by Nick Brown
‘Know where we are?’ asked Indavara.
‘Yes,’ answered Kallikres.
‘Back to the warehouse, then,’ said Cassius. ‘Quickly.’
‘But what about the villa?’
‘Listen, I – we – appreciate your late change of heart, believe me. But I have priorities other than your young friend. The sooner we get to the warehouse, the sooner we can get to that villa. Lead on.’
Like Kallikres, they set off at a run.
‘Shit on me,’ said Indavara. ‘What a night.’
The warehouse seemed to be the busiest place in the city. Even before they were let through the gate by Vespilo, Cassius could see Cosmas had done well. There were at least a dozen sergeants there and he found the diminutive Syrian standing in front of nine men lying on the ground, hands tied behind them.
‘Jupiter be praised,’ said Cosmas when he saw the filthy figures walking towards him. ‘It’s been hours. What happened?’
‘Long story – no time to tell it.’
Noting Cosmas’s curious glance at Kallikres, Cassius beckoned him forward and explained why he was with them. Cosmas made little attempt to hide his disdain for the traitor, who was looking warily around at his fellow sergeants.
‘Sure you got them all?’ asked Indavara, pointing at the men on the ground.
‘All that they brought along tonight,’ said Cosmas.
‘It’s all of them,’ said Cassius. ‘There were only eight named in the ledger plus the supervisor. Get anything out of them?’
‘Not yet,’ said Cosmas.
‘What about Bathyllos?’
‘I sent a pair of men to his house with orders to intercept him if he leaves or any message he sends out. I can have him brought in immediately.’
‘Do it. We’ll question him back at headquarters then head straight out to this villa – hopefully before they find out what’s gone on here.’
‘And this place?’ asked Cosmas, turning towards the factory.
‘Lock it up and leave as many men as you can to guard it. Did you find the strongbox?’
Cosmas nodded at the ground; the box was there next to one of the captive’s feet. The sergeant then doled out a series of orders to his men.
‘I also need a runner to go to the tower and fetch Simo.’
Cosmas called over one of the younger sergeants and Cassius gave him both instructions and directions.
‘This way,’ said Cosmas, heading off towards the side gate. ‘We can use their horses.’
Indavara gave Kallikres a shove and stayed behind him. He already had the sergeant’s knife tucked into his belt.
‘I’m guessing the tunnel came out there?’ said Cassius, pointing at the stables ahead of them.
‘Yes,’ replied Cosmas. ‘I’d only just pulled myself out when those hunters turned up.’
‘Hunters?’ said Indavara.
‘Looked like Itureans to me – from the mountain tribes. No one’s ever really been able to conquer that lot. Tough bastards, every one. What happened to them?’
Cassius aimed a thumb at Indavara. ‘He did. What about Diadromes?’
‘I sent him a message but he might not be able to get away – there was trouble at the forum last night.’
‘Gods, what is it this time?’
‘They flogged the youths that defaced the statue – did it late last night so no one was around. Only six lashes each but one of the younger lads collapsed after the first stroke and never came round. Even Nemetorius’ surgeon couldn’t revive him. Somehow word got out.’
‘Well, that’s not our concern. Apparently this villa’s about five miles east of the city. We’ll need plenty of men and plenty of horses. I want to be there no later than the second hour.’
As Cassius, Indavara and Kallikres followed Cosmas through the headquarters building, a squad of sergeants jogged past. Every man was equipped with helmet and shield, armed with club and sword. Apparently hundreds of protesters had now congregated outside the forum and the magistrate’s residence and every single man had been called in to help.
Gessius was waiting outside the interrogation room. He told them that Bathyllos appeared ready to give up everyone and everything in return for clemency; he was also desperate that his family not learn of his crimes.
Cassius would have preferred to have changed but – until Simo arrived – he was stuck with the filth and the smell.
‘Come on.’ He opened the door and the four of them filed in.
Bathyllos was sitting on a chair with his bound hands on the table. His hair was unkempt and he was wearing a sleeveless sleeping tunic. He looked away and shook his head when he recognised Cassius.
‘I’m going to make this quick. Have you contacted your employers?’
‘First you must tell me what I’ll recieive in return for cooperation.’
‘I will do what I can but only if you help me now. Time is critical. Have you contacted them? Warned them?’
‘But what guarantees—’
Cassius thumped a fist on the table. ‘Nothing. And any help you do receive is dependent on my goodwill, so I suggest you start talking.’
Bathyllos took his hands off the table. ‘No, I haven’t contacted them. I deal only with Skiron.’ He looked at Kallikres. ‘Him I’ve never seen before tonight.’
The sergeant had already disclosed that Skiron had called in at Bathyllos’ house and instructed him to send the work crew to the factory.
A knock on the door. Gessius entered and whispered to Cosmas then both the sergeants left.
Cassius turned back to Bathyllos. ‘If we hadn’t intervened how long would it have taken them – to clear out the workshop?’
‘Most of the night, I suppose.’
‘Kallikres, did they give any indication of how long? Or how they might get word back to the villa?’
‘Not that I heard. Sir, please, we must leave.’
Cassius ignored him. ‘Bathyllos, I will ask once more – you have not warned them? If I later find out otherwise you can expect the opposite of help from me.’
The Syrian threw up his hands. ‘I swear it, upon my wife and children. You must understand, I had no choice – they forced me into it.’
‘Sir,’ said Kallikres. ‘These people are not stupid, they were readying themselves to leave. If they suspect for a moment that something has gone wrong—’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Cassius. ‘We’re going.’
Outside he found Gessius alone.
‘Where’s Cosmas?’
‘He was called away, sir. As a senior sergeant he must take charge of his squad and lead them out to the governor’s residence.’
‘Now?’
‘Yes, sir. Only a few of us will remain here. He passed on his apologies. There is also a note from Deputy Magistrate Diadromes.’
Cassius took it from him as they set off towards the aid post, where they were to meet Simo.
‘Shit.’ Once he’d read it, Cassius rolled the scrap of paper into a ball and flung it aside.
‘What?’ asked Indavara.
‘The deputy magistrate also apologises but states that the forum and the residence are virtually surrounded. He informs me that I should use my authority and requisition some legionaries. He seems certain Nemetorius will be too busy dealing with the protesters to even notice.’
‘Why not just go alone?’ said Indavara as another squad of well-armed sergeants overtook them.
‘The gang may already have fled by the time we get there. Three of us? To check all the paths up in those hills and mountains? We need a dozen men at least. Kallikres, how far to the barracks?’
‘About a mile.’
‘There’s Simo,’ said Indavara.
The Gaul had waited for the sergeants to rush out. He entered the headquarters clutching a folded blanket.
‘In there,’ ordered Cassius.
The aid post was empty. Simo dumped the blanket on the table, then unwrapped it. ‘Anybody hurt?’
‘No,’ said Indavara.
‘Speak for yourself.’ Cassius’s shoulder ached so badly that he was convinced the arrow had stuck him, even though he could see the undershirt remained intact. He also had countless bruises and cuts from all that rolling around in the tunnels.
Inside the blanket were one spare tunic for Indavara, a choice of two for Cassius, plus his helmet and the spearhead.
‘Simo, some help here.’
Between the two of them they removed the mail shirt, undershirt and mud-encrusted tunic.
Cassius suddenly thought of something. ‘Kallikres, how many staff at the villa?’
‘At least three maids. Several other male servants and some lads.’
‘They have horses, of course.’
‘I saw a stables, yes.’
Cassius selected the red tunic; his hunch that he might again need to exploit his authority to get the help he needed had proved correct. Once that was on, Simo again assisted him with the armour. He then pulled on his sword belt, which was still filthy.
‘Can’t believe I lost it.’ Indavara was staring glumly down at Skiron’s blade, which to Cassius looked a lot more expensive than the bodyguard’s old weapon. ‘That was a bloody good sword.’
Simo unbuckled the satchel and turned it upside down, emptying muddy water on to the floor.
Cassius stuffed the spearhead inside the bag. ‘Simo, you bring my helmet.’
Indavara had also changed and was still tightening his belt as they hurried out of the building. Four guards had been stationed at the gate and dozens of cityfolk – mostly young men – had gathered outside. For now they were simply looking on.
‘These your horses?’ A sergeant walked over and pointed at the six mounts tied up in the courtyard.
‘Some of them,’ said Cassius.
When the sergeant noted the colour of his tunic, his manner changed.
‘Oh, sorry, sir – are you leaving?’
‘We are.’
‘It’s just that we need to get organised – I think we’re in for a long day.’
Cassius was already past him. He, Indavara, Simo and Kallikres untied their horses and mounted up. With the other three men watching the cityfolk, the sergeant opened the gate and waved them through.
Cassius summoned Kallikres to the front. ‘The barracks – as fast as you can.’
It was immediately obvious that the sergeant’s prediction of a ‘long day’ wasn’t far off the mark. Kallikres did his best to avoid the major avenues but whenever they neared one, it was clear to all that something was wrong. During the first hour it was no surprise to see the city busy, but no one seemed to be working. The men were in groups, either on the move or gathered at temples and statues and other meeting points. And though none seemed to be holding weapons, the anger and determination in their faces was clear. That was, the faces that could be seen; even though the sun was already warming the streets, many were wearing hoods. One group even shouted abuse in Aramaic as Cassius and the others rode past, having spied his red tunic and the crested helmet. There were few women or children around, nor any trace of either sergeants or soldiers – presumably they were all at the forum or the magistrate’s residence.
Fortunately, the barracks was some distance from the centre. As he reined in outside the entrance, Cassius offered another prayer to Jupiter. His self-imposed deadline of reaching the villa within the second hour was already looking unlikely.
The sense of unease was not helped by what he saw at the barracks. There was a man in each of the four corner towers and the pair of sentries at the gate were – unusually – inside. Now wearing his helmet, Cassius held up the spearhead.
‘Officer Crispian, Imperial Security. I need to commandeer some men. Open up, legionary.’
The nearest soldier came forward. ‘Good day, sir. I’m afraid standing orders are to only—’
‘Not for an officer with one of those,’ said the second sentry, nodding at the spearhead. An older man, he retrieved a large key from a bag hanging from his belt and opened the gate.
Two sides of the parade ground were taken up by barrack blocks – accommodation for the two centuries under Nemetorius’ command. Cassius could see only a handful of men; some at the stables and a trio cleaning a stack of shields.
‘Who’s the duty officer?’
The older legionary steadied Cassius’s horse, which didn’t seem keen on its new surroundings. ‘Guard Officer Papinian, he … ah.’
Papinian – identifiable by the single red stripe on his tunic sleeve – was coming down the ladder of the nearest guard tower. He leapt the last three rungs and hurried over. ‘Sir?’
‘Guard officer, I need some men. How many can you spare?’
Papinian eyed the spearhead. ‘Does Chief Centurion Nemetorius know about this, sir?’
‘No, but he knows I’m here in Berytus and he will expect you to cooperate. I am on an assignment for Marshal Marcellinus himself.’
Papinian chewed his lip and looked across his parade ground. ‘You need them on mounts, sir?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ve got six here that can ride but only four fit horses.’
Cassius muttered a curse. Could the gods really be on the Emperor’s side? They didn’t seem to be offering much help when it came to capturing these counterfeiters.
‘Four will have to do, then. I want them assembled here, armed and ready to leave in five minutes.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Pampinian jogged away across the parade ground, his old-fashioned segmented armour jangling.
Cassius turned around. Kallikres was staring out at the street.
‘What’s the best route? We should try to avoid the centre.’
‘We can follow the canal then cut across to the east gate.’
‘And about five miles to the villa, you think?’
‘Yes.’
Cassius shook his head – probably an hour or more until they got there. At least he’d have enough men to mount some kind of search if the ringleaders had escaped.
‘So you don’t even know their names, these two?’
‘No.’ Kallikres looked morosely down at the ground. ‘It was always just “Master” or “Mistress”.’
He had told Cassius about the fate of the caster Florens and the way they had used both the unfortunate maid and the slave boy to manipulate him.
‘What are they like?’
‘Clever,’ said Kallikres. ‘And beautiful, I suppose.’
Cassius raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m intrigued.’
XXXV
Though Cassius and the others had not been at the barracks long, Berytus now seemed almost deserted. They had seen only a few gangs of youths, a handful of messenger boys and a mounted squad of sergeants. Kallikres’ idea of following the street beside the canal was clearly a good one: with so little trade going on, both it and the waterway were quiet. Away to the left were the high buildings of the centre, from where they could hear the chants of a substantial crowd.
Kallikres was riding alongside Cassius at the front. ‘We must cross up here, then turn right.’
The bridge was a squat, single-arch structure. As they approached it, Cassius realised there was a group of men standing in the middle. Then he saw the barrier they had erected; a dense lattice of wooden poles roped between two carts.
‘Will they let us through?’ he asked as they slowed their horses.
‘Who knows?’ The sergeant pointed along the canal. ‘The next bridge isn’t far away but it’ll probably be busier.’
Cassius counted eleven men. ‘Let’s see what they do.’
He was still wearing his helmet. Affecting his most confident manner, he trotted ahead of the others and guided his horse on to the bridge, reining in only a few yards from the protesters. Some of them had quickly raised their hoods, others had pulled on actors’ masks just like Ravilla and his men. A few didn’t seem concerned about hiding their faces.
‘Remove this barrier. I wish to pass.
’
‘And who are you?’ growled one man from behind the folds of his hood. He had a spear strapped to his shoulder and Cassius noted that every last one of his comrades was armed.
‘You can see who I am and I’m sure you’re well aware of the consequences of disobeying me.’
The Syrian did not reply. He and the other men were looking past Cassius and the others. The avenue behind them ran straight to the forum.
‘Something’s happened,’ said one of them.
Cassius turned and saw scores of men and boys running from the centre. Behind them was a crowd of several hundred.
Some of the horses began to snort and puff.
‘Next bridge?’ suggested Kallikres.
Cassius looked at the barrier. Even if the men cooperated it would take a while to get through. He glanced back along the avenue; some of the fleeing cityfolk were no more than a hundred yards away and dozens more had joined the flood behind them.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Indavara.
One of the legionaries had his hand over his eyes. ‘I think I can see our troops in the square. There must have been a clash with the weavers.’
‘We ain’t weavers,’ spat one of the protesters. ‘We’re just like them lot and everyone else out on the streets today. All we want is bit of justice in Berytus – not a magistrate who kills boys for the fun of it.’
‘Watch your mouth,’ warned one of the legionaries.
Cassius held up a calming hand.
The quickest of the crowd were young boys and the moment they arrived they began babbling in Aramaic.
Kallikres translated. ‘Some kind of battle. Sounds like the legionaries have used their swords.’
Cassius looked along the canal; there didn’t seem to be all that many people near the other bridge.
‘On we go,’ he ordered. ‘Next crossing.’
He guided his horse past Kallikres and Simo, who seemed fixated by the fleeing crowd. Indavara had a more practical problem; his horse was resisting his attempts to turn.
‘Pull down on the reins,’ snapped Cassius.
Three teenage lads had just reached the bridge. Two stopped and bent over, breathing hard. The third fell to his knees in front of Cassius. Tears streaming down his face, he shook his fist and screamed at him in Aramaic.
