Agent of Rome: The Imperial Banner (The Agent of Rome)

by Nick Brown

  ‘Fourth hour,’ he said, turning it over.

  Cassius rubbed his eyes. ‘Where’s this damned stone? Can’t be far now.’

  With no word of warning, Indavara pulled back on his reins. His horse lurched off the road with a snort of protest. Cassius and Simo halted their mounts.

  ‘What are you doing?’ demanded Cassius.

  ‘Look there, ahead!’

  Indavara pointed north. In the distance were several dots of orange light.

  ‘Gods,’ said Cassius. ‘They must be moving quickly – I saw nothing a few moments ago.’

  ‘We should get off the road while we have time,’ said Indavara.

  ‘Don’t you remember what Surex said about those channels?’

  ‘Then what do we do – wait for them?’

  Cassius looked north again. Were the lights closer already?

  ‘Simo, you wait here with the horses,’ he said as he dismounted. ‘We’ll try to find a safe path.’

  Once Indavara was off his horse and beside him, Cassius hurried off the right side of the road and down the shallow slope beside it.

  ‘Keep a few yards between us,’ he said. ‘Slow and steady.’

  The bodyguard did as he was told and when Cassius had counted fifty paces of even ground, they turned and ran back to the road. Cassius dragged his eyes off the lights as he took his reins. There were three torches; no more than a mile away now.

  Indavara’s mount was tossing its head around and puffing.

  ‘That accursed thing better stay quiet,’ said Cassius. ‘Follow me. Don’t stray off my path.’

  With a last glance at the bobbing torches, he led the way. When the fifty paces were done, he gently brought his horse around. The others did likewise; Indavara to his right, Simo to his left. The bodyguard’s horse was still unsettled, and as it strained against its reins, anxiety spread to Cassius’s horse. He held its head close to him and stroked its neck. Indavara swore as his mount yanked him backwards.

  They could hear the riders now; the percussive thud of hooves amplified by the stones below.

  Indavara’s mount began to sniff and snort.

  ‘That bloody beast is going to do for us all,’ Cassius hissed. ‘Simo, you take it – might calm it down.’

  Cassius muttered a prayer to Epona, goddess of horses, and held the reins while Indavara and the Gaul swapped positions. Either or both of the methods seemed to work because in moments all three animals were quiet.

  ‘That’s it,’ said Cassius. ‘Just a little longer.’

  They stood in a line in the darkness, watching the road.

  The riders approached. The first man was slightly out in front, torch held high.

  Cassius’s horse began to shuffle its hooves and back away from the road.

  The first rider was past them now. There were four more behind him, two with torches.

  ‘Keep going, keep going,’ Cassius whispered.

  Suddenly Simo was struggling to keep control of Indavara’s horse and Cassius was hauled off balance by his own mount. He prayed again. All three horses were now snorting but the noise from the road was louder. Then Indavara’s horse loosed a high-pitched whinny.

  One of the riders cried out and stopped. The others halted too, then the man in front. Without the clatter of hooves, the quiet came suddenly.

  ‘No, no, no,’ Cassius breathed.

  Indavara’s horse whinnied again, then Simo’s too.

  The riders peered warily into the darkness. They leapt down from their saddles, conversing in hushed, urgent tones. The leader was last off his horse. By the time he reached the others, three were holding their swords, one was putting an arrow to his bow. The leader drew his own blade. Flame flickered across its polished surface. He spoke; and one man sheathed his sword and took charge of the horses. The other three gathered behind him. With his torch in one hand, sword in the other, he strode confidently off the road.

  ‘What shall we do, sir?’ implored Simo.

  Indavara came close to Cassius. ‘Take these,’ he said, holding up the reins for Simo’s horse.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ll move off. Stay hidden. If things go bad I can catch them cold.’

  ‘What? No, we—’

  ‘I may be some distance away so if you want me to strike, put your hand to your mouth and cough loudly. Understood?’

  ‘Wait—’

  ‘Understood?’

  ‘How do we explain the spare horse?’

  ‘You’re the talker. Think of something.’

  Indavara forced the reins into Cassius’s hands, then took his bow and quiver from his saddle. Eyes locked on the men, he retreated silently into the darkness.

  Cassius decided there was now nothing to be gained by staying hidden.

  ‘Come, Simo.’

  He handed the Gaul the reins of Indavara’s horse and led his own mount forward.

  ‘Hello there,’ he said in Greek.

  The men stopped. Cassius continued on until he was only a few feet from them. The leader was the oldest of them, bearded, dark-skinned and sinewy, and he smiled when he saw what he and his men faced. Strapped to his left arm was a small, round shield. Cassius had seen those before. Palmyrans. The archer raised his weapon. The bow was unusually long, the arrow too, and the tip was aiming straight at Cassius’s head.

  ‘Do you speak Greek?’ Cassius asked, failing to stop his voice wavering.

  The leader nodded. He held torch and blade high, framing his drawn, angular face.

  ‘What are you doing out here?’

  ‘Hiding, actually. We were told the road was dangerous.’

  A flicker of amusement crossed the Palmyran’s face. ‘Can be, can be.’

  Cassius nodded at the archer. ‘Could you ask your friend to aim that somewhere else?’

  ‘You have three horses, but there are only two of you.’

  ‘A spare.’

  ‘It’s saddled.’

  ‘I used it this night. My mount is tired.’

  The leader spoke to the archer. The Palmyran kept his string half-drawn, but aimed the arrow at the ground.

  ‘Who are you?’ asked the leader. ‘And why are you on the road?’

  ‘My name’s Oranian. I’m from Raetia. I’m interested in the mines north of here – looking for trade opportunities. I arranged several meetings in Chalcis but I was delayed, hence the night-time journey.’

  ‘Raetian, eh? Sure you don’t mean Roman?’

  ‘Quite sure, thank you.’

  ‘And him?’ asked the leader, turning to Simo.

  ‘My manservant.’

  The leader walked past Cassius, passing within inches of him. The horses had calmed down but became skittish again as the sizzling torch came near. The Palmyran looked at the saddles and the gear. He said something in Aramaic to the others, then walked back to them. Cassius understood none of it and he turned to Simo, but the Gaul was staring at the four warriors.

  ‘There’s a tax for using this road,’ said the leader.

  ‘I see. How much?’

  ‘It varies. From a few coins to . . . everything you own.’

  Cassius noted that the other men made no reaction to this quip. They didn’t speak Greek.

  ‘I can be reasonable,’ he replied. ‘If you’ll allow us to continue peacefully on our way.’

  The leader nodded at his comrades. ‘I don’t see you’ve much room for negotiation. You’ve some fine saddles and bags there. Who knows what we’ll find?’

  He spoke to his men. The bowman raised his weapon again. The leader and the two swordsmen came forward.

  Cassius was in little doubt about what would happen if they discovered the spear-head or his helmet.

  ‘I’ll give you twenty denarii,’ he said quickly. ‘I’m sure that would make this one of your most profitable nights.’

  The Palmyran stopped a couple of feet away. Cassius felt the heat of the torch against his face. The man grinned.

  ‘Twenty, eh? I bet
you’ve at least double that tucked away somewhere.’

  Cassius took a step backwards and handed his reins to Simo.

  ‘Thirty. I’ll give you no more.’

  ‘Now I’m getting really interested,’ said the Palmyran. ‘I reckon you’ve a hundred at least.’ He aimed his sword at Cassius. ‘Where are your coins then?’

  Cassius had already decided the maximum he could give away as a bribe before they set out. He had four bags, each of ten denarii, ready at the top of one of the saddlebags. He took them out and walked back to the Palmyran. The leader eyed the money.

  ‘Forty,’ Cassius said. ‘Then you turn around, take your men, and continue on your way.’

  The Palmyran spat on the ground. ‘You don’t tell me what to do.’

  One of the other men spoke. The leader dismissed his comment with a wave of his sword.

  Cassius could have given the signal then, but he reckoned there was one last chance to avoid bloodshed.

  ‘I see you’re not one to listen to reason. Perhaps this will change your mind. I lied. That mount is not a spare. It belongs to my bodyguard.’ Cassius nodded over his shoulder. ‘He’s out there somewhere. He has a bow. And I’d be very surprised if – at this precise moment – it’s not trained on you.’

  Cassius was right about that.

  Indavara was thirty paces away. His bow was half-drawn and the tips of his fingers were beginning to ache. His open eye was close to the string; the arrow was aimed at the leader’s chest. Every time the men moved, Indavara would move too, ensuring he kept an angle on both the leader and the archer.

  The moon was covered by cloud and he hoped it stayed that way. With both the darkness and surprise on his side, he had a good chance of hitting at least two of them before they scattered. Then he would have to go for the man on the road; he couldn’t let him get away and bring others after them.

  Corbulo and Simo would have to take their chances.

  The leader took a step forward.

  Indavara pulled the string back another two inches. His hand was beginning to shake. If the man made a move, he would fire, whether Corbulo gave the signal or not.

  ‘You’re bluffing,’ said the Palmyran.

  ‘No,’ replied Cassius. ‘I’ve not known him long, but the first time I met him he came to my aid and dispensed with three men equally as unpleasant as you appear to be without breaking a sweat.’

  The leader looked past him, eyes boring into the inky black that surrounded them.

  ‘But there are five of you,’ Cassius continued. ‘I suppose one or two of you might make it.’

  Another of the Palmyrans addressed the leader but he ignored him.

  ‘My offer still stands,’ said Cassius. ‘Forty. You can turn round and walk away. A good night’s work.’

  The Palmyran glanced back at the men, then out into the darkness again.

  ‘Just take it,’ Cassius continued. ‘No blood need be spilled. We can all walk away from this.’

  The leader’s eyes narrowed.

  Cassius got ready to move if he had to.

  The Palmyran nodded at the bags. ‘Forty it is.’

  ‘Let me give it to you. I would advise against any sudden movements. He can be a little impetuous at times.’

  The leader passed his torch to another man, then took the bags from Cassius. One of the other Palmyans smiled and laughed. With a last glance at Cassius, the leader turned and walked away. The archer seemed to protest and pointed back at the horses but the leader snapped at him and thrust his torch towards the road. After a few paces he opened the bags and showed his comrades the contents. The two swordsmen cheered.

  Cassius and Simo were left suddenly in darkness.

  ‘Well done, sir,’ said the Gaul.

  Cassius took the reins of his horse then watched as the Palmyrans mounted up and went swiftly on their way. Cassius’s horse gave a whinny.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘you can make all the noise you want now.’

  Indavara materialised in front of him. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I offered him forty denarii but he wanted to search our bags, so I told him you were out there with a bow aimed at him.’

  ‘What? Why give away our advantage?’

  ‘There are alternatives to violence, you know.’

  ‘You were lucky.’

  ‘Maybe. Well – I’m due a bit.’

  ‘Insane,’ Indavara muttered.

  Cassius took the reins of Indavara’s horse from Simo and threw them at him. ‘Insane is people getting killed for no good reason. It worked, didn’t it?’

  By dawn, when the sun finally spilled colour into the sky, they reached the second way-station. All the doors hung open and everything of value had been looted, but there was enough straw in the stables for both riders and mounts to lie down in comfort. The horses were exhausted, and Cassius reflected that perhaps Epona had watched over them after all; it was remarkable that not one of them had sustained an injury during the night.

  He didn’t want to push the limits of her favour, so allowed the animals four hours’ rest before setting off once more. He’d calculated that there would still be enough time to reach the mines before dark: they couldn’t risk getting caught on the road at night again.

  All through the afternoon, he gazed west, looking for some angular shape between the road and the limestone hills, but he saw nothing of the fort, nothing of Alauran. He knew from the map that it had to be close but he chose to say nothing to Simo and part of him was glad not to see it. That place, that time, seemed to exist entirely in its own space: and he felt that to revisit any part of it would diminish it somehow. He remembered those few days so clearly and he wanted to keep the memories as they were. He had made his peace with them, for he knew they would always be with him.

  It became hard to tell who was most tired. As the hours and miles passed, Cassius felt himself tipping further forward in his saddle, and he lost count of the times he’d seen Simo’s head snap up moments after he dozed off. Indavara, meanwhile, had spent more time walking than riding. Even he seemed weary now, cursing at his horse and tripping over his own feet.

  It wasn’t just physical exhaustion. The encounter with the Palmyrans had unnerved them all; and the scarcity of other travellers on the road was the surest sign that they were crossing dangerous territory.

  They passed several mounds of stones by the roadside and Cassius explained to Indavara that these were ‘Mercury’s Heaps’: honorific offerings for the god of wayfarers. Where there was no sanctuary or statue, a single stone added to a mound sufficed. Indavara took to throwing one on to every pile, and – when he could be bothered – Cassius did so too.

  There was less than an hour of light left when they finally arrived at their destination. The road was marked by a collection of painted signposts giving distances and directions to various mines: Golden Mine, Great Mine, Long Mine, Drusus’s Mine, the Mine of the Antiochene Metalsmiths.

  ‘Thank the gods,’ said Cassius. ‘Here at last.’

  Further along the road they could see a sign hanging from a pole and a sprawling heap of spoil. This turned out to be Long Mine, and they had barely passed the sign when an old man burst out of a shack and ran towards them, shouting in Aramaic and waving his hands. He was barefoot, wearing only a ragged tunic and a blanket tied round his neck. His beard was a mix of white and ginger, his face worn rather than wrinkled. Cassius couldn’t age him; he might have been fifty or seventy. Judging by the feral look in his eyes and his vitriolic ravings, he was quite mad.

  Simo tried to speak to him, but the old man wouldn’t stop.

  ‘He says the mine is his, sir. He has claimed it. We cannot set foot on his property.’

  ‘Tell him—’

  The old man was getting louder.

  ‘Tell him to shut up.’

  Cassius continued in Latin before Simo could translate.

  ‘Shut up!’

  But the old man only stopped when a dagger embedded itself in th
e ground between his feet. Indavara fixed him with an implacable stare and raised a finger to his mouth. The old man watched in silence as he dismounted.

  ‘Simo,’ Cassius continued, ‘tell him that if he doesn’t stay quiet, I’ll have Indavara here tie him to that post over there and use him for target practice.’

  Simo translated. The old man stepped away from the knife and nodded.

  ‘Explain that we mean him no harm and we have no designs on his mine.’ Cassius pointed at a second timber-built shack. ‘We simply need shelter for the night. We’ll move on in the morning. Now ask him about the men and the cart.’

  As Simo began, Cassius slid down off his saddle and looked along the road. It bore right around the spoil heap then disappeared from view. If his hunch about the raiding party heading north proved correct, they might be close to getting some answers. If he was wrong, the efforts and trials of the previous day and night had been for nothing.

  ‘Sir, he will give us permission to stay but if he sees anyone go near the mine entrance he’ll strike them down at once.’

  Indavara grinned as he pulled his dagger out of the ground.

  ‘Terrifying,’ said Cassius. ‘Has he seen anything?’

  ‘Four riders came past last week but didn’t stop. Some time before that he did see some men with a big cart. He thinks they were slave-traders.’

  ‘Here? I doubt it.’

  Simo shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t take his opinions too seriously, sir.’

  ‘How many of them were there?

  Cassius waited impatiently for the translation.

  ‘Twenty or more.’

  ‘Palmyrans?’

  ‘He says no.’

  ‘Why did he think they were slave-traders?’

  ‘Because one man was being towed along on foot by a rope round his neck.’

  ‘One prisoner,’ said Cassius. ‘Gods – it might have been Gregorius. How tall was he, this prisoner?’

  ‘He doesn’t remember.’

  ‘What colour hair?’

  ‘He can’t remember anything about him. Just a man, he says.’

  ‘All right. Last question. Which way were they going?’