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

by Nick Brown

  Herminius now looked considerably less sure of himself. Before he could reply, a legionary came jogging up the stairs. He hurried over to Herminius and whispered in his ear. After a moment’s thought and a brief glance at Abascantius, the chief guard put his cane on a table and went down the stairs.

  Simo had been told to stay by the carriage with the lad. Shostra and the woman – her hood still covering her face – were waiting outside the door to the prison tower. Simo recognised the rough features of Herminius as the chief guard stepped outside. Shostra showed him a letter and they began talking. Herminius shook his head several times.

  Then, at a word from Shostra, the woman pulled down her hood. Simo saw that she was indeed fair, with pale, delicate features and long tresses of glossy blonde hair – features rarely seen this far east. Herminius and the two sentries were transfixed. The chief guard dragged his eyes away long enough to examine the letter again. With a last glance at the girl, he nodded, snatched up the letter and returned inside. Shostra sent the girl after him and they both disappeared into the tower. Shaking their heads, the sentries returned to their posts on either side of the door.

  Shostra walked back to the carriage with a triumphant smirk on his face.

  A quarter of an hour later, Herminius and the girl came out of the tower. The girl already had her hood back up as she trotted towards the carriage.

  ‘Nighty night,’ called out Herminius, before disappearing up the stairs.

  ‘Where’s that wine?’ the girl demanded as she climbed into the carriage. Simo detected an unusual accent; he was certain she came from some distant western province.

  ‘Under the seat,’ answered Shostra.

  Simo looked on as she found the bottle, pulled out the cork and took a long swig. He had never seen such a thing.

  ‘What are you staring at, Fatso?’

  ‘Apologies, madam.’

  Shostra snorted. ‘I wouldn’t worry. She’s no lady.’

  He pulled out some coins and gave them to the girl. She put down the wine and counted her money.

  ‘Take her home,’ Shostra told the lad. ‘Then come back here.’

  As the boy turned the carriage around, Shostra chuckled at Simo’s expression. ‘You needn’t look so shocked. Your master’s a grain man too – better get used to dirty dealings.’

  ‘Now what?’ asked Simo.

  ‘We wait.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Orders.’

  Abascantius had continued his discussions with his men but his attention switched to the chief guard when he saw the sheet of papyrus in his hand. Indavara sidled along the wall towards the front of the cell; he wanted to know what was going on. Herminius came up to the bars once more.

  ‘You have some persuasive friends.’

  Abascantius nodded at the letter. ‘That’s for me?’

  ‘I was ordered not to admit visitors for you. Nothing was said about letters.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re seeing sense.’

  ‘You mentioned compensation. I have a figure in mind.’

  Herminius gestured for Abascantius to come closer and a whispered conversation ensued. At the end of it both men nodded, and Herminius passed the letter through the bars.

  ‘Your man’s expecting a reply. You have half an hour.’

  Abascantius waved the others away and leaned back against the wall as he read the letter. After only a moment he cursed and lashed a kick at the floor. Then he took a few deep breaths and finished reading. When he was done, he asked Herminius for a pen. The chief guard brought one and a pot of ink from the guards’ room and passed them through the bars. Salvian took them and started filling the pen with ink. Abascantius knelt down on the floor, turned the sheet over and pressed it down on to a piece of reed matting.

  Indavara went over and squatted next to him. ‘What’s going on, sir?’

  ‘Not now.’

  ‘Bloody thing,’ said Salvian, shaking the pen to get the ink flowing. ‘Won’t be a moment.’

  Abascantius sighed and turned to Indavara. ‘Looks like Corbulo was on the right trail after all. He may have found out who has what we’re after.’

  ‘Do those men know? The governor and—’

  ‘No. Nor can I risk telling him. There’s no way yet to know who else is involved. But if I can get this information to the right person, we still have a chance.’

  ‘So where is he? Corbulo?’

  ‘We’re not exactly sure. And that lying rat Silus and his whore girlfriend have vanished into thin air too. I hope Corbulo hasn’t got in over his head. He’s no hope of handling this on his own.’

  ‘What if I told you I could get us out of here?’ said Indavara. ‘With a little help.’

  ‘After all the mistakes I’ve made in the last few days, I suppose I should be open to suggestions. Go on.’

  When Indavara had finished explaining what he had in mind, Abascantius gave a grim smile.

  ‘Why in Hades not?’

  Simo and Shostra held on tight as the lad urged the horses on through the city streets. Midnight had just passed when the reply came down from Abascantius and they had instantly set off back across the island. As far as Simo could gather, there was some kind of coded message within the letter, which Shostra had been studying for quite a time. Eventually, he spoke:

  ‘You should know what I’m doing in case you do find that master of yours. I am to fetch Lady Antonia and ride north with a message. Apparently Marshal Marcellinus is on the Tarsus road. My master believes he will listen to her and take charge of the situation.’

  ‘And what am I to do?’ asked Simo.

  ‘I shall tell you in a moment – a most unusual task. But first we must check something. Stop here!’

  They had just started across Hadrian’s Bridge. As the horses slowed, then halted, Shostra jumped down from the cart and looked over the wall. He spat a curse and smacked his hand against the rough stone.

  ‘We must move quickly.’

  ‘What is it?’ asked Simo, joining him at the wall. Below was the dock of the House of the Dolphins.

  ‘Scaurus’s ship – it’s gone.’

  XXXIII

  They began early, while the other prisoners and the guards slept. Indavara had claimed the space next to the window and been joined by Abascantius and his men. After the incident with Dexippus, the other collaborators had stayed well clear of the new arrivals, lining the wall on the other side of the cell. The Christians were closer but Abito had given assurances they would do nothing to interfere. Indavara’s main concern was that Dexippus or another troublemaker might notice what they were doing, but there were at least a few heavy snorers to cover the noise of their work.

  The grille was a six-foot iron grid that had been nailed around the window. The plaster was old – dry and rotting; and with some coordinated effort the nails could be levered out. Without their daggers, Indavara and the others used whatever they could find: belt buckles, coins, even an old fork. And by the time the very first traces of red appeared on the horizon, the job was done. To the casual eye, the grille would look precisely as it had the previous day, but it was in fact held in place by only six nails: two at the bottom, two at each side.

  Abascantius kept watch; and had already decided he would leave the escape bid to the younger, more athletic members of his group. They had all been briefed to try to intercept Scaurus, or at least track him until help arrived from Marcellinus. Salvian had elected to stay behind too but Indavara had gained a little more respect for the agent’s men; they had toiled for several hours.

  The guards and the other prisoners were already stirring when Abascantius finally agreed there was enough light to go ahead. Indavara and the other two men quietly readied themselves, tightening their boots and belts. Abascantius and Salvian were just getting into position when a loud voice split the silence.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  One of the prisoners – a slight, sly-looking man who’d been sleeping next to Dexippus
– was staring down at the small mounds of plaster and dust below the window. Salvian was closest, but he couldn’t quite get there before the man cried out to the guards. A moment later, Salvian’s right fist struck his mouth, sending him sprawling to the floor, blood leaking from a split lip.

  ‘Now!’ shouted Indavara.

  Abascantius and Salvian reached for the grille.

  Herminius burst out of the guardroom, still doing up his belt. He looked inside the cell.

  ‘Get your spears!’ he cried as he plucked the key from the hook and ran for the door.

  Abascantius and Salvian were having trouble; some of the nails were stuck. Indavara ran over to help. He gripped the edge of the grille with both hands.

  ‘Get away from that window!’ barked Herminius as he opened the door. The other two guards piled past him, spears at the ready. Though they had almost freed the grille, Abascantius and Salvian let go. Indavara turned to find the guards right behind him.

  ‘I don’t know why you’re trying to get out of a window this high up, but in my book that’s an attempted escape,’ said Herminius. ‘I shall have to take action.’ The chief guard picked up his cane and aimed it at Indavara. ‘Starting with you. Lads, bring him to me. Stick him if he tries anything.’

  The guards closed in on Indavara. He darted to his right, dodged past a spear blade with six inches to spare, and ran for the door.

  But in an instant, Herminius had kicked it shut behind him. He raised the cane as Indavara charged forward.

  One of the Christians was between them. He scurried out of the way, dragging his blanket with him; the blanket on which Indavara’s left foot had just landed. Indavara stumbled past the chief guard and slammed into the unforgiving bars.

  As he tried to get up, Herminius lashed the cane against his shoulder: a heavy, stinging blow.

  ‘Nice try,’ snarled Herminius. ‘Over here, you two.’

  Indavara grabbed the bars and pulled himself to his feet. By the time he’d straightened up, the guards had surrounded him.

  ‘Going to come quietly this time?’ asked Herminius.

  Indavara took a moment to appraise the two men in front of him; they were holding the spears horizontally, points aimed at his stomach.Then he looked across the cell at Abascantius.

  ‘Do you trust your servant?’

  Abascantius’s eyes narrowed for a moment, but then he gave an enigmatic half-smile. ‘Yes.’

  Herminius frowned.

  Indavara looked over at Abito, who was now on his feet and looking on. ‘Do you trust your son?’

  Abito took rather longer to answer, but the reply was even more definitive. ‘Absolutely.’

  Indavara kicked out at the closest guard, striking the hand gripping the top of his spear. As the weapon flew upward, Indavara grabbed the shaft and drove it into the guard’s face, striking him on the nose. As the guard let go and fell, Indavara swung the weapon to his right, catching the second guard on the forehead with a dull slap. Arms flailing, the guard staggered backwards into Herminius.

  Abascantius and Salvian wrenched off the grille and threw it to the floor.

  Eyes fixed on the bright square of light, Indavara ran between them and leapt feet first through the window.

  In the brief time it took him to drop sixty feet, he closed his eyes. If there was nothing beneath him, he hoped his neck would break; he wanted to die quickly.

  But he landed flat on his back, and made such a hole in the mountain of straw that when he opened his eyes, the pile was already falling in on top of him. He was winded; but nothing was broken.

  ‘You all right?’ cried a familiar voice from somewhere to his right.

  He spat out a piece of straw. ‘Yes!’

  ‘What about the others?’

  ‘Just me. Go!’

  As the cart rumbled away, Indavara slid to his left and almost off the back. He threw up his hands and gripped the side of the cart as his legs hung over the rear edge. He dragged himself forward and hung on as the cart juddered across the rough ground. Looking ahead, he glimpsed Simo’s broad back. The Gaul was hunched over with one hand on the reins, the other holding the side of the cart.

  Only when they reached the road was Indavara able to move. He crawled through the straw then clambered up on to the seat next to Simo. The Gaul – his face flushed and wet with sweat – looked back towards the prison.

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Indavara. ‘No one’s following. They have no mounts there.’

  Keeping the horses at a trot, Simo turned on to a wider street, heading directly away from Hadrian’s Bridge, west across the island. Though the route passed close to the sprawling walls and high towers of the imperial palace, there were only a few people up and about.

  ‘Thank the Lord,’ said Simo, patting Indavara on the arm. ‘I must have moved that cart twenty times. Every time the horses twitched my heart almost stopped.’

  ‘You did well,’ said Indavara. ‘But slow down. We’re attracting enough attention as it is.’

  Thanks to their speed, most of the straw was now gone, but they were still leaving quite a trail on the road.

  ‘Ah,’ said Indavara. ‘Good.’ He glanced down at the collection of weapons and equipment Simo had strapped to the seat.

  ‘Your bow and quiver. I found you a sword and dagger too. Plus Master Cassius’s armour.’

  ‘Water?’

  ‘In your bag.’

  Indavara found the gourd inside the leather sack and took a long drink. Passing the imperial palace, they saw a squad of legionaries and six curtained litters being carried towards the gates.

  Before long they came to the bridge on the western side of the island, where four city sergeants were gazing down at a boat passing underneath. When they heard the approaching cart one man hurried into the road, waving at Simo.

  ‘Go,’ ordered Indavara. ‘Speed up.’

  ‘Oh my.’

  Simo lashed at the horses and the cart rattled around the guard and on to the bridge. The sergeants shouted at them but stayed at their post. Indavara hung on tight as they sped over the river.

  ‘Are they following? Are they following?’ jabbered Simo.

  ‘Relax and use your eyes. They don’t have mounts either.’

  Only when they were across and on to the wide road heading west did Simo slow down. He turned to Indavara.

  ‘Did you see my father?’

  ‘I did. He’s well. In fact he helped us.’

  ‘I might find myself beside him soon,’ said the Gaul, gripping the reins with one hand so he could wipe his brow with the other. ‘I too shall be considered a criminal now.’ He turned and looked back at the bridge.

  They passed several small hamlets; and a few farmers and traders heading into town for market, then came to a junction.

  ‘This road runs parallel to the river,’ said Simo. ‘I pray they’ve not made it to the port yet.’

  He guided the horses to the left.

  Indavara held up a hand. ‘Stop here.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘Just stop.’

  Simo reined in, and the cart trundled to a halt.

  ‘We can’t waste time here,’ said the Gaul impatiently. ‘Abascantius wants you to go after Master Cassius. He was following this man Scaurus and his ship has gone. Shostra believes he’ll be headed downriver, trying to escape.’

  ‘I’m not going after any ship,’ replied Indavara coolly.

  ‘But that’s why all this was arranged.’

  ‘I arranged it. So I could get free. Now I am.’

  Indavara turned to look at the signpost by the junction. ‘What does that say?’

  Simo didn’t reply; he was still staring at Indavara in disbelief.

  ‘Well,’ said Indavara as he untied the weapons, ‘if this road leads to the coast, I shall go the other way.’

  ‘What about your money?’

  Indavara jumped down to the ground. ‘I have a little left.’

  He swung his bow, quiver
and bag over his shoulder and took the sword and dagger.

  ‘You can’t just leave him,’ said Simo. ‘You were supposed to protect him.’ The Gaul clambered down and hurried after Indavara, meeting him at the rear of the cart.

  ‘Corbulo decided I wasn’t up to the job, remember? And I’m glad of it. He did me a favour. Why should I risk my life for a man who cares only for himself?’

  ‘There’s been no word from him. This man Scaurus is evil. We found a cavern full of bodies. Full of blood.’

  ‘Then your master’s probably dead too.’

  Simo’s head dropped.

  ‘Anyway,’ Indavara continued, ‘do you even know what all this is about? What it is we’ve hunted across Syria? Can anything be so precious that so many men must die for it? Leave these rich idiots to their games. Why not just come with me?’

  ‘I cannot,’ the Gaul said quietly.

  Indavara offered his hand. ‘Then I shall say goodbye, Simo.’

  Simo ignored the hand, but he spoke: ‘I know you may not have seen his best side, but Master Cassius is a good man and I’ll not abandon him. If he’s alive, then he’s alone and he needs help.’

  ‘I wonder – would he do the same for you?’

  ‘I believe he would.’

  ‘That is where we disagree. Goodbye, and good luck.’

  Indavara set off in the opposite direction.

  Simo watched him for only a moment. He hurried back to the front of the cart and climbed up, then set the horses off along the river road.

  Indavara tried to stop someone, find out where he was walking to. The drivers of the first three carts kept going; perhaps, he thought, because of the weapons he was carrying. The fourth cart belonged to an old man, who halted only long enough to tell him that the road led to the city of Alexandretta. Indavara had never heard of it.

  He walked on; and soon came to a milestone. As he stood there, trying to make sense of the letters and numbers, four boys emerged from the marsh at the side of the road. They walked past him, headed for the river. They were carrying fishing rods and nets and one was leading an unsaddled horse along. They weren’t speaking, but were taking it in turns to kick a stone ahead of them. Indavara put his bag down by the milestone, then laid the weapons on top of it. He squatted down on his haunches and watched the boys ambling towards the water.