Agent of Rome: The Far Shore
Page 14
The maid gave him the case.
‘Clara, isn’t it?’ asked Cassius, smiling.
‘Yes, sir.’
The ship suddenly pitched and she reached for the wall.
Cassius took hold of her arm and steadied her. ‘Careful there. Your mistress is all right?’
Clara was trying hard not to look at him. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Well,’ Cassius said, ‘a difficult time for her. You too, I expect.’
‘Yes, sir.’
She pushed some strands of hair away from her face.
Despite his reservations, Cassius suddenly felt glad she was on the ship (purely from an aesthetic point of view). There was nothing worse than not having any women to look at – another occupational hazard of army life.
‘Well. You’d best get back to her.’
One more ‘Yes, sir’ and off she went.
‘Curvy little thing,’ said Opilio as Clara’s sandals disappeared up the steps.
Cassius turned round and saw that all three of the galley crew had gathered by the doorway.
‘I like a woman with a bit of meat on her bones.’
Cassius found the comment rather distasteful but couldn’t help laughing as Opilio gleefully rubbed his hands together then led the others back to work.
Noting the disapproval on Simo’s face, Cassius entered the cabin and sat down on the bed. He didn’t know a lot about Christian beliefs regarding sexual relations but – without ever saying a word – Simo had made it clear to him that base talk and casual assignations were not looked on favourably.
Cassius looked at the leather case in his hands. ‘I expect all Memor’s papers will go to Chief Pulcher eventually. We can at least see if there’s anything useful here.’
He had to stretch his hand wide to hold the whole sheaf of paper inside the case. He gave approximately a quarter to Simo and took a similar amount for himself.
‘What exactly are we looking for, sir?’
‘Names. Anyone involved in the cases and issues Memor was handling with a reason to want him dead. If something looks relevant, put it to one side.’
An hour later, Cassius had learnt more about the Imperial Security Service than he had from a dozen conversations with Abascantius. His commanding officer was, to all intents and purposes, a spy, with one eye on Rome’s enemies and another on its ruling elite – the military in particular. That was how he did things, and that was what he thought was expected of him. But Cassius also knew that other agents were involved in field operations, intelligence work, tax collection, even running prisons. And some still fulfilled the traditional role of procuring and distributing supplies to the legions, though this was invariably a cover for other intrigues.
So Cassius had expected to find lots of orders. Orders for Memor, from Chief Pulcher in Rome; and orders from Memor to his numerous subordinates in Africa and the East.
There were such letters. And reports too, information received from those same subordinates: legion troop numbers, enemy fleet-size estimations, budget summaries, intelligence reports, even a few maps.
But most of the sheets – two-thirds by Cassius’s reckoning – were letters from individuals outside the Service. Some were military personnel, some members of the governor’s staff, others ordinary citizens, in provinces ranging from Mauretania to Arabia, Galatia to Egypt. And the majority of these letter-writers had one clear aim in mind: to get other people into trouble.
Many of the missives were so similar that Cassius began to skim-read, and variations of the same sentiment appeared again and again.
I feel this disgraceful conduct must be brought to your attention.
He has undermined our authority with the local populace.
He takes money from someone every hour of every day.
He is considered by his peers to be a liability.
My recommendation is that he be removed from his post.
This scandal could damage the reputation of the governor.
I can provide further evidence if necessary.
I am sure you will take appropriate action.
‘There do seem to be a lot of complaints, sir,’ observed Simo.
‘I’ll say. I’ve not seen this much tale-telling since I was at school. He seems to have ignored most of it.’
Memor had employed a simple procedure. He would write either ‘No Action’ or a brief note to himself at the bottom of each letter. On a number of occasions he had written an abbreviation that Cassius soon realised stood for ‘Retain For Possible Later Use’.
He knew Abascantius employed a similar technique in Syria: accumulating potentially damaging information on as many people as he could, in case he needed leverage over them in the future.
‘Well, we can probably discount anything where Memor took no action. And we can ignore anything very recent. The assassin and his employers would have needed some time to plan the killing.’Cassius glanced at the smaller pile of papers Simo had made. ‘Anything interesting?’
‘Several arrest orders, sir, from Chief Pulcher in Rome. And some copies of requests by Master Memor – asking for information about certain individuals.’
‘I’ve much the same kind of thing. We shall start on the list of names tomorrow. In the event that we can’t track this Dio, we’ll at least have other avenues to follow.’
Cassius dropped his papers and the case on to Simo’s blanket. As the Gaul set about tidying them up, he lay back against the wall and put his hands behind his head, interlocking his fingers.
‘Clever – doing it now. The ports will close up for the winter. Most of the roads are already mud, and soon there’ll be snow and ice. By the gods, this might be part of an attack on the Service itself. What if Pulcher and the other senior officers have been targeted too?’
‘Is that really possible, sir?’
‘Consider history, Simo. How many emperors have been knocked off before their time? Don’t recall many slipping merrily into retirement, do you? Perhaps someone somewhere decided the Service has held sway for too long. By Jupiter, for once I wish Abascantius were here. He’d know what to do.’
‘Knowing what to do has never been a problem for you before, sir. I don’t suppose it will be now.’
Cassius felt rather heartened by this comment, even if it was only from Simo. Generally compliant though he was, the Gaul never toadied. If he gave a compliment, he meant it.
‘I remember the fort, sir,’ Simo continued. ‘Alauran.’
‘I don’t think either of us is ever likely to forget it.’
Simo put the papers down for a moment. ‘That first day or two, sir. I kept thinking you would give up. Perhaps even run away. But you just kept going and going and going. Until it was over.’
Cassius could think of no reply to that.
‘Why don’t you wear your silver medal, sir? I could clean it up for you.’
Cassius felt his spirits drop instantly. ‘Do you know how many times I actually used my blade in that fort, Simo?’
‘No.’
‘Once. Against a wounded man lying at my feet. And I couldn’t even despatch him. I told you before. If it wasn’t for the others – Strabo, Avso, Serenus, all of them – I would never have accepted that medal. It is theirs. Not mine.’
Cassius stood. ‘I shall go and get a little air before bed. Put another blanket on for me.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The sky had cleared, leaving only thin banks of cloud far away to the east, and the half-moon cast a shimmering glow across the sea. The wind had lessened, but there was still enough to fill the sails, driving the Fortuna Redux along the western coast of Rhodes. The dark bulk of the island could be felt as much as seen. Almost directly opposite the ship was a group of lights.
‘Where’s that?’ Cassius asked Asdribar, turning from the side-rail. The captain was sitting on a chair that had somehow been attached to the deck just ahead of the steering position. Behind him stood Korinth, one hand on each tiller, eyes fixed on the bow.
Cassius could just about see the crewman sitting to the left of the mast, hands gripping the foresail line.
‘That’ll do you!’ the captain added when the flapping ceased.
Squint was also on deck, inspecting the mainsail. Cassius had been below when they’d raised the yard but looking at the sprawling rig now, it was hard to believe the reduced crew had accomplished it.
‘Where might we be by morning?’ Cassius asked.
Asdribar ran a hand across his brown dome of a head. ‘I’ll be happy if Rhodes is well behind us when the sun comes up.’
‘Oh.’
‘Big island,’ Asdribar explained.
Apparently happy with the rig, Squint bade the others goodnight and disappeared down the steps.
‘Will you be retiring soon, Captain?’ asked Cassius.
‘Not the first night. I always stay up the first night. Maybe the second, third and fourth too on this trip.’
‘Why? Because it’s so late in the season?’
‘It’s not late in the season, Officer. It’s after the season. Long after. This is what old salts call the Dark Time – when a storm can come out of nowhere, knock your mast down and leave you drifting in fog for days on end. Weeks even.’
Cassius knew such talk wouldn’t help him sleep but he couldn’t curtail his curiosity. ‘But you’ve been out in November before?’
‘I have. Three times.’
‘Only three? How long have you been sailing?’
‘Not sure exactly. But I think Maximinus Thrax was emperor. How long’s that?’
‘About thirty-five years.’
‘There you go then.’
‘And how were the other trips?’ Cassius asked, preferring not to dwell on the implications of what Asdribar had told him.
‘Two of them were fine – well, eventually. We got home safe at least.’
‘And the other?’
‘Now that was a long time ago. I was a deckhand on the Alka – old grain ship out of Tingi. The army needed us to transport auxiliaries across the straits from Mauretania to Calpe. We started in clear skies, with barely enough to make two or three knots. A mile off the Spanish coast, a squall hit us. Whole sky turned black. Couldn’t keep your eyes open for the rain. We couldn’t get the yard down quick enough. The port arm snapped off and spliced us through the foredeck. The hold filled up like that.’ Asdribar clicked his fingers. ‘And the Alka, she went down quicker than an alley girl with the rent due. I found myself a cork float and jumped off the stern. Got picked up by a fishing boat two hours later. Back on dry land in three.’
‘And the other men?’
‘Eight of the crew made it too. One of them – nasty old Greek – he thought he’d try and take my float off me, but I put him off that idea pretty quick.’
‘The auxiliaries?’
‘Not one. Didn’t have a chance weighed down with all their fighting gear. All went straight to the god of the deep. But I reckon he didn’t want them because pretty soon they started popping up all over. Hundreds of them there was. Pop – one here. Pop – one there. One of them came up right next to me with his big old white face. Nearly went under myself when I saw that.’
Cassius took a long breath, and wished he hadn’t started the conversation.
‘But that was just the once,’ Asdribar added. ‘Like I said – the other two times were fine.’
Cassius headed for the hatch. ‘Good night.’
‘Night, Officer,’ replied the captain. ‘Sleep well.’
XI
The only spacious, private area on the Fortuna Redux was the main hold. With the hatch cover pulled to one side, it was well lit by the bright morning sunshine and once a few amphorae and barrels had been shifted, there was a square area about fifteen feet wide. Dawn had brought a few extra knots of wind but the sea remained calm and – apart from the occasional judder or pitch – it was relatively easy to stand.
Cassius glanced towards the stern to check there were no prying eyes behind the twig bales and timber. Thankfully, the seasickness still hadn’t struck in earnest. Ascribing this to Opilio’s hot wine, he’d already downed a big mugful with his breakfast. It was now the third hour, and he’d been pleased to discover that Rhodes was indeed now well behind them, with the Fortuna powering along at a good five knots.
Arriving in the hold, he’d found Indavara shooting arrows into a barrel lid. The bodyguard had been alternating hands and seemed to enjoy the challenge presented by the movements of the ship.
‘Right,’ he said, putting the bow down, ‘let’s have a look at this thing, then.’
Cassius handed over his sword belt. Indavara drew the blade and put the belt and scabbard on top of a barrel. Casting a disparaging look at the eagle head, he ran his eyes over the rest of the weapon. ‘Not even runnelled.’
‘What are runnels again?’ Cassius enquired.
‘Curved hollows along the flat. Lets air in when the blade slides into flesh. Makes it easier to pull it out.’
‘Ah.’
For a brief moment, Cassius felt as if nausea might strike after all.
Indavara shook his head. ‘Heavy as a trident. And just as unwieldy.’
He threw it to Cassius, who managed to grab the hilt.
Indavara looked at Cassius’s forearms. ‘I’ve seen teenage girls with bigger wrists than you.’
Cassius glared at him but the bodyguard persisted: ‘Tell me they were like that when you finished your training.’
Cassius begrudgingly shook his head. He had lost a lot of bulk – muscle especially – in the last two years. Never a big eater, his only real form of exercise had been swimming.
‘You need building up,’ said Indavara. ‘Start with the blade close to the deck, then raise it up until your arm’s horizontal. Do twenty.’
‘Very well.’
Cassius did as he was told. Upon reaching the twentieth swing, he winced, and instantly wished he hadn’t.
‘Too much for you, Officer?’
‘Enjoying this, aren’t you?’
Indavara shrugged. ‘I always knew legionary training was piss-easy compared to what we fighters did, but it’s still hard to believe you got through.’
‘Oh I got through – don’t worry about that. All sixty days.’
Cassius was suddenly assailed by one of his most shameful memories – crying into his pillow at the end of at least the first twenty of those days. He aimed the sword at Indavara. ‘Don’t get too full of yourself, bodyguard – you’d have been heading home on day three.’
‘What happens on day three?’
‘Half-mile swim.’
Cassius’s triumphant grin didn’t last long. The ship pitched suddenly and they both lurched towards the bow.
‘Do you want to do this, or not?’ asked Indavara when the vessel was steady again.
‘Go ahead.’
‘Now swing it side to side. Plant your feet. Don’t twist your body.’
‘I thought you were supposed to keep your feet moving.’
‘We’re strengthening your sword arm, not working on technique.’
When this exercise was done, Indavara ordered diagonal swings – left to right, then right to left.
‘Here’s what you must do,’ he instructed when Cassius had finished. ‘Fifty of all four variations – when you wake up, and before you go to bed.’
‘Before bed? I’ll be covered in sweat.’
‘Not after a week or two.’
‘Very well. Now, how about teaching me something useful? Some of your gladiator tricks.’
‘Forget tricks. We can’t do much on here anyway with the ship moving around. Do you have enough money for a new sword?’
‘Not really.’
‘I’m not selling this! I spent half an afternoon haggling for it.’
Indavara shook his head despairingly. ‘You said you’d been in a battle once – at this fort. How did you get on? Be honest.’
Cassius looked down at the deck. ‘I couldn’t think. I was so slow. My mind just … emptied.’
Indavara walked over to the row of barrels on the right side of the hold. ‘We may as well sit down.’
‘What? Why?’
‘To talk.’
‘You’re supposed to be showing me how to fight.’
‘Before that we must talk.’
With a sigh, Cassius picked up his sword belt and sheathed the blade. ‘This is a first. You insisting that I talk.’
He sat down on a barrel next to Indavara. One of the crewmen passed by and looked down at them. Beyond him, the sky was a reassuring shade of blue.
‘Did you do any hand to hand in training?’ asked Indavara.
‘A bit.’
‘You wrestled when you were younger?’
‘I gave it up as soon as I could.’ Cassius made a face. ‘All that oil and sweat. The only man I’m prepared to embrace is my father – and I don’t particularly enjoy that.’
Indavara rolled his eyes. ‘Hand to hand is difficult. And something tells me you won’t be a natural. If you’re caught without a weapon, always try and improvise. I never use my fists if I can avoid it.’ He held out his fingers. ‘Remember how precious these are. If you can’t grip and hold you’re in trouble. Boots are useful.’ He tapped his boot on the deck. ‘I nailed a bit of hardwood on to the front of these. Very nasty on the shin or knee.’
‘Ingenious.’
‘You should probably just concentrate on dagger and sword for now. But you’ll have to start looking after them.’
‘Simo does look after them. They’re immaculate.’
‘Simo doesn’t look after them, he makes them look nice. Show me your dagger.’
Cassius drew it from the sheath on his belt. The standard-issue legionary’s blade was ten inches long, three wide and topped by a triangular tip.
‘They’re almost like little swords, these army things,’ said Indavara as he took it. ‘Good weapon in the right hands.’ He aimed the knife at Cassius’s sword. ‘More useful than that bloody thing.’