. But I gave Scato two orders: firstly not to attack the suspect; secondly not to react. He disobeyed both. He caused this incident.’
‘Do you expect me to ignore an assault on a soldier under my command?’
‘I have.’
‘That brawling thug of yours is no soldier.’
‘Actually he is. He has taken the oath and is on the books of the Fourth Legion under Prefect Venator, as am I.’
‘Even better. I am the senior officer here. I have the right to punish a soldier committing an offence within my jurisdiction and I shall.’
‘The question of jurisdiction is far from clear. My bodyguard and I are operating directly under orders from Marshal Marcellinus.’
‘So you think yourself free to do as you please?’
Cassius was surprised by how calm Nemetorius was remaining. He wondered how his reaction might have differed without the fearsome influence of Marcellinus and the more shadowy presence of the Service to consider.
‘Not at all. Refer this matter to higher authority if you wish, but that would mean the governor or the marshal himself.’
‘The magistrate—’
‘Is not of sufficient rank, as I think we both know.’ Cassius held up both his hands. ‘Chief Centurion …’
Nemetorius had advanced and it seemed as if his temper was finally about to get the better of him. ‘You bloody grain men. What gives you treacherous double-dealing bastards the nerve to consider yourself equal to officers of the Imperial Army?’
Cassius swallowed hard but held his ground. ‘Choice words, Centurion. I shall remember them.’
‘How old are you?’
‘I do not see that that is particularly relevant.’
Nemetorius gestured at himself. ‘I took the oath twenty-eight years ago. I have served a dozen emperors in as many different provinces, led hundreds of men into battle and cut down the enemies of Rome. What have you ever done, you arrogant little shit stain?’
Cassius stepped backwards. ‘This and that. Unfortunately, Chief Pulcher doesn’t allow us to share the details of our work. I fancy I might share this conversation with him, though; Officer Abascantius too.’
‘You dare to threaten me?’
‘You are the one holding your sword hilt, Centurion.’
Nemetorius looked down; he hadn’t even realised it. He straightened up and patted his hair, even though there didn’t seem to be a single strand out of place.
Cassius’s throat was dry. He had to cough several times before speaking. ‘I – I am sorry for the suffering of Legionary Scato but he made a poor choice.’
Nemetorius aimed a thick finger at him. ‘Despite my better judgement, I cooperated with you, Crispian. And this is how I am repaid?’
‘Your cooperation is greatly appreciated.’
‘Good, because there will be no more of it.’
‘Gentlemen!’
Diadromes came in from the other entrance, to Cassius’s left. With him was his clerk, who stayed well back, like the soldiers.
‘Good afternoon to you both.’
‘Good afteroon,’ said Cassius.
Nemetorius cast a cynical glance at the deputy magistrate. ‘I was just telling the officer here that after today’s incident he can expect no more help from the garrison. Still, as you seem so keen to bend over backwards for him I’m sure he will continue to sneak about the place causing trouble, with no regard for rank or authority.’
Diadromes did not seem concerned by the slight. ‘This incident at the eastern gate? I’m afraid I have not heard the details.’
‘I do not intend to go over it again. Crispian, I expect payment – for Scato’s medical costs.’
‘I will consider that, of course,’ said Cassius, anxious to salvage some vague semblance of goodwill if he could.
Nemetorius gave him a final scowl then turned away.
‘Centurion,’ said Diadromes, ‘as you’re here, I wanted to ask about this man Ravilla. My office has heard nothing since you took custody of him yesterday.’
‘Rest assured we are working on that. Working on him, to be precise. We’ll have the others soon enough.’
Now Diadromes did seem dismayed. ‘Torture? Word will reach the people. It may enflame an already difficult situation.’
‘I will remind you, Deputy Magistrate, that I am only involved in these matters because Pomponianus feels his subordinates have lost control of the streets. You are one of those subordinates. Like your young grain man friend here, perhaps you too should remember your place.’
Cloak flicking up behind him, Nemetorius spun on his heels and set off, the expressionless legionaries falling in five paces behind.
‘A rather fiery character, our chief centurion,’ said Cassius.
The deputy magistrate would not be drawn. ‘This incident with Indavara was regrettable. A financial settlement is the best course of action.’
‘Would Legionary Scato see a coin of it?’
‘Yes. Nemetorius is impervious to such temptations. To his credit, he is concerned only with doing what he sees as his job; looking after his troops and assisting the magistrate.’
‘Pomponianus may be the senior official in Berytus but Nemetorius is a chief centurion – he needn’t answer to him.’
‘Ordinarily perhaps,’ said Diadromes, ‘but Nemetorius covets a place with other veteran officers in Rome.’
‘Ah, the urban cohort.’
‘Yes. And to even be considered he will need excellent reports from both the magistrate and the governor.’
‘Not to mention a reputation for being uncompromisingly strict and loyal.’
‘Quite, as you yourself have observed. In any case, neither of us can afford to offend him.’
‘I fear
my very existence does that.’
‘Let us walk, I have been sitting in meetings all day.’
As they set off across the courtyard, a small flock of pigeons in another corner fluttered upward then settled on the roof. A quartet of clerks walked past, each holding large bundles of waxed tablets. They started talking again only when they were well clear of Diadromes.
‘Cosmas tells me your efforts at the gates were in vain.’
‘It appears so, though the inspections may yet yield something. It is possible that we have done nothing more than alert the gang – if they see through the spy story. It is really not going well.’
‘You are forgetting the contention that this “gang” was never here in the first place.’
‘I haven’t forgotten it. It is seeming more likely with every passing day.’
‘But you will continue your enquiries?’
‘For the moment, yes.’
‘You may keep Cosmas for as long as you need him.’
‘Thank you.’
Diadromes pushed his bracelets up his arm and grinned. ‘Despite what I said yesterday, my well of gratitude is not yet completely dry. My wife’s good mood shows no signs of abating.’
‘Lucky for me.’
They reached the rear gate of the basilica, where a pair of legionaries stood guard.
‘You are alone?’ asked Diadromes.
‘I thought it best to let Indavara calm down so Cosmas came with me. I left my horse at the stables.’
‘This threat you spoke of when we first met – any indication that you are in danger here?’
‘Not yet but—’
‘Come, I shall escort you to the stables.’
Once beyond the looming shadows of the basilica, they walked in bright sunlight across one corner of the forum towards the giant stables used daily by hundreds of city officials. They hadn’t gone far when a pair of elderly men each accompanied by a retinue of at least a dozen ceased their conversation to bid Diadromes a polite ‘good day’. Diadromes returned the greeting but kept moving.
‘Council members. If I were to engage them in conversation I’d be lucky to get away in time for dinner.’
‘Busy day?’
‘Oh yes. I doubt I shall get to the baths – again. By this evening I must sort out a dispute with a shipping agent about harbour fees, amend an urgent set of regulations about what is to be considered white bread and what is to be considered brown, and then there is the smuggling ring you uncovered. Plus tomorrow we have a trade delegation coming in from Hierapolis. They’ll expect to see the weaving factories but Pomponianus isn’t sure we should risk it – wouldn’t want another incident to upset the visitors.’
‘Gods. At least I only have one problem to deal with. Well, that and my impetuous bodyguard.’
‘Ex-gladiator, I presume?’
‘Indeed. Generally he’s fairly biddable but when it comes to the rough stuff he … doesn’t hold back.’
‘Thoroughbreds are often highly strung. But please keep him under control. If your name comes to Pomponianus’ attention again, he may decide to take more of a personal interest in your presence here.’
As it was now mid-afternoon, the stables were quiet. The younger lads were gathered outside, throwing walnuts into a clay pot. But one enterprising type was keeping a close eye out for potential tips and hurried over to Cassius.
‘Fetch your mount for you, sir?’
‘Certainly. Name’s Crispian.’
‘Won’t be a minute, sir.’ The lad sped away.
‘Deputy Magistrate!’ A young groom who had just emerged from the stalls ran up. He was wearing a long apron covered in horsehair.
‘By Jupiter, here we go,’ murmured Diadromes.
More grooms came out of the stables to see what was going on.
The young man bowed to Diadromes. ‘Good day, sir.’
‘Good day, Sorio.’
‘Sir, what’s to happen to Ravilla? Is Nemetorius going to have him flogged? Or worse?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘You won’t let them kill him, will you, sir? Not for throwing a few stones.’
Cassius withdrew; he didn’t need this much attention. Diadromes didn’t particularly seem to be enjoying it either. More grooms had arrived and the boys had abandoned their game.
‘That is a matter for the magistrate and the courts.’
Sorio wasn’t the only one with questions:
‘Why’s the army got him, sir?’
‘When will he be punished?’
‘What does the magistrate think?’
‘You know what that Celer’s like, don’t you, sir?’
The grooms had pressed in around the deputy magistrate quickly.
Diadromes remained calm. ‘Now listen, lads. We can’t have people assaulting women and children in the street. You all know that. The sergeants did their job and Centurion Nemetorius too. Back to the stables with you now.’
‘It’s you should be magistrate, sir,’ said Sorio. Some of the others cheered.
‘You’re very kind but I’m too busy with my present post to stand for election.’
‘Down with Pomponianus,’ shouted someone.
‘Now,’ said Diadromes sternly. ‘Let’s have none of that. We all want what’s best for Berytus.’
‘Not Celer,’ said another. ‘He wants what’s best for him. The rest of ’em aren’t any better. There’s only you what knows the life of a working man.’
‘Look, lads, I don’t have time for this now. But I’ll ask you to stay away from these protests. I wouldn’t want any of you getting into trouble.’
‘It’s the weavers you have to worry about there, sir,’ said Sorio. ‘Never known them so angry.’
‘Everyone just needs to calm down,’ said Diadromes. ‘Besides, it’s too bloody hot to get agitated. Oh, did I tell you this one – man goes to the surgeon. “Sir, sir, everyone keeps ignoring me.” “Next, please!” “Sir, sir, have you got anything for a headache?” The surgeon gives him a hammer. “Try this.” “Sir, sir, I keep thinking I’m a dog.” “Sit on that chair and we’ll talk about it.” “I can’t, I’m not allowed on the chair.”’
Cassius thought this a rather desperate manoeuvre but by the time the Syrian had rattled off half a dozen more japes, the grooms were too busy laughing to pester him. With a wink at Cassius, Diadromes bade the young men farewell and headed back towards the basilica. Cassius heard a few complaints about how he hadn’t really listened to them as he went to meet the lad with his horse. He gave a good tip, mounted up and rode for the nearest street; he didn’t intend to stop for anything.
Simo’s hands were slick with blood. As he continued to carve cuts from the slab of meat, Cassius lowered his aching body on to a stool and drank the wine he’d just poured himself. He had taken only one wrong turn on the return trip but even that had been enough to produce an anxious minute or two. While running back to the tower from the stables he’d passed Indavara, who was too busy pulling a pail up out of the well to notice him.
‘How is he?’
‘Keeping busy, sir. First it was weightlifting; then he cleared the rest of the rubble outside; now he’s filling every spare container with water. He’s barely said a word. What happened, sir?’
Cassius described the incident. ‘He almost killed him, Simo.’
The attendant had stopped carving.
‘And do you know what he has been talking about all morning?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Abandoned babies. How terrible it is. How terrible the world is – all the cruelty and suffering and death.’
Simo looked down at the meat.
‘I wonder where he would have heard talk like that.’ Cassius pointed at the Gaul and kept his voice low. ‘Now you listen to me, and you’d better take it in this time. He is not like you or I. He does not have – or at least cannot recall – a good family or upbringing to see him through. Most of what life he remembers was spent in an existence that I d
on’t even want to imagine. For all his physical strength, he is fragile. And the next time he loses control of himself who knows what he might do? Or to whom?’
‘Sir, I have not tried to bring him into the Faith. But he is curious.’
‘Perhaps. But do not weigh him down with these burdens – worrying about every waif and stray, agonising over every supposed injustice. It does no bloody good to anyone; and certainly not him. Now, tonight, you will cook a pleasant meal and we will drink together and we will talk only of the good parts of life. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, Master Cassius.’
‘I hope so, Simo. Because I will not allow you to drag him down.’
Cassius tried his best. After they had eaten what was indeed a fine dinner – peppered pork belly and green beans followed by nut cake – he tried to start up a game of ‘guess the emperor’. Unfortunately it died a swift death and it became irrefutably evident that the evening would be a struggle when Indavara didn’t finish his meal. The bodyguard spent most of his time staring out from the top of the tower at the dark sky.
Cassius then began reminiscing about good times the three of them had spent together; the drinking competition with the crew of the Fortuna Redux, touring the markets of Bostra where every imaginable food and good was available, seeing the remarkable King’s Tomb of Petra. Simo played along but Indavara said little. When the Gaul cleared the plates away, Cassius recalled some of the more notable girls he and Indavara had encountered and suggested a trip to a brothel. The bodyguard shook his head emphatically, remarking that the girls there were ‘just another type of slave’. Cassius was out of ideas.
They sat there in the darkness. From below came the sound of Simo quietly singing as he washed up the dinner things. Around them, the streets were quiet. A light breeze was coming in off the sea. The single lamp on the table flickered.
‘How is he?’ Indavara asked after a while, the first time he had mentioned the incident with Scato.
