by Nick Brown
‘What do you need from me?’
‘Everything you know, sir. The treasure and the flag, the men recruited from you, Gregorius’s plans.’
‘The first two I can help you with. The third I cannot. You can thank your paranoid friend Abascantius for that.’
Legion quartermaster was the pinnacle of achievement for a Roman soldier. Typically lifers with twenty years under their belt, they had a range of responsibility second only to the prefect. They made hundreds of decisions a day and were responsible for an organisation with a larger population than most towns and a budget to match. They were both the heart and backbone of a legion; but as well as being the peak of a legionary’s career, it was also the limit.
Only men from aristocratic families could expect to become tribunes or prefects. And though they were rarely avid supporters of the Imperial Security Service, the officers were political animals; and they understood the reasons for the Service’s existence, perhaps even viewing it as a necessary evil.
Quartermasters – like most career soldiers – usually held a different view. They saw the Service and its agents as little more than unprincipled liars and cheats; shadowy figures who held dear none of the army principles of unity, dedication and loyalty. Within moments of meeting Quartermaster Lollius of the Fourth Legion, Cassius knew he would not be one to break with tradition.
‘Corbulo,’ announced Venator. ‘He’s with Imperial Security.’
‘Good afternoon,’ said Cassius as he gripped the forearm of the burly quartermaster. He was ready for the squeeze but struggled not to wince as the thick fingers dug into his skin. He’d had quite enough manhandling for one day.
‘You shall of course cooperate fully and extend him every courtesy,’ added Venator.
‘Of course, sir,’ replied Lollius coolly.
They were standing inside a large, stuffy tent close to the main entrance. Upon finding Lollius there, Venator had ordered the half dozen clerks outside so that they might have some privacy. Lollius had dealt closely with Gregorius so Venator wanted him present to answer the questions he couldn’t.
The three men were surrounded by tables, most of which were covered with papers and writing equipment. Venator found himself a high-backed chair and sat down. Cassius and the quartermaster each located a stool.
‘Begin,’ said Venator, waving a hand at Cassius.
Slightly startled, Cassius realised he should have made a list of questions or at least brought Simo to take some notes. He nodded at a nearby stack of blank papyrus sheets.
‘May I?’
Venator nodded.
Cassius took a reed pen, two sheets of papyrus and a wooden tablet to lean on. There was an awkward moment as he tried to get the ink flowing. Shaking the pen, he noted Lollius’s disdainful stare. The pupil of the quartermaster’s left eye was surrounded by red instead of white. Cassius forced himself to look away.
At last ink dripped from the nib. Cassius reminded himself not to hurry the discussion; he might not get this opportunity again.
‘First, sir, how and when did the treasure and the banner come into your possession?’
‘Neither went west with the Emperor because it wasn’t with the rest of the booty at the palace,’ answered Venator, slumped sideways in the chair. ‘There’s a big abandoned temple to the south of the Damascus Gate which the Palmyrans used as an armoury. We took it after the surrender but the treasure wasn’t found for a few weeks because it was hidden in a secret crypt. After Aurelian had left. When, Lollius?’
The quartermaster consulted a thick, leather-bound tome: the legion logbook.
‘August 15th.’
‘If you say so,’ replied Venator. ‘You were there when Tarquinius found it, weren’t you?’
Lollius nodded. ‘We were looking for some storage space outside the city.’
Venator turned to Cassius. ‘Tarquinius is a centurion from the Third Cohort. Good man. Sensible.’
‘I’d like to see this crypt if possible,’ said Cassius.
‘Lollius can show you later.’
The quartermaster looked less than enthusiastic about doing so.
‘And what happened then, sir?’ asked Cassius.
‘I notified Marcellinus immediately by coded letter, including a list of everything we’d found and a description of the flag. Then we locked the crypt and posted a permanent eight-man guard there. None of them knew what they were guarding.’
‘I’ll need to speak to this Tarquinius too.’
‘Not possible,’ answered Venator, straightening the golden edging of his cloak. ‘His cohort’s back in Zeugma.’
‘Do you at least have a copy of his records here?’
‘No. They’ll be in Zeugma too.’
‘I’m afraid I must explore every eventuality,’ Cassius said quietly. The list of those who had to be considered suspects continued to grow. It now included Lollius, Tarquinius and Venator himself.
‘I received a note from Tarquinius yesterday,’ said the prefect. ‘Confirming that he and his cohort had arrived safely.’
‘And when did you hear back from Marcellinus?’
Lollius checked the logbook again.
‘Reply received August 24th.’
Venator continued: ‘He had found out what the standard was and discussed the matter with the Emperor. He said the Service was to deal with the return of the flag and the treasure. In the same pouch were instructions from Abascantius, saying this Gregorius was on his way.’
‘And when did Gregorius arrive?’
‘Last day of August,’ said Venator.
Lollius nodded without checking the book.
Cassius made a note, as he had for all the important dates.
‘Did anything unusual happen in the period between notifying Antioch and Gregorius’s arrival?’
‘Almost certainly, this is Palmyra,’ said Venator, leaning back and crossing his arms. ‘But nothing to do with this matter as I recall. We alternated the guard regularly. No one else was allowed inside.’ He shrugged. ‘I was away to the east a lot of the time.’
‘We followed the marshal’s instructions to the letter,’ affirmed Lollius. ‘A couple of days before Gregorius got here, Tarquinius and I wrapped up all the booty and packed it into small barrels. Low-value coins were scattered on top and the lids were nailed down. It took us a whole day.’
‘Just the two of you, sir?’ asked Cassius.
‘I’d have liked to have given the job to some of the lads, believe me, but we were told not to involve any more men than was necessary.’
‘How many barrels were there?’
‘Eighteen,’ stated Lollius, wiping his red eye, which was now weeping.
‘And what happened when Gregorius got here?’
‘He arrived early in the morning and I spoke to him right away,’ answered Venator. ‘He was desperate to see the flag. Had a sketch of it. We took him to the temple and he confirmed it was genuine. Then he told us he wanted to leave that night. Said he would provide the transport but that he’d need ten of our best men. Lollius here wasn’t particularly happy about it but Gregorius had his authorisation.’
Cassius pressed on: ‘There were certain criteria for the ten legionaries, I believe.’
‘Yes, which we followed exactly,’ replied Venator. Men who weren’t friends, had to be Italians, veterans and so on. Harder than one might imagine.’
‘And you chose them personally, sir?’
Venator gestured for Lollius to answer.
‘I spoke to ten centurions at morning briefing, gave them the criteria and asked for a name by lunch. The names arrived. The men arrived later.’
‘And they were told nothing?’
Venator answered: ‘Only that they would be under the command of this Gregorius and that they might be away for up to a month.’
‘I’ll need to see their records, sir. And I’d like to talk to those centurions. Perhaps even friends from the ranks if there’s time.’
‘W
e can probably arrange that but I don’t want a big fuss. We take men off for special duties all the time but rarely from different centuries. There will already have been talk of it. If you start dragging everyone in for questioning, it’ll be around the entire legion by tomorrow, the auxiliaries the next day.’
‘I understand, sir. I’ll be very careful. Where did this cart come from?’
‘The city somewhere,’ replied Lollius. ‘Gregorius didn’t tell me. Probably a merchant’s yard. It was a big old thing.’
‘You saw it?’
‘I walked the ten men up to the temple. Gregorius had told me to wait until nightfall. Curfew was still in place then. I helped them load up and—’
‘Sorry,’ Cassius interrupted. ‘How did Gregorius seem?’
‘Nervous. But then so was I, being in charge of all that.’ Lollius chuckled. ‘He even made me sign for it.’
‘And the men?’
‘Don’t suppose any of them were too happy about the prospect of a march like that but they knew they were on triple pay.’
‘Abascantius’s idea,’ added Venator.
Lollius continued: ‘I walked with them as far as the Damascus Gate.’
‘And what about the picket line? Sentries?’
‘I checked the next day,’ said Lollius. ‘They passed our sentries out to the north-east a couple of hours later – an area of big estates belonging to some of the richer Palmyrans.’
‘You have the names of the sentries?’
‘I can get them.’
‘Then we might at least be able to establish the direction they took.’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure,’ said Venator. ‘There are scores of paths Gregorius might have followed: nomad routes, herder tracks.’
‘The cart would be heavy though, sir. They might have left a trail. Has there been a lot of rain since then?’
‘Not much,’ said Lollius. ‘But there’ll be more coming soon.’
Cassius couldn’t think of any more questions. ‘Well, thank you both. I think that’s about—’
Venator stood. ‘I must be going. Anything else you need – just ask the quartermaster here. He’ll find you lodgings too. Come and see me at the end of the day.’ Venator took half a step then stopped. ‘One more thing, Corbulo. What happened to your neck?’
VII
Their lodgings turned out to be a large tent previously occupied by clerks of the departed Third Cohort. The rain had stopped, so Simo opened the flaps at both ends to freshen the musty air. A team of slaves had just delivered three small beds complete with straw-filled mattresses. The beds were sturdily built but rather short – about two inches too short for Cassius. He now sat on one, his bare feet on the sandy ground, a pile of thin wooden tablets and a sheet of papyrus on his lap.
Quartermaster Lollius had remained cooperative, if begrudgingly so. He had consulted with a senior clerk who was able to lay his hands on six of the ten legionaries’ records. The others would apparently take longer to locate; the administrator was under-staffed and most of his men were with a tribune in the city writing up new tax laws. He had however promised to find all the records by morning. Lollius had then sent another man to tell the centurions who knew the men best that they would be interviewed the following day.
Each of the wooden tablets recorded the personal details of three or four legionaries: names, dates and places of birth, height, distinguishing marks and pay level. Cassius had already been through three of those chosen for Gregorius’ group and found nothing of great use. They were indeed all Italian-born veterans with at least a decade of service and numerous decorations. Cassius had copied the information on to papyrus himself; he didn’t want to miss anything. With three done, he decided to take a short break, then do the others before meeting Lollius; the quartermaster had agreed to show him the temple and the crypt before nightfall. He put the reed pen to one side and stared out at a line of muddy legionaries walking by.
‘I wonder if he’s found them yet.’
‘What’s that, sir?’ replied Simo, busy unfolding blankets.
‘Those men from the inn. Prefect Venator told me he’d have them in chains by the end of the day.’
‘Isn’t that what you want, sir?’
‘Yes, of course. I just wonder what will be done with them.’
‘And those other men, from the road?’
‘Optio Rullus and their centurion have been informed. They too will face punishment.’
Cassius stood up and touched his aching neck.
‘Leave it alone, sir. I’ll only have to put on more cream.’
‘Yes, yes, I know.’
Venator had also arranged for Cassius to see the legion’s chief surgeon. The elderly Greek had examined Cassius’s head and back and decided it was ‘just bruising’. The damage to his neck was ‘purely superficial’, though the surgeon had supplied a jar of unguent to ease the pain where the cape had cut the skin.
‘It is helping a little. Stinks though.’
‘That’ll be the vinegar, sir.’
Cassius looked over at Indavara. The bodyguard was facing away from him, unpacking the meagre contents of his bag.
‘You certainly travel light.’
Indavara didn’t react.
‘I suppose I should thank you. You literally saved my neck.’
Indavara gave a brief look over his shoulder and nodded an acknowledgement.
Cassius glanced at Simo and rolled his eyes. He was curious what exactly this man had been doing for Abascantius. Before he could ask him about it, Indavara picked up his bow and quiver.
‘Do you need me here?’ he asked.
‘No. But I will in an hour or so. Are you going somewhere?’
Indavara held up the bow. ‘There’s a range close by. Looked empty.’
‘Do you have any documentation from Abascantius? An authorisation or something? In case someone asks who you are.’
Indavara reached into his bag. He produced a worn half-page of papyrus and handed it over. It was a simple written statement, confirming that he was a bodyguard in the employ of the Governor’s Office of Syria. There was also a small stamp and Abascantius’s signature.
‘Are you a good shot?’ Cassius asked, handing the sheet back.
‘Not bad.’
‘Make sure of it. I think we’ve had enough excitement for one day.’
Indavara left without another word.
‘By Mars, he’s hard work,’ said Cassius. ‘I’ve had better conversations with my grandmother’s cat.’
Simo nodded as he continued to unpack. It always amazed Cassius to see just how much the Gaul could stuff into their saddlebags. There were his tunics, a toga, riding breeches, capes and hoods; wash-cloths, towels, sheets, a pillow; a spare pair of sandals, a pair of felt slippers; plus a rack of oils and lotions that Cassius also deemed essential.
‘He is rather quiet, sir.’
‘You didn’t manage to get anything out of him?’
‘Not a lot.’
‘You saw the state of his horse’s mouth, and his saddle?’
‘I did, sir. I don’t think he’s had much experience of riding. I offered to help but he didn’t seem too interested.’
‘He seems a bit of a dullard, Simo. Handy with his fists though. Dealt with those big Celts easily enough. For the time being we shall simply have to endure his company.’
Cassius neared the small pile of clothes Indavara had left on his bed. He bent over and sniffed them.
‘Gods! And his stench. I thought it was this stuff on my neck. Simo, be sure to keep this place well ventilated. Move my bed further away from his – we have the space. And don’t forget to spread some perfume around before we retire for the night.’
The western quarter of the sky glowed orange and pink as the sun set over Palmyra. Cassius and Quartermaster Lollius marched along the middle of the road that led from the encampment to the Damascus Gate, with Indavara and Simo a few paces behind.
Cassius found it diff
icult to reconcile the scene in front of him with the image of the great siege conjured by Legionary Gerardus back at the way-station. The southern side of Palmyra was protected only by a six-foot mud-brick wall with many damaged sections; and there were no towers or fortified gates.
‘The defences were like this when our forces arrived?’ Cassius asked.
‘Pretty much,’ said Lollius. ‘But their queen had tens of thousands of warriors in there. The city is large and spread out, and many of the people stayed. If we’d gone in there house to house it would have been a bloodbath. The Emperor played it well. A victory without a battle is the best victory of all.’
Lollius nodded to the right and the four of them turned down a narrower road that ran parallel to the city walls. At the end of it was a large temple. Two legionaries stood guard. A third shot to his feet when alerted by his fellows.
‘Indeed,’ said Cassius. ‘The Emperor’s policy of clemency does seem wise.’
‘And he even spared the dogs this time.’
‘What’s that, sir?’
Although the question of rank was again complex, Cassius thought it circumspect to show Lollius the utmost respect.
‘The first city to resist him was Tyana in Cappadocia,’ explained the quartermaster. ‘The Emperor was livid that the inhabitants had sided with the Palmyrans, so he swore he wouldn’t leave even a dog alive. But then there were the usual negotiations and he ended up sparing the town just like he did here. The men were disappointed – they’d expected a good sack. So he told them he would fulfil his oath – and ordered them to kill all the dogs. They took it in good spirit and did so.’
‘One way to keep the streets clean, I suppose.’
In front of the temple was a wide courtyard. It was overgrown with grass and weeds and in places bricks had been removed from the walls. In the centre of the space was a large altar. Carved into the middle of it were channels to drain the blood of sacrificed beasts.
‘Whichever god this was dedicated to, he seems to have fallen out of favour,’ remarked Cassius.
‘I forget the name,’ replied Lollius. ‘There are so many out here and they all sound the same to me. I heard the followers belonged to a group that somehow offended the queen. Hasn’t been used as anything other than an armoury for many a year.’
