by Nick Brown
Though dilapidated, the temple maintained an imposing grandeur. The walls were constructed of huge limestone blocks; the front was dominated by four thick, weathered columns; and high, wide steps led up to a hefty wooden door. At the base of the steps stood the three legionaries, arms by their sides.
Lollius took a key on a chain from around his neck and threw it to the oldest of them.
‘Open up.’
The quartermaster then looked at the man who’d been late getting to his feet.
‘Name?’
‘Legionary Decius Herius Faustus, sir.’
‘Faustus, eh – the lucky.’
The legionary grimaced; he knew what was coming.
‘Well, not tonight. If you want to lounge around like some slovenly easterner, I shall find you a useful occupation.’
Lollius looked back at the courtyard.
‘You know what my wife makes me do when I’m home on leave? She has me pull up all the weeds on our terrace. Every tiny shoot. Right pain in the arse – the back too after a while. But that shouldn’t be a problem for a young buck like you, especially after you’ve had a nice little break. Get to it then! I don’t want to see anything green left in this courtyard.’
The legionary leant his spear against the nearest column, removed his helmet and bent down in front of the nearest clump of weeds.
After three failed attempts, the older legionary had finally managed to turn the key in the stiff iron lock. He heaved the creaking door open. Lollius took the oil lantern he had given Simo to carry and stepped inside.
‘You two wait here,’ Cassius told Simo and Indavara.
With only a high line of small apertures to admit the fading light, the temple was almost pitch black, and Cassius stayed close to Lollius as the quartermaster stalked along the central corridor, footsteps echoing on the flagstones. Cassius had expected a voluminous space but, as the light of the lamp splashed across the interior, he saw that each side of the temple was divided into small chambers. Every one was full. There were barrels stuffed with spears and swords, stacks of helmets and armour; even huge stone balls a yard across – ammunition for siege engines.
‘Some of this was already here,’ said Lollius. ‘The rest we took off the Palmyrans after the surrender.’
At the end of the corridor was a steep set of steps that led up to a wide platform. To the right of the platform was a doorway leading to a large chamber. Cassius had seen this arrangement before in the eastern provinces. It was here that the cult image would be kept; the devotees wouldn’t want the sacred object to be visible from outside. As he climbed the steps – still close behind Lollius – he could make out depressions made by the knees of prostrate worshippers.
The walls of the chamber were dotted with empty niches, and in the middle of the floor was a square gap with soil below; presumably a former resting place for another altar. Cassius followed Lollius over to the far left corner. Here, a dozen stone blocks had been piled next to a low arched doorway. Beyond the doorway, steps led downward.
‘There was a false wall here,’ explained Lollius.
Cassius cast a quizzical glance at the limestone blocks. They weren’t as large as those in the exterior walls but would still be extremely heavy.
‘How did you—’
‘Lift one. You might surprise yourself.’
Lollius held the lamp over the nearest block.
‘Go on. Try.’
Cassius gripped it with both hands and found he could easily move it.
‘How in Hades?’
As he put the block down, Lollius drew his dagger and jabbed it into the stone.
Cassius jumped back.
‘Easy, grain man,’ said the quartermaster, twisting the blade before pulling it out.
‘See here – it’s wood. They plastered it or painted it somehow to make it look like limestone.’
Cassius leaned forward to examine the strips of wood on the dagger blade.
‘Clever eh?’ continued Lollius. ‘Tarquinius spotted it; the colour’s slightly different if you look closely. He’d seen something similar while treasure-hunting up north.’
‘Sir, I don’t mean to be impertinent, but do you really believe – and expect me to believe – that a soldier so adept at digging out booty found a crypt full of it, then simply reported it to his seniors without taking a single piece for himself?’
Lollius shrugged. ‘For all you know, I might have done the same. One has to think of one’s retirement at my age.’
Cassius stared at him. Then the quartermaster grinned. Cassius told himself to relax; in the grand scheme of things, it hardly mattered if he or this Tarquinius had nabbed a bit of silver or gold for themselves.
‘Can we go inside the crypt?’
‘You can. Scrambling down there Jupiter knows how many times almost did my back in.’
Lollius handed over the lantern.
‘Go ahead, I’m sure you’ll be fine. There haven’t been any earthquakes this week.’
‘Earthquakes?’ Cassius stopped at the top step.
‘Just tremors. I mean, enough to bring down this old place, but, no, nothing this week. Of course sometimes that means there’s another one coming but . . . I’m sure you’ll be fine.’
Fairly sure that the quartermaster was lying, Cassius descended the nine steps into the crypt. It was dank and musty, and in one corner, water dripped on to the floor. He could almost stand up straight.
He walked along all four walls (measuring the chamber at eight paces by five), studying the floor as he went. The lamplight sparked off something. He reached down and picked up a small brass coin. He held it close to the lamp. The obverse, which would almost certainly show an imperial portrait, was worn beyond recognition. The reverse showed what looked like two crossed swords and the end of a word he couldn’t read. He glanced around the crypt one last time, then headed back up the steps. He found Lollius sitting on one of the blocks.
‘What do you have there?’ asked the quartermaster.
‘A coin, old thing. One of those you used to cover the treasure with?’
Lollius peered at the coin, then shrugged. ‘Probably.’
‘Where did you get them from?’
‘There was a load of them in one of the other rooms. Not worth a lot now. We used them all, I think – made sure the barrels were full up to the lid.’
‘They all looked like this one?’
‘No idea. We just threw them in.’
Cassius returned the lamp to Lollius and followed him out of the chamber.
‘There are no other ways in or out?’
Lollius shook his head. ‘None.’
They made their way down the steps and back along the corridor.
‘So you brought the barrels into the crypt, filled them up, covered them with the coins, then left them in there?’
‘Yes. Then on the night that Gregorius and the men left we brought them out to the cart in the courtyard.’
Cassius stopped short of the door so that the soldiers couldn’t listen in. He spoke quietly.
‘You said you walked with them for a while?’
‘I did. The last I saw of them they were heading for the valley of the tombs. Bad omen, I suppose.’
‘I’d like to follow their route, out past where this sentry last saw them.’
Lollius sighed. ‘Very well. We’ll go out first thing tomorrow, grain man. I’ll bring the sentry along too. You should go and see the prefect now. He has a drink with the tribunes most evenings and he won’t want you around for that. Too many awkward questions.’
Cassius followed Lollius out into the courtyard. They were met by the bizarre sight of Simo and Indavara helping Legionary Faustus with his weeding. All three of them stopped when they saw they were being watched.
Lollius frowned. ‘Why are you helping him?’
‘Yes,’ added Cassius. ‘Why are you helping him?’
‘It’s a big job, sir,’ said Simo flatly.
‘I lik
e to keep busy,’ said Indavara, shrugging.
Lollius shook his head, then marched away across the courtyard.
VIII
‘Don’t let that wine get too hot,’ ordered Venator.
An aged servant hurried over to the brazier and moved the pan to one side. Cassius was standing in a corner with his hands behind his back, waiting for the prefect to finish some paperwork. He watched as the servant returned to the prefect’s bed, and continued to dress it with freshly laundered cotton sheets. The bed was huge, with ornate wooden posts at each corner; and the tent was filled with other hefty items of furniture. Cassius wondered how many carts were needed to transport the prefect’s belongings.
Venator dropped his pen, leaned back and yawned. He stood up and walked over to three couches that had been arranged in a U. Cassius followed him there and waited as the prefect kicked off his sandals and lay down, propping a fine red cushion under his head.
‘Sit, Corbulo, sit.’
Cassius sat in the middle of a couch opposite the prefect and tried to look relaxed. Nothing was said while the servant moved two tables within easy reach and brought them each a cup of wine. The prefect took a long, slow sip.
‘Ah, yes. My one real pleasure of the day. Well, anything to report?’
‘I’ve started going through the legionary records, sir, but nothing stands out so far. Quartermaster Lollius has just shown me the temple. In the morning he’s going to take me out on the Antioch road with the sentry who last saw Gregorius and the legionaries.’
‘And any thoughts about what may have happened?’
Cassius had already decided to be honest and frank with Venator. Though the slim possibility remained that he or one or more of his men were somehow involved in the theft, his material help might prove crucial; and his experience and position made him a valuable source of advice.
‘The way I see it, sir, there are three possibilities. One: someone who knew about the flag and the treasure arranged for the cart to be ambushed. The motive might be simple monetary gain or political advantage – if they knew of the banner’s significance.’
Venator nodded. ‘Go on.’
‘Two: some other, unexpected fate befell them. They ran into Palmyrans, locals, who knows? Three: someone within the group is responsible.’
Cassius knew how Quartermaster Lollius would have responded to the last of the three alternatives but Venator was rather more circumspect. The prefect sat up a little higher and ran his fingers through his soft, white hair.
‘I’ve little time for Abascantius but he’s no fool. I can’t believe he would assign such a task to a man he didn’t absolutely trust. As for the legionaries, well, I’ve as many rogues in my ranks as any prefect – you yourself can attest to that – but the ten we gave Gregorius are not among them. Even if one or two found out what was inside those barrels and concocted some scheme, I don’t see how they could have overpowered the others. These men are veterans. Heroes.’
‘How dangerous are the lands between here and Antioch, sir?’
‘Safer than they’ve been in several years, but there are Palmyran irregulars still scattered around, not to mention the odd gang of brigands between towns. It’s possible Gregorius ran into trouble, but it would have taken a strong, well-organised force to get the better of them, I can tell you that much. Which leaves your first possibility.’
Cassius nodded and drank some wine.
‘Someone with prior knowledge of the operation,’ added the prefect. ‘Marcellinus and the members of his council. Plus myself, Lollius and Tarquinius of course.’
Cassius decided he could conclude little from the cool manner in which the prefect had unabashedly named himself as a suspect.
‘And the Service itself of course, sir. I’m not sure if Abascantius has involved anyone other than Gregorius and myself. And then there’s the imperial post. I wanted to ask: how secure is it?’
‘Well, code is usually used for important communiques.’
‘How exactly does that work?’
‘You really are new to all this, aren’t you. Amandio!’ The slave shuffled over to them. ‘Bring me the largest box from the top shelf.’ Venator turned back to Cassius. ‘There is a standard cipher book with about two hundred different codes in it.’
Cassius had heard of these books but never seen one.
Venator continued: ‘On one of the first occasions I met Abascantius, we agreed verbally which cipher we would use but made no written record of it. From then on, anything either of us deemed to be sensitive would be written in that code. Common practice.’
As Amandio returned with the wooden box, Venator directed him to Cassius. The servant placed the box on the floor and opened the lid. Inside was a single leather-bound book. Cassius picked it up and opened it. On each page was a different code: some used numbers assigned to letters, others used a formula or symbols.
‘These books are all the same?’
‘Yes. They’re issued from Rome.’
‘But anyone with a copy could simply go through all the codes – if they wanted to decipher a certain letter.’
‘Yes, but they’re very hard to get hold of. Plus the army and the Security Service vet and monitor the couriers very closely. There have been incidents in the past of course, but nothing in this province that I can recall.’
Cassius replaced the book in the box and the servant took it away.
‘Sir, there might be another angle to all this. Some of Zenobia’s people must have known about the contents of the crypt. If any of them are still at large, then they might be responsible.’
Venator thought about this for a moment.
‘The queen kept much of her wealth with her; a good deal of it was captured at Emesa. The fact that the banner and the rest of the treasure were left here might indicate she didn’t know about them.’
‘Or that she did and they were being kept secret and safe – some kind of bargaining tool for dealing with the Persians.’
‘Possibly.’
‘And what of her courtiers, sir? Ministers? They were all killed?’
‘Her most trusted aide was Cassius Longinus. I believe Zenobia tried to blame him and the others for instigating the revolt. They were all put on trial and executed.’
‘But someone who knew of the banner may have survived, or passed on that knowledge.’
‘If they already knew of it, why not recover the flag and the treasure earlier?’
Cassius shrugged. More questions. No answers.
‘Sir, is there anyone left in the city who might be able to help us with this?’
‘Some of those working with us now were fairly high up in the queen’s administration. I’ll make some enquiries tomorrow.’
The oil lamps flared and fizzled as someone entered the tent. Cassius and Venator turned to see Lollius lowering a flap of canvas. He looked hot and unhappy.
‘You have them?’ Venator asked.
Lollius nodded.
Venator stood and put on his sandals.
‘Amandio. My cape.’
Shaking his head impatiently as the old man struggled with a drawer, Venator hurried across and took the cape out himself. He threw it over his shoulders and finished off his wine.
‘Come, Corbulo.’
Venator stopped close to the entrance and selected a long leather riding crop from a cylindrical wooden case. Cassius had a good idea who might be outside. He felt sick. As he exited the tent behind the prefect and Lollius, six legionaries were just being dismissed by a tall centurion. Four soldiers remained, standing in a row behind three prisoners. The Celts were down on their knees, manacled at the wrists and ankles.
Estan looked up at Cassius. His pale eyes bored into Cassius’s with unalloyed rage. His chin was bruised and one side of his jaw seemed to be hanging at a strange angle.
‘I thought there were four,’ said Venator.
‘One of them fainted when we grabbed him out of bed,’ explained Lollius. ‘Apparently he caught a
stool in the head from the bodyguard. He’s in the infirmary under guard.’
‘Sounds like you’ve got a good man there, Corbulo,’ said Venator. ‘Not that you should have needed protection from men drawing a wage from imperial coffers. This is definitely them?’
Cassius thought it unlikely that he would ever forget Estan’s face but he double-checked the other two to make sure.
‘Yes, sir.’
Venator turned back to the quartermaster. ‘And what about the others from the inn – the auxiliaries who stood by?’
‘Enquiries are being made, sir.’
Estan mumbled something.
Venator slashed the riding crop across his shoulder.
‘Not a word, you dog! Not a single bloody word.’
Spit from Venator’s mouth landed on Estan’s face and on Cassius’s arm. Estan bowed his head. The crop had torn straight through his tunic, leaving a livid welt on the skin.
Venator turned to Cassius. ‘They’ll face a proper tribunal later in the week. Flogging, I should think. But I didn’t want you to miss an opportunity for recompense.’
Cassius was nodding, but all he could think of was what exactly the prefect meant by recompense.
‘You men are Caledonians, I gather,’ said Venator, now pacing slowly in front of them. ‘Well, this man is an officer of the Roman Army. Which means he is worth ten of you. And which means that if you ever encounter him – or indeed any other officer – you should show nothing other than deference, obedience and loyalty. Clear?’
The other two Celts nodded. They had also been beaten about the face.
‘Speak.’
‘Yes, sir,’ the men answered in Latin.
Estan remained silent and still, staring blankly ahead.
‘By Mars, he’s a stubborn one, isn’t he, Lollius?’
‘Like a mule, sir. Like a stupid Caledonian mule.’
‘Well, we need to hear him say it too. Let’s see if he can be persuaded.’
Venator handed Cassius the riding crop. The handle was warm.
Cassius took it, but he had his excuses ready. ‘Sir, I would prefer to allow military justice to take its course. I thank you for taking this action on my behalf, but I—’
