Agent of Rome: The Far Shore

by Brown, Nick

  Indavara drew his own dagger, which was both shorter and narrower. He held each weapon by the handle, then dropped them blade first on to the deck. Indavara’s stuck fast. Cassius’s dagger bounced off and clattered to one side.

  ‘Not sharp enough. I’ll show you how to get it right.’ He picked up the dagger and examined it. ‘Hardly been touched.’

  Cassius shrugged. ‘I told you before – I don’t like blades. I don’t like holding them, using them. I don’t even like wearing them.’

  Indavara stood and turned to face him. ‘So what? You’ll just give up your life? If a man comes at you, you’ll just let him gut you?’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘There has to be a little fight in you. You clobbered that bastard Scaurus on the river that day.’

  ‘That’s true. I did hate that man.’

  ‘Forget hate,’ said Indavara. ‘What about some thief that jumps out of the shadows? There won’t be time to hate him – he’ll already have stuck some cold metal into you. Did you ever cut anyone?’

  ‘Once,’ said Cassius. ‘At the fort. A Palmyran.’

  ‘I’ve seen men – not many, but a few – who would rather get cut themselves than do it to someone else. If you’re like that, I won’t be able to help you.’

  ‘I’m not. Definitely not.’

  ‘Just tell yourself: it’s him or me. You value your life – you’ll fight.’

  ‘Him or me.’

  Indavara nodded. ‘Him or me.’

  After an hour more of instruction, Cassius spent the rest of the morning working through Memor’s documents with Simo. So by the time he finished his lunch, he was more than ready for some fresh air. Emerging from the hatch, he found everybody else on deck, the crew busy to a man, the other four passengers taking advantage of the continuing good weather. Though the sky was more grey than blue, there was hardly a trace of cloud. The wind was still from the west and strong enough to keep the Fortuna ploughing towards Crete.

  Apart from Squint (steering), Asdribar (standing with Annia and Clara) and those manning the sails, the rest of the crew were sitting in a circle between the hatch and the mast. Under the supervision of Korinth and Opilio, the men were repairing a sail: cutting out damaged sections, then stitching replacements into the thick linen. Like the other sails, it had been dyed a watery blue.

  Simo and Indavara were sitting against the side-rail on the starboard side. Simo was reading from a little book. Cassius guessed it would be one of his precious religious tomes, and he made a mental note to tell him to be careful – there was no sense advertising his Christian beliefs to the superstitious, omen-obsessed sailors. Indavara was intently studying a piece of paper. He looked up and saw Cassius, then nudged Simo. Cassius held up a hand, indicating the Gaul should stay where he was.

  Asdribar was leaning back against the port side-rail, arms crossed, a picture of relaxation. Annia and Clara were next to him, facing the sea.

  ‘Afternoon,’ said the captain as Cassius approached.

  ‘Officer Corbulo,’ said Annia. Clara gave a little bow. She was wearing a plain stola over her tunic. Her mistress’s was a pretty yellow.

  ‘Good afternoon to you.’

  Cassius looked past them, at an island to the south.

  ‘That’s Krapathos,’ Annia explained.

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘The young lady has sailed there herself,’ added Asdribar.

  ‘Yes, she told me,’ replied Cassius. ‘Rather impressive.’

  ‘Very, I should say.’

  ‘Captain!’

  The cry came from the bow, where the lad Tarkel was pointing at something in the distance.

  ‘Excuse me.’

  Asdribar hurried away.

  Annia looked at the sails. ‘The gods have given us a fair wind.’

  ‘Indeed,’ replied Cassius, joining her at the side-rail. ‘Let’s hope it stays that way.’

  As the women continued to gaze at the sea, Cassius gazed at them. Though they were both clad in several layers, the wind pressed the material against them, outlining their breasts and hips. Cassius considered himself an expert at ogling women without being noticed and he switched his gaze the moment Annia turned to him.

  ‘You do seem very young for the Service, Officer Corbulo.’

  ‘Swift promotion, I suppose,’ Cassius replied. Which was true, in a way.

  ‘A great honour, is it not? To dedicate your life to protecting the Empire and the Emperor.’

  ‘It is, miss.’

  ‘I know what some people think of the Service – some of the people in Rome, on Rhodes too. But I know the worth of the work. My father gave up a lot – time with us, his family. All for Rome.’

  Smiling politely, Cassius thought about Memor’s relationship with the maid. Evidently the man had been skilled at letting his family see only what he wanted them to. Cassius hoped they never found out about the affair (or affairs – there were probably more) but he feared it would be far harder to insulate Annia from the realities of her father’s work. It seemed circumspect to prepare her for some unpleasant revelations.

  ‘The Service’s work is important, of course, but the results can often be very grave, for those found to be working at odds to the Emperor’s interests.’

  Annia surprised him with her answer. ‘We reap what we sow, isn’t that what they say?’

  Cassius reckoned the expression might prove even more apt when applied to her father’s fate.

  Annia looked down at the dark blue water sliding by. ‘I can think of nothing else. Nothing. Trogus stopped me going into the study – stopped me seeing my father. I hated him at the time, but now I’m glad he did it.’

  Cassius recalled what he and Indavara had seen in the outhouse. ‘Trogus was quite correct, miss.’

  ‘Clara here tells me I should keep busy, but I can’t clear my mind. She’s tried needlework, games, poems, songs, books.’

  Cassius looked past Annia at the maid, who cast a concerned glance at her mistress, then flicked her long, dark hair away from her neck.

  ‘What do you read, miss?’ Cassius asked. The more he spoke to Annia, the less annoying she seemed. He found he wanted to get to know her now.

  ‘Some philosophy.’

  ‘Really?’

  Cassius tried very, very hard to keep any trace of sarcasm out of his voice but wasn’t sure he had succeeded. He wondered if Annia had ever considered why there were no female philosophers, and that this fact might suggest she was overstretching herself.

  ‘Really,’ she replied sharply.

  ‘As a native of Rhodes, it’s to be expected, I suppose.’

  ‘The island has been blessed with some imaginative thinkers.’

  ‘Antonius of Rhodes, for example? An associate of Porphyry, isn’t he?’

  ‘He is,’ said Annia. ‘I once heard him speak.’

  ‘I recall a friend going to hear Porphyry in Rome several years ago,’ said Cassius. ‘A follower of Plotinus, as I understand it.’

  ‘So I believe.’

  Cassius was somewhat taken aback. A young lady interested in philosophy! It wouldn’t do to offend the girl, but he decided to assess the extent of her knowledge.

  ‘Plotinus certainly examined some fascinating concepts. The idea of “the one”, for example. An all-encompassing entity: not any one thing, yet the sum of all things. Interesting to compare it with standard Platonist thinking.’

  Annia gave a little smile.

  Cassius knew he had gone too far; he had embarrassed the poor girl.

  ‘And?’ she said.

  ‘And?’

  ‘How would you compare the two, Officer?’

  ‘Er …’

  Other than the fact that some of Plotinus’s views were contrary to Plato’s, Cassius knew only a few sketchy details. ‘Well, this concept of “oneness” for example.’

  ‘Yes?’

  Clara was looking at him now too.

  ‘Er … the relationship between “the one”
and humanity.’

  ‘Yes?’

  How typical of her to press him. Cassius reached deep into the recesses of his memory and pulled out a few key phrases. He was far from sure, but he had to say something. ‘Well, it’s been a while, of course, but if memory serves, the argument centres on such fundamentals as the act of creation, the stages of perfection and the concepts of the demiurge and the dyad. Though that would be little more than a starting point for the discussion of course.’

  Annia frowned. Cassius knew he’d made a fool of himself. Even if the girl had paid the slightest bit of attention to the speech she’d heard, she probably knew more than him.

  ‘I can’t remember much of the detail to be honest,’ she said. ‘It is all very confusing at times.’

  ‘True, true,’ Cassius replied, trying not to sigh with relief. ‘Well, of course, oratory was my main area of study.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Annia. ‘Now I can imagine you as an orator.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Oh certainly. You seem highly skilled in the art of saying a lot without answering the question.’

  Clara’s eyes grew wide and she looked away. Cassius was too surprised to even measure his own reaction and certainly not capable of an immediate reply.

  ‘Just a jest, Officer,’ Annia said with a placatory smile. ‘Please don’t take offence.’

  ‘You are quick, miss,’ Cassius said sourly. ‘Very quick.’

  ‘Please.’ She placed a hand lightly on his arm. ‘I apologise if I insulted you.’

  Cassius’s cheeks glowed. Looking down at those rather lovely green eyes, he felt himself relenting. But the rebuke still stung.

  ‘How is it that you found yourself a soldier, sir?’

  Cassius pulled his arm away.

  ‘Officer!’ Asdribar was on his way back from the bow.

  ‘Perhaps you will tell me later,’ said Annia.

  ‘I think not,’ Cassius shot back. ‘It’s a pity your maid couldn’t find anything to distract you from your grief, miss, as you seem to have concocted your own form of entertainment. I suggest that for both our benefits you stick to needlework from now on.’

  Cassius turned away from her as Asdribar approached.

  ‘Do you have any documentation with you?’ asked the captain. ‘An authorisation, that sort of thing?’

  ‘Of course. Why?’

  ‘There’s a Roman warship ahead, coming up from the south. We first spotted her earlier this morning.’

  ‘Right. And?’

  ‘She’s just altered course. To intercept us.’

  ‘That shouldn’t be a problem, should it?’

  ‘Shouldn’t be. No.’

  Cassius found himself rather concerned by the doubt in the Carthaginian’s voice. He was about to press him further when something heavy hit the deck. Looking over Asdribar’s shoulder, he saw Indavara wiping water from his face and looking down at the sodden sheet in his hand. Korinth was standing over him, next to the bucket he’d just dropped by Indavara’s feet.

  ‘Oh. Sorry,’ said the big sailor with a provocative grin.

  Cassius half expected Indavara to fly at him but the bodyguard got up slowly, eyes fixed on the taller man.

  Korinth scratched at the burnt section of his face, then waved him forward. ‘Got no stave this time, have you? Unless you want to stick me with that blade, it’ll have to be fists.’

  ‘Calm yourself, lad!’ yelled Squint. A couple of the other men bawled encouragement as Asdribar hurried over to intervene.

  Indavara crossed his arms. ‘I’m not going to break my fingers on your ugly snout.’

  Korinth looked all set to go for him but by then Asdribar was between them.

  ‘What did I tell you?’ demanded the captain. ‘Any more of that and your cut on this run drops from a sixth to a nothing. Got it?’

  Korinth continued to glare at Indavara, who was wiping water off the sheet.

  ‘Korinth!’

  At last the sailor looked at his captain. Asdribar pointed towards the bow. With a final poisonous glare at Indavara, Korinth walked away.

  The air of tension created by the incident was amplified by the approach of the warship. Not long after the vessel changed course, a sparkling light – apparently a sun-mirror – signalled a brief code that all the crewmen seemed to understand: ‘Slow, and prepare for boarding.’

  As the sailors furled the mainsail, Cassius joined the others on the starboard side to watch the warship approach.

  ‘It’s the Armata!’ shouted young Tarkel as he coiled a line.

  ‘Keep at your work,’ ordered Squint, who was overseeing operations at the mast.

  ‘What does it mean – armata?’ asked Indavara.

  ‘Armed,’ said Cassius. ‘As in ready for war.’

  ‘Hopefully not with us,’ Asdribar said ruefully as he passed by.

  Cassius had been ruminating on what the harbour master’s clerk had disclosed about the Carthaginian’s reputation. He hurried after him.

  ‘Captain?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Should I be concerned? What would the navy want with the Fortuna?’

  ‘Probably just a shakedown.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘Officers looking to grab a few extras before heading home. Happens all the time.’

  ‘Extras? Such as?’

  ‘Whatever they can find. And taxes invented on the spot if they can’t.’

  ‘I presume there’s nothing on board that shouldn’t be?’

  ‘That’s what I’ll be telling them.’

  ‘Is it true?’

  ‘That’s what I’ll be telling them.’

  The blue eyes stared implacably back at Cassius, bright and clear in that bronzed face. Cassius decided it was probably best he didn’t know.

  ‘The authorisation,’ Asdribar added. ‘Might be wise to get it now.’

  Cassius waved Simo over. ‘Cloak, helmet and spearhead. My letters too. And be careful – I don’t want them blowing over the side.’

  As Simo made his way below, Tarkel scurried after him.

  Korinth and a couple of the men lowered the foresail and the Fortuna drifted to a stop. Without any forward motion and the stabilising effect of full sails, the ship began to roll, an effect exacerbated by the yardarms projecting over each side.

  Having taken some long, deep breaths, Cassius forced himself to focus on the warship. He had only ever seen such a vessel in dock, and never one this size. The sight of it reminded him of the first time he’d set eyes on a full legion camp in the field – that of the Fourth Legion stationed at Palmyra, Syria. Just like then, pride surged within him, and the warm glow of it seemed to burn the nausea away.

  Cassius had been born just four years after the thousandth anniversary of the founding of Rome. At moments like this, and with a man like Aurelian now in command of the Empire, it was possible to forget the troubles in Gaul, the raiding Goths and rebels like Queen Zenobia. At moments like this, Cassius felt sure that what his father had told him all his life was true: Rome would endure another thousand years.

  ‘And another thousand after that.’

  ‘What?’ said Indavara.

  Cassius realised he had spoken aloud.

  ‘Forget your giant creatures, Indavara,’ he said, pointing at the warship. ‘There’s nothing in the sea mightier than that.’

  As the Armata cut towards them, one big, oval eye stared out from above the metal ramming spike. There was no sense of grace or elegance about the warship’s lines, just an angular, brutal efficiency. She seemed to lie low in the water, yet somehow glide across it. The hull was an ominous black, the deck the same bright red as the huge square standard hanging from the comparatively short mast. Sail power was strictly a secondary form of propulsion; for the watchers aboard the Fortuna, it was hard to concentrate on anything other than the scores of closely packed oars dipping in and out of the water with synchronised precision.

  Cassius counted them. ‘Twenty-two rank
s of three. Must be a flagship. I wonder which fleet?’

  ‘Alexandrian,’ answered Tarkel as he knelt by the side-rail. In one hand was a sheet of paper held against a writing block, in the other a piece of charcoal. The lad gazed out at the Armata as he continued speaking. ‘One hundred and fifty feet long, thirty wide. Full complement of crew: two hundred and five, including one hundred and thirty-two oarsmen and forty marines. Armed with ram, boarding bridge and grappling hooks, with capability for battle towers, ballistae and artillery. Normally escorts grain shipments. Wonder what she’s doing out here.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Cassius quietly.

  They could hear the ship now; the beating of the timing drums, the churning splashes of the oars. Gradually the beat slowed and the dip of the oars slowed with it until the warship eased to a stop about a hundred yards away.

  Despite what Tarkel had said about the numbers aboard, Cassius could see little of the crew: not a trace of the oarsmen of course, and perhaps only a dozen men on deck, barely visible behind the high wooden barricades painted to resemble a line of shields. There was, however, activity at the rear: the ship’s two tenders had been drawn up to the stern and men were climbing down rope ladders.

  Cassius looked at Asdribar. The captain was standing close to Korinth, deep in discussion.

  Annia came over to the side-rail. ‘What could they want?’

  Cassius studiously ignored her.

  ‘Officer?’

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘I hope they won’t keep us long,’ Annia said. ‘Perhaps they might even help us.’

  Simo came up through the hatch with Cassius’s gear. Cassius threw his cloak over his shoulders, then pulled on his helmet, tying the chinstrap tight. Leaving the spearhead with Simo for now, he took a little leather folder from him and tucked it carefully into his belt.

  There were three letters inside. One was the authorisation issued several months earlier by Chief Pulcher, permitting him to join the governor’s staff in Syria. The other two he had obtained before leaving Antioch for Cilicia. The first was from Abascantius, identifying Cassius as an officer of the Imperial Security Service and reminding the reader of the authority and privileges this afforded him. The second was from Prefect Oppius Julius Venator, commander of the Fourth Legion.