by Nick Brown
‘And they must have done it very well,’ added Dacien, ‘to have only suffered two dead.’
‘Which suggests they attacked in considerable force. These legionaries were all veterans. Even with surprise on their side I’d say the raiders must have numbered twenty at least – two to a man – to have overcome them so easily. They probably hid in the channel.’
‘Under the bridge even,’ said Indavara.
‘Possibly – we must check there. Now the Service man isn’t here. Which means they took him with them, probably alive.’
‘Maybe he knew they were coming,’ suggested Dacien.
Cassius raised an eyebrow. It looked like Venator had been correct about the trustworthiness of the ten legionaries but had Abascantius also been right about Gregorius?
‘Then they burned the bodies but made a poor job of it, which suggests they were in a hurry. Possibly they wanted to get somewhere before daylight. So where did they go?’
Dacien shrugged. ‘Before the rain, any route would have been easily passable.’
Cassius let out a long sigh. He glanced around at the dirty, sweaty faces of the others and knew how similarly weary he must look. Had the toil of the last two hours really been for nothing?
‘Let’s have another look at those two enemy,’ he said, heading back to the channel.
‘I’ll check under the bridge,’ offered Indavara.
Cassius went straight to ‘eleven’.
‘Help me turn him over, Dacien.’
Once this was done, Cassius knelt down and examined the warrior’s legs. He saw what he thought was a tattoo, then realised it was just charred flesh. Then he inspected the man’s tunic, or what was left of it. Cheap, thin cotton. It could have come from anywhere.
Indavara came out from under the bridge. He threw a boot up to Cassius, then pulled himself up out of the channel.
‘Found it close to this end, must have fallen in there.’
Cassius examined the boot. It was unusually large and matched that worn by ‘five’. He walked over to the body and dropped it by the bare foot. The boot landed on its side. The sole was covered in a thick brown layer and a few flecks of white. Cassius picked it up again and held it to his nose.
‘Yuk.’
‘Shit?’ asked Dacien.
‘Well done. And I thought I was the investigator.’
‘What type?’
Cassius frowned. ‘What type? It’s not a fine wine.’
Dacien took the boot and sniffed it. ‘Goat,’ he said before handing it back.
‘Well, I’m glad we’ve established that,’ said Cassius. ‘So our only lead is a man who once stepped in goat shit. That really narrows it down.’
He drew his dagger and scraped the sole of the boot.
‘This stuff, however, might be a little more instructive.’ Under the muck was a thin layer of the white substance. Cassius sniffed it. A faintly bitter odour. He knelt down and scraped at the other boot and again found the same white layer.
‘Well, I lack your expertise as far as ordure goes, Dacien, but I know that smell.’
Dacien took the boot and sniffed it. ‘What is it?’
‘Quicklime. It’s used in mining.’
‘What kind of mining?’
‘Iron and copper, mostly.’
‘Copper? There are copper mines just north of here. The very name of the city—’
‘Chalcis,’ said Cassius.
‘But there are scores of mines there.’
‘Yes, but it’s something. And a moment ago we had nothing. This fellow was probably near a mine not too long ago. And I can’t think of a much better place to hide a big cart, or to use as a base for some criminal scheme. Whereabouts are the mines?’
‘I don’t know exactly. Mostly between Chalcis and Androna, I think.’
‘How far is Androna from here?’
‘A day’s ride perhaps.’
‘We wouldn’t make it by nightfall?’
‘You might – if you picked up the Antioch road.’
Cassius nodded. ‘I’d like you to go back to the village. Bring out a couple of men who know how to keep their mouths shut. These legionaries deserve a decent burial.’ He pointed at the money bags. ‘You can keep all that as payment.’
‘Fair enough.’
‘We’re leaving. I’m sure I can trust you to do the right thing by these men.’
‘You can, sir.’
‘My thanks for all you’ve done,’ said Cassius as they gripped forearms.
Dacien bade farewell to Indavara and Simo, then started back towards Ethusa.
Cassius took a last look at the bodies, then at his filthy hands.
‘Come, you two. I for one have had enough of this place. We ride north.’
XIII
‘A sesterce.’
The innkeeper shook his head.
‘Two.’
‘No, sir.’
‘Three.’
‘No, sir.’
Cassius was surprised by the Syrian’s lack of commercial acumen. Admittedly it was the middle of the night, but he was offering well above the odds.
The three travellers had arrived at the southern edge of Androna and been directed to the inn by four watchmen guarding the road. The innkeeper had opened up, summoned two lads to deal with the horses, then shown the latecomers to their rooms. He’d been cordial, welcoming even, but was now proving most reluctant to grant one particular request: Cassius wanted a bath.
The Syrian pursed his lips. ‘It is not simply a question of money, sir,’ he said quietly, anxious not to disturb his other guests. He, Cassius and Simo were standing outside their room at the top of the stairs on the first floor. ‘There is no fire lit in the bathhouse. It will take more than an hour to warm enough water.’
‘I don’t care if it takes two,’ Cassius replied. ‘I’m not going to bed like this.’
He gestured to his dirty, bloodstained, stinking tunic. A loud yawn sounded from inside the room. Indavara was already undressed and in bed.
‘Very well,’ continued Cassius. ‘A denarius.’
The innkeeper rubbed his brow. ‘I have no intention of haggling, sir.’
‘All right, forget the money,’ said Cassius, not bothering to keep his voice down. ‘I don’t know if you’ve been keeping up with current events but Syria is once more a province of Rome. I am a member of the governor’s staff and you are obliged by imperial law to assist me.’
The innkeeper rolled his tongue around his mouth, let out a final sigh, then set off down the stairs.
‘Stubborn. Intransigent. Obstructive. And I see now that you also have a propensity for over-exaggeration. I doubt three-quarters of an hour have passed and behold – I am clean.’
The innkeeper, pouring steaming water from a bronze jug, said nothing. Cassius sat back against the lip of the bath and rubbed his forearms. Simo was kneeling behind him, wiping his shoulders with a sponge.
‘Nice little arrangement you have here.’
The bathhouse was a domed brick building that took up one side of the inn’s courtyard. The bath was five feet across, three deep and surrounded by fire-pits. The Syrian had two of them going, each heating a cauldron.
‘You have all you need now, sir,’ he said, putting down the jug and walking towards the door.
‘Stay a while,’ said Cassius. ‘I need a little information.’
The innkeeper halted.
‘Your name?’ Cassius asked.
‘Addra.’
‘How long have you lived in Androna, Addra?’
‘All my life.’
‘Excellent. The watchmen told me there is an army officer here with a squad of legionaries. An administrator too.’
Addra nodded tiredly. ‘They arrived last month.’
‘I assume those are bath oils?’ Cassius asked, nodding at a row of clay pots on a shelf. ‘Bring one over. Something strong.’
As Addra complied, Cassius spoke to Simo over his shoulder. ‘Gods, that smell
. I believe it’s still on me.’
‘It may be me, sir,’ answered Simo.
‘Oh. Yes. Perhaps you can jump in after me, Simo.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Cassius held out his hands and the Syrian poured yellow oil from a narrow hole in the pot. Cassius nodded when he had enough and rubbed it across his chest.
‘Where would I find this officer?’
‘Further along this street. They’ve taken over another inn.’
‘Good. Now tell me, what do you know about copper mining?’
Addra wiped sweat from his forehead as he leaned back against the bathhouse wall.
‘I am an innkeeper, sir.’
‘But copper is mined in this area.’
‘Chalcis rather than here – to the north.’
‘Who in Androna might know about such things? Traders? Smiths? Anyone from that area?’
While Addra thought about this, Simo took more of the perfumed oil and rubbed it into Cassius’s hair.
‘There is Karacha – supplies some of my fittings. Old iron-worker. He’d probably be able to tell you more. He’s out on the eastern edge of town.’
‘That’s a start. You can give us directions tomorrow.’
Cassius closed his eyes as Simo rinsed off his hair.
‘Is that all?’ asked Addra.
‘Yes. Goodnight.’
‘Put the fires out before you come up,’ Addra told Simo.
As he left, Cassius stood, then climbed out using the steps cut into one side of the bath. The roof was low; and he had to bow his head as Simo dried him with a towel.
‘Another nightmare of a day. I was beginning to wonder if we would ever get here.’
‘I’m not sure I shall ever forget what we saw outside that village, sir.’
‘I feared from the beginning that those poor legionaries would not be found alive. At least I have something to report to Abascantius now.’
Simo lowered Cassius’s sleeveless sleeping tunic on over his head, then slid a pair of light sandals on to his feet.
‘There you are, sir. All ready.’
‘I hope our room’s well aired. How a man can take himself off to bed in such a state I shall never know. Tomorrow imperial business shall have to take its place behind a matter of greater urgency. First order of the day: a bath for Indavara.’
‘Now tell me that doesn’t feel better,’ Cassius said as the bodyguard joined them in the courtyard for breakfast the next morning.
Indavara nodded, flicking water from his hair on to the table, before attacking a plate of bread rolls.
‘Next thing we need to work on are table manners.’
By way of response, Indavara ignored the cutlery in front of him and grabbed a handful of soft white cheese.
‘Gods, we should have put you in with the horses. It’s lucky most of the other guests have already finished.’
Cassius had decided that a lie-in was well deserved, and there was only one other occupied table: a middle-aged merchant and his wife. The morning sun had warmed the courtyard nicely; and Addra’s guard dog – a sandy, shaggy-haired beast – lay on his side at Simo’s feet. The innkeeper had done a good job of avoiding Cassius but Simo had managed to get directions to the metal-worker’s yard.
Indavara drank straight from the water jug and belched. Cassius shook his head.
‘I don’t think I can take any more of this. Grab what you want, bodyguard, we’re leaving.’
Cassius extricated himself from the bench and table. As Simo would have to carry his cape and helmet, he put the spear-head into the satchel and swung it over his shoulder. Indavara grabbed two more rolls before following the others out of the rear gate and on to a side street.They turned right, then left on to the main road.
Considering recent events, Androna and its inhabitants seemed to be doing rather well. The road and pavement were in good condition, and walking or riding along them was a healthy mix of slaves, artisans and the rich. Although there were several ramshackle wood and mud-brick dwellings, most of the buildings facing on to the street were constructed of solid basalt blocks. A few even had colonnaded doorways and coloured glass windows. In a walled enclosure between two of the more impressive villas was a fine sandstone statue of a lion.
Cassius waited for a shepherd and his flock to pass, then led the others across the road. Outside the inn Addra had mentioned was a legionary. He was standing to attention by the time Cassius reached him.
‘At ease. My name’s Corbulo, Governor’s Office.’
‘Legionary Getha, sir. First Century, Second Cohort, Sixteenth Legion.’
Cassius knew that while Venator’s Fourth Legion were in charge of securing Palmyra and the eastern frontier, three cohorts of the Sixteenth had been divided up and sent out to major settlements in central Syria. Their job was two-fold: first to gain information about the situation at each locale; second to re-establish Roman rule.
‘Who is your commanding officer?’
‘Optio Surex, sir. We have a clerk from the Governor’s Office here too. Master Lucan.’
‘Are either of them here now?’
‘Optio Surex took a squad out on patrol at dawn, sir. I’m not sure when he’ll be back.’
‘And this Lucan?’
‘Well, he is here, sir.’
‘Good, take me to him.’
Cassius stepped towards the door but Getha didn’t move.
‘What’s the problem?’
‘Well, sir . . .’
‘Is he still in bed? Drunk? With a woman?’
Getha nodded.
‘Which is it, man?’
‘All three actually, sir.’
‘By Mars, what a state of affairs. You tell this Lucan character that I’ll be back here to talk to him before midday. And he better be up – or his seniors will hear of this. Understood?’
‘Certainly, sir.’
‘By the way, you don’t know anything about copper mining, do you?’
‘No, sir.’
The iron-worker’s abode was at the end of a dusty track; and beyond it lay only desert. In the middle of the fenced rectangle of land was a small house with a roofed workshop attached to one side. Hanging askew from a post next to the gate was a painted sign: Iron.
Just as Cassius put his hand on the gate, two dogs burst out of the house and raced across the sand. Cassius stepped back as they skidded to a stop. They were mongrel beasts, big-jawed and ugly. One barked, the other growled.
A bearded man of about sixty came out of the workshop. He shaded his eyes with his hand to peruse the strangers, then hurried over as fast as his bandy legs would carry him. He was wearing a thick leather apron over his tunic, and, as he came closer, Cassius noted his blackened, sinewy arms. The Syrian kicked one of the dogs up the backside. Surprisingly, this was enough to calm them both down.
‘Karacha?’
The iron-worker nodded.
‘You speak Greek?’
‘I do.’
‘Officer Corbulo, I’m with the Governor’s Office.’
Cassius was getting used to the expression of fear and distaste that invariably greeted this statement.
‘Don’t worry – you’re not in trouble. I just need information. I was told you might know something about copper mines in this area.’
The Syrian mulled this over for a moment.
‘Will I—’
‘Get paid? Yes, yes, will a couple of pieces of brass do you?’
Karacha undid the gate and gestured for them to enter. With wary glances at the dogs, they followed him to the workshop.
‘I must just douse a fire,’ Karacha said, hurrying to the rear of the building.
Cassius nodded at a high wooden table.
‘Clear one end of that off.’
Indavara pushed the mass of crudely cast nails, handles, hinges and belt-buckles to one end, then Simo wiped away the worst of the dirt. Cassius reached into his satchel, pulled out the map, and stretched it out on the table.
He pointed to Androna, then Chalcis.
‘About forty miles north-east of here.’
Karacha arrived with his hand outstretched.
Cassius gave him one sesterce. ‘Another when I’ve finished with you. First question. Quicklime is used in mining, yes?’
Karacha tucked his thumbs into the wide pocket on the front of his apron. ‘It is. You push it into cracks, then wet it. It expands – opens fissures in the rock.’
‘It’s employed in iron and copper mining especially?’
‘Usually.’
‘Neither of which is done here.’
‘Correct. In fact I’ve not heard of an iron mine in all of Syria. All you see here came from outside the province.’
‘But there are copper mines – close to Chalcis, yes? Whereabouts?’
The Syrian jabbed a grimy finger towards the map. Cassius swiped it away.
‘Don’t touch it, man. Do you know how much one of these costs? So to the south of the city?’
‘And to the west.’
‘Are any of them close to the Antioch road?’
‘Some. There’s a track runs west off it about ten miles before Chalcis. Twisty turny old road, had to go past all the mines you see.’
‘For transport.’
Karacha nodded.
‘It’s still usable, this road?’
‘Trade pretty much died off during the war but I’d think so, yes.’
‘So some of the mines might have been abandoned?’
‘Oh, certainly. There are shafts up there older than me. Haven’t been touched in decades.’
Cassius looked up from the map. ‘Perfect: remote, quiet, but not far from the main road.’
He took a second coin from his money bag and handed it over. ‘Thank you, Karacha. You’ve been most helpful.’
They found Lucan sitting at a long table in the parlour of the inn. He offered only a cursory nod as Cassius took up a chair at the opposite end of the table and stared at him. The clerk couldn’t have been more than eighteen. His face was clammy and pale and he stank of wine. Before Cassius could say anything, a young girl came down the stairs and stuck her head through the doorway.
