by Brown, Nick
Cassius ran towards them.
Having sprinted along the side of the temple, Indavara halted by the steps that led up to the cavernous entrance. To his right – directly opposite the steps – was the main gate, where a dozen priests marshalled the faithful. On the other side of the temple were the gardens: a sprawling space decorated with vividly coloured bushes and luxuriant trees. Unnoticed by the busy priests, Indavara jogged past the temple looking for a way back on to the street. The gardens and the rest of the complex were enclosed by a twenty-foot red-brick wall. To the right, a dozen artisans – some on the ground, some up ladders – were at work, filling holes in the cement. He hurried over to a pair of them.
‘Sure you should be in here, mate?’ said one.
‘How do I get to the other side of this wall?’
‘You can’t from here. There’s only the main gate and the Priest Gate open today.’
The second man cast a suspicious glance at Indavara, especially the sword at his belt and the stave over his back. ‘What are you doing in here?’
Indavara turned back towards the temple and saw four more priests coming down the steps.
‘Er, I’m with the Magistrate’s Office. Chief Inspector of … Ladders. I think I’ll start here.’
By the time the suspicious labourer replied he was already on the third rung.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Just testing it. Hold it steady for me. Yes, good so far.’
Wincing at his own words, Indavara carried on climbing. All the other men had stopped working to watch him. He was halfway up the wall when he heard shouts to his right. The two priests from the side gate had appeared, the old man yelling at his colleagues exiting the temple. He stopped for a moment to rub his shin and noticed Indavara. Apparently forgetting his injury and showing impressive speed, he lifted his robes and ran, still shouting.
Indavara doubled his pace. A protruding nail end sliced his right thumb but he pressed on. Eight rungs to go. Trying to ignore the shouts from below, he looked up. Five rungs. Four.
A sudden, jarring impact; and the ladder slipped a yard down the wall. Indavara lost his footing but managed to hang on. Then the ladder lurched to the right, and only by wedging his boot against the wall did he stop it tipping over. Glancing downwards, he saw the aged priest was there, shaking the ladder for all he was worth.
‘Old bastard!’
He looked up again. The top of the ladder was three feet from the top of the wall. He clambered up, set one boot on the penultimate rung, the other on the last rung, and threw himself upward. As his arms came down on the brick, a startled pigeon flew away in a flurry of feathers and shit, most of which landed on Indavara’s hands. He levered himself up, got a knee over the edge, and hauled himself on to the top of the wall. He turned round just in time to watch the ladder crash to the ground, narrowly missing one of the labourers. Wiping his hands on his tunic, he waved at the priest.
The old man shook a fist at him.
Cassius was only feet away when the desperate Viator swung an elbow into his captor’s face. The thief sprang away and the young man fell back, blood already streaming from his nose. As Cassius passed him, the old gentleman was already admonishing his attendant.
On they ran again; under a grand arch decorated with scenes of ancient battles and on to a wide gravelled path that ran down to the grassed area in front of the Helios. Lining the path were artists displaying their work on easels and a handful of middle-aged tourists milling around. There was also a party of well-dressed children sitting by the chain-link fence that surrounded the sun god, sketching the statue’s feet.
As he came down the slope, Cassius looked beyond the Helios and cursed. At the end of the path, about a hundred yards away, was what looked like a cloth market. There were scores of people in amongst the densely packed stalls and hanging lengths of fabric. If Viator made it there, he’d never find him, especially as neither Indavara nor the useless city sergeants had been able to keep up.
Cassius accelerated.
For several moments, Indavara had done nothing but stare in amazement at the two sections of the gargantuan figure. The head of the Helios – which was about the size of a cart – was to his left, ears and tufts of hair ingeniously crafted from the bronze. The shoulder was only a little below the level of the wall, while the tops of the knees on the standing section were a good twenty feet higher. The vast, curved slabs of metal seemed darker up close, like a polished hardwood.
‘Hey, what are you doing up there?’ There were also labourers at work on the other side of the wall and the closest of them was halfway up a ladder to Indavara’s left. There was another unoccupied ladder close by.
Shouts from below. He saw Viator scattering the tourists before disappearing behind the huge platform that supported the statue’s legs. Indavara was impressed to see Cassius not that far behind.
‘At least he can run.’
Looking along the path, Indavara saw the cloth market and reached the same conclusion as Cassius. He crawled along the wall to the ladder. Taking in a few angles and distances, he turned around and lowered himself on to it.
‘Get off there!’ shouted the labourer.
Doubt struck Indavara – the result of the soft life he was leading these days, he knew – but then he recalled an incident from their last outing in Antioch; a blind leap from twice this height.
He twisted his neck and glimpsed Viator, still sprinting hard.
Got to go now.
Gripping the sides of the ladder with both hands, he braced his right foot against the wall and pushed out.
Cassius reckoned he was gaining.
Viator had just lost a sandal but the cloth market was close.
Cassius got ready for one last burst. He would go for his legs and bring him down.
As air rushed past his ears, Indavara steeled himself for the impact. He expected to hit the statue’s left shoulder, then slide down to the ground and run around the head.
But the ladder had picked up tremendous speed; as it struck the shoulder, he was propelled straight on to the Helios’ back, landing with enough impetus to send him sliding across the slick metal. He only began to slow as he reached the right shoulder. Rolling over to try to stop himself, he then found himself careening down the statue’s right arm on his backside.
Cassius looked on in amazement as Indavara – apparently appearing from nowhere – landed on the ground just ahead of Viator. He dusted himself off, stepped neatly over the fence and stuck out a leg.
Stealing a glance back at Cassius, Viator didn’t even see him. He fell face first on to the ground, mirroring the statue’s pose. As he tried to scramble away, Indavara picked him up: one hand on his collar, one hand on his belt. He spun him round and shoved him back against the sun god’s forearm, which reached higher than both their heads.
‘Where in Hades did you come from?’ asked Cassius.
Indavara shrugged, one hand still on Viator’s collar. ‘Short cut.’
As he momentarily turned away, the thief drew his fist back.
‘Watch him!’ cried Cassius.
Before the second word was out of his mouth, Indavara had shifted his hand to Viator’s head and slapped it hard against the bronze.
‘Ow!’
‘Don’t do that again.’
Indavara backed up and stood beside Cassius.
Still rubbing his head, Viator glared at them. ‘Who are you two, anyway?’
‘Make way! Make way!’
The tourists and schoolchildren parted and Auspex and the other sergeants jogged forward. Behind them were three angry-looking middle-aged priests and a tall, balding man in a purple-striped toga.
‘This is Procurator Liburnias,’ explained Auspex. ‘He was attending the ceremony at the temple.’
Cassius gave a little bow and patted his hair down. ‘Sir.’
‘All right then, you two,’ said the procurator sternly. ‘Who kicked the priest?’
VII
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The forum was full, not of local politicians but cleaners, readying the building for the assembly meeting the next morning. The women scrubbed floors, walls, columns and steps, while men kept them supplied with pails of steaming water. Cassius hurried along the portico, a neat and colourful garden to his left, a dozen of the women to his right. Eleven were on their knees, attending to already immaculate tiles. The twelfth was a sour-faced and voluble overseer. ‘Not slow, not quick, an even pace; don’t move on till you can see your face!’
Despite his foul mood, Cassius couldn’t help smiling – he remembered his mother repeating the same chant to the maids at his home in Ravenna. Noticing how dirty his hands were, he stopped a water carrier and dipped them in his pail. Once the worst of the grime was gone, he hurried on towards the anteroom where Indavara and Auspex were keeping watch on Drusus Viator.
Cassius had just concluded a rather tense meeting with Procurator Liburnias. Though ostensibly in charge of financial affairs, Liburnias was the second most powerful man in the city after the governor, who – rather fortuitously – was busy elsewhere. Without the spearhead and his letters to reinforce his authority, Cassius been forced to rely on his diplomatic skills (plus the odd oratorical flourish) and he thought he’d done rather well.
Halfway through the meeting, a letter had arrived from the high priest of the temple of Poseidon, calling for court proceedings and a flogging for Indavara. Cassius had done his best to plead the bodyguard’s case, quickly moving the conversation on to the brutal nature of Memor’s murder, the suffering of his grief-stricken family and the crucial importance of apprehending Viator. He had also dropped Chief Pulcher’s name into the mix a couple of times for good measure. Even so, it was a good half an hour before he could extricate himself, promising the Service would make a sizeable contribution to the Temple of Poseidon. Liburnias had suggested that Indavara keep his head down. The word was already out about the one-eared thug who’d assaulted one of the Purified, and the procurator seemed sure that some of the younger, more headstrong followers would be out for blood.
Wondering where exactly Simo had got to, Cassius jogged to the end of the portico and turned right. The anteroom was empty apart from a row of upturned benches. Indavara and Auspex were standing over Drusus Viator, who was sitting against the wall below the only window. Cassius walked straight up to him.
‘Tell me what I want to know and you’ll be home in an hour. Or I can hand you over to Magistrate Nariad and suggest he take a very good look into your affairs.’
‘He didn’t find anything last time; he won’t find anything now,’ Viator said calmly, legs stretched out in front of him, one sandal by his side.
‘Oh, he will,’ replied Cassius. ‘Even in the unlikely event that there’s nothing to find. I’ll make sure of it.’
Viator smirked, as if he’d heard such speeches a thousand times before.
Cassius took another step towards him. ‘You returned to Rhodes from Paphos on the Lebadea, correct?’
‘I might have.’
Cassius lashed a kick at him, the toe of his boot catching the thief on his ankle bone. Viator cried out and looked as shocked as Cassius felt.
He had no idea why he’d done it. Actually he knew exactly why – monumental levels of frustration and anger with recent events – but the kick had been instinctive and he hated to lose control of himself, especially in front of Indavara. Still, the man deserved it.
‘Curses on you, Roman,’ hissed the thief.
‘Listen to me, you stupid piece of shit. I don’t care about your pathetic little dealings. All I want to know is whether you spoke to someone aboard that ship. He was probably travelling alone. A small man, with a hooded cloak, wearing army boots and carrying a sack.’
Viator stared back at him. Cassius imagined he’d had plenty of worse kickings.
‘What’s it worth?’
Indavara came forward, the stave in his hand.
‘It’s worth not getting your head smashed in!’ Cassius yelled. ‘Did you see him?’
Viator waved a hand. ‘All right, Roman. You can call off your dog. I saw him. Don’t remember any boots though.’
‘Did you speak to him?’
‘A bit. Just to make conversation. There was just me, him and some rich type with his wife and brats.’
‘Did you get a name?’
‘Dio.’
‘What did he look like?’
‘Normal.’
Cassius shook his head. ‘Short?’
‘Shortish.’
‘Well built?’
‘No. Slight.’
‘Hair colour?’
‘Normal. Dark.’
‘Handsome? Ugly?’
Viator screwed up his face. ‘How should I know?’
‘Eyes?’
‘Yes. Two.’
Cassius almost kicked him again. ‘What colour, dolt?’
‘I don’t know!’
‘Did he tell you anything else about himself?’
Viator seemed amused by the idea. ‘No. Me neither.’
‘So what did you talk about?’
Viator shrugged. ‘The weather. He didn’t say much.’
‘Think,’ Cassius insisted. ‘What else?’
‘Once he found out I was from Rhodes, he did ask about a few things.’
Cassius knelt down in front of the thief. ‘Such as?’
‘The ports, ships, different routes. I think he wanted to go to Crete.’
‘Crete. You’re sure?’
‘He mentioned a few places, but yes, mainly Crete.’
‘You recall nothing else?’
‘No.’
Cassius stood up and turned to Auspex. ‘Take him outside and let him go.’
‘That’s it, sir?’
‘That’s it. I appreciate your help.’
Auspex seemed unused to statements of gratitude. ‘Thank you, sir.’
Indavara put the stave back over his shoulder and followed Cassius out of the anteroom. ‘Crete’s an island, right?’
‘Yes,’ replied Cassius as they passed under the portico and on to the path that led around the side of the forum. ‘To the south-west. I’ll have to see Simo and check the list, but if memory serves one of the ships that left yesterday was bound for there.’
‘So we’re going after him?’
‘What choice do I have? Cassius said irritably, massaging his brow as they walked. ‘By Jupiter, that fat bastard Abascantius – he has the power of a god when it comes to making my life difficult.’
‘How far to Crete?’
‘More than a hundred miles. Plus this Dio has a day’s head start, and the weather’s only going to get worse. But neither of those is likely to be our biggest problem.’
‘What is?’
‘Finding a captain willing to take us.’
‘Asdribar. Maybe.’
‘Who’s he?’ asked Cassius, wiping sweat away from above his mouth. It was over a mile from the forum to the Great Harbour; he and Indavara had marched through the city, stopping only twice to get directions. Cassius had been headed for the harbour master’s office but they’d run into the young clerk and the three of them were now sheltering from the rain under a snack-stall awning.
‘Carthaginian captain, sir,’ replied the youth. ‘He’s got an old freighter: the Fortuna Redux. I can’t see anyone else being too keen with the weather closing in, but from what I’ve heard he’ll pretty much take anyone anywhere – for the right price.’
‘There’s Simo,’ announced Indavara, looking out across the street. Before Cassius could tell him to, he ran out into the rain to fetch him.
‘He’s reliable, this Asdribar?’
The clerk grinned. ‘I don’t know if that’s the first word that comes to mind, sir. He’s had a few run-ins with the authorities. The last magistrate tried to get him into court half a dozen times but Asdribar always wriggled out of it. And I believe Nariad tried to have the Fortuna declared unseaworthy but Asdribar got
the fishermen to blockade the harbour for a day, so that didn’t work out either. His crew are an … interesting bunch, but I’m told there are none better when it comes to real sea sailing – the “out of sight” stuff as they call it.’
‘As in out of the sight of land?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Cassius felt a chill run down his spine, and he knew it wasn’t just cooling sweat. The recent trip from Cilicia had been only his third sea voyage. The first two had taken him across the eastern Mediterranean to Syria, first from Ravenna, then from Cyzicus. Though there had been the odd short period when land wasn’t visible, captains generally tried to keep as close to the coast as possible for ease of navigation. The thought of venturing south into the vast swathes of the Great Green Sea was nothing short of terrifying.
‘Are all you all right, sir?’ asked the clerk.
‘Fine. Where would I find this character?’
‘The Fortuna is moored out on the east side of the Great Harbour. Quite a walk, sir. But Asdribar’s sailing master is an old chap … well I don’t know his real name, but everyone calls him Squint. He can usually be found in The Sea Serpent. Just a stone’s throw from the army way station. Can’t miss it.’
The stallholder leant over his counter. ‘You two going to buy anything?’
‘I will,’ said Indavara, ducking under the awning with Simo not far behind. As he went to inspect the cakes on display, Cassius glared at the big Gaul.
‘Where in the name of the gods have you been?’
‘My apologies, sir,’ Simo replied breathily. ‘Thank the Lord I found you.’
‘Forget the Lord, Simo, you can thank Indavara – who just happened to spot you. Where did you disappear to?’
‘I tried to keep pace, sir, but with all this—’
Simo was carrying his master’s sword-belt, helmet, cloak and satchel, which still had the spearhead sticking out of it.
‘And look at my gear,’ Cassius said. ‘Soaking wet!’
‘I’m really very sorry, sir. The cloak should be fine. I treated it with oil just the other day. I’m sure—’
