by Nick Brown
Kabir looked into his eyes. ‘As you wish.’
Cassius wished he felt as confident as he sounded. There were not many ways to apply pressure to a man with only a day left to live.
In the year or so since he had last crossed on to the island that made up Antioch’s north-western quarter, much had changed. Back then, the city had only recently been wrested back from the Palmyrans and the authorities had faced more pressing priorities than restoration work. The sixty-foot tower was attached to a long building now encased with scaffolding, where scores of workers were attending to the long-neglected brickwork. Other buildings had been demolished and many plots were now marked out with posts and twine for new construction. Cassius imagined the orders had come from on high; the area close to the river was both visible from the imperial palace and on the route to the city’s largest structure: the hippodrome.
Today, thankfully, there were no races and he and Simo made good time. Cassius was glad Kabir had agreed not to come along. The outlandish appearance of him and his party – not to mention his desperate desire to extract information from the prisoner – would have made an already difficult task even harder.
As they approached the tower, with its small grilled windows and single doorway, Cassius spied the two legionaries on duty.
‘By the gods, it seems an age ago since we came here to see your father.’
Simo looked almost as anxious as he had back then.
‘You would prefer to stay outside, I suppose?’
‘If you don’t mind, sir.’
Cassius was actually glad to have something to focus on other than Indavara and the choice Abascantius had offered. He still felt immensely guilty about not helping Kabir sooner; he was determined to use every trick he had learned while in the Service to glean something useful from this man Tychon.
As he dismounted and put on his helmet, the two legionaries looked on curiously.
‘I hope that miserable bastard jailer isn’t still in charge,’ said Cassius as Simo took control of his horse. ‘What was his name?’
‘Her … Her something.’
‘Herminius. Well, I don’t intend to take no for an answer.’
‘Best of luck, sir.’
Cassius buckled his helmet as he strode towards the tower. The two legionaries put their arms by their sides at the position of attention.
‘Good morning, centurion,’ said the older man.
‘Officer, actually.’
‘Ah, sorry sir, I—’
Cassius kept his eyes fixed on the other fellow – the centre of his tunic to be precise. ‘By Jupiter, did you eat your breakfast from a trough?’ He turned to the second man. ‘And you, did you polish your belt with a beggar’s loincloth?’
Before either man could attempt to reply, he continued. ‘Third legion, I presume. Which century? Which officer?’
Cassius took a stick of charcoal and a scrap of paper from the satchel he carried over his shoulder.
‘The fifth, sir,’ said the older man, ‘under Centurion Matho.’
Cassius made a show of noting the name. ‘And you two are …?’
The younger man sighed. Legionaries always hated giving their names.
‘Well?’ snapped Cassius. ‘I am sick and tired of having to deal with soldiers who look like cave-dwelling auxiliaries from some northern backwater.’
They gave their full names, which Cassius also noted.
‘I am Officer Cassius Corbulo, Imperial Security, and I need to interrogate a prisoner by the name of Tychon. Is he here?’
‘He is, sir,’ said the older man, who was named Albius.
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes, sir. There’s only six of them left – lot of punishments last week.’
‘Good. Tell me, is Herminius still in charge here?’
‘No,’ said Albius. ‘It’s Optio Fimbria now but he’s not due in until this afternoon.’
Cassius made sure he hid his reaction. The absence of an officer would make this even easier, especially as his onslaught of criticism had already put the men on the back foot.
‘Well, will one of you take me up then?’
Albius grimaced. ‘Sir, we’re really suppose to request permission for this type—’
‘And normally I would have it but the man is to be executed tomorrow. Do you really think anyone will care about a condemned double murderer?’
‘Probably not, sir.’
Cassius gestured towards the doorway. Albius headed inside. Before following, Cassius pointed at the younger man’s tunic. ‘Got any water down here?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I want that clean by the time I come down.’
‘At once, sir.’
As they walked up the circular staircase, Cassius noted that the interior was much improved, with pale red paint covering the uneven walls and only a little dust upon the steps.
‘This Tychon – has he had any visitors?’
‘Only one, I think, sir,’ said Albius. ‘His mother.’
‘Did they seem to get on?’
‘I believe so. She brought him some food but that’s not allowed. Her last visit was yesterday. Optio Fimbria had to almost drag her out. We get that sort of thing all the time.’
‘I’m sure. And Tychon himself? What have you observed of him?’
‘He’s been in a few weeks. Told everyone he was innocent to start with, of course. After his court appearance and the verdict he was angry. We see that a lot too. Just didn’t calm down though and eventually he tried to attack one of the other prisoners. He’s been in a cell on his own since then. He’s ranted and raved to the gods but I think he’s accepted it now. Don’t worry, sir, he’s chained up; and I’ll stand guard.’
‘Do I look worried?’ asked Cassius as they reached the last step, though he was in fact relieved to hear it.
‘No, sir.’
‘One more thing. The fate of three innocent young women may depend on this meeting. Go along with whatever I say – do not contradict me. Understood?’
‘Yes, sir.’
The condemned man was lying close to the single window, his wrists manacled and chained to a large ball of iron. The only contents of the small, square room were a bowl of water and a slop bucket which – judging by the smell – had not been recently emptied.
As Cassius entered, Tychon sat up and placed his hands in his lap. He was barefoot and wearing a filthy, holed tunic. His face was so thin that it resembled a skull with skin stretched over it.
‘Chair, sir?’ asked Albius, who was leaning in the doorway and had armed himself with a wooden cudgel before unlocking the cell.
‘No.’
Cassius had elected to leave his helmet outside. Though he had grown used to it over the years and enjoyed the admiring glances it sometimes attracted, the scarlet crest always seemed rather ridiculous in such situations.
‘Good day to you,’ he said, feeling that cordiality never hurt, unless one was dealing with subordinates.
Tychon only seemed interested in Cassius’s sword; a long, bulky blade with an opulent eagle’s head upon the hilt.
‘I have some questions for you.’
‘Really?’ Tychon’s voice was more refined than Cassius had expected. ‘What do I get in return?’
‘That also depends: on the quality of the information you provide.’
‘Can you get me a stay? Or a commutation? If so, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.’
‘The judicial prefect has made his decision. I can do nothing to affect that.’
Tychon glanced up at the roof. ‘Then there’s nothing to talk about.’
‘Perhaps there is. Your mother – life will be difficult for her, I imagine – what with the shame you have brought to the family. And no son to look after her in old age. I could make things easier. The army has very deep pockets.’
‘How deep?’
‘I imagine one hundred denarii would keep her in food and firewood for quite a while. You could ev
en watch from the window as I hand the money over – to be sure she received it.’
‘What do you want to know?’
‘You are known in certain areas of Syria as Hood, correct?’
‘By a few unimaginative locals, yes.’
‘And you took girls from an area close to Beroea several weeks ago?’
‘I haven’t been charged with unlawful capture.’
‘Answer the question.’
‘I might have.’
‘I’m interested in three in particular. Young, pretty.’
‘You’re going to have to be more specific,’ said Tychon with a smirk.
‘One was named Aikaterine. The others with her were Marte and Dinora.’
Tychon shrugged. ‘Not very good with names.’
‘Where are they now?’
‘No idea.’
‘Did you sell them on?’
Tychon did not reply.
‘At this rate, your mother’s not going to be getting so much as a sesterce.’
‘You ask me about something else – I’ll answer. Those girls, yes, they were sold on – to a man I’m not going to talk about. Anyone else, I’ll tell you. But not him.’
‘What do you have to lose?’
‘Me? Not much. But I have friends still out there in the business. It’s my mistake put me in here, not theirs. Why should I endanger them?’
‘You value them above your own mother?’
‘My mother’s survived worse than this. Like I said, anyone else. Not him.’
Cassius was ready with another approach. He turned to Albius. ‘You would have an address for the mother, I suppose – as next of kin?’
‘We would, sir, yes.’
Cassius took his time with the next comment. ‘I had a visitor this morning. Aikaterine’s father. He is not an old man but his hair has turned entirely white since the girl went missing. He told me he’ll be at your execution tomorrow. If you hear any shouts just before the rope goes tight, that’ll be him.’
‘Should have looked after her better, shouldn’t he? Three little beauties like that out on their own? Asking for trouble.’
‘Trouble?’ Though rarely given to violence, Cassius was sorely tempted to unsheathe his sword and use the flat of his blade on this callous bastard.
‘Trouble might be what your mother, and indeed the rest of your family, will find themselves in – if I give the father that address.’
‘You’re a centurion. You wouldn’t do that.’
‘I am not a centurion. I am an officer. Imperial Security.’
It was clear from the change of expression that Tychon knew of the Service; and its reputation.
Cassius threw up a hand. ‘If – however – I leave here with information I can use, I will not even ask Legionary Albius for the address.’
Tychon scratched his fingers down his cheek, leaving pale marks in his grimy skin. ‘You’re bluffing.’
‘Maybe,’ said Cassius. ‘But if you think I care about the life of the godless bitch that brought you into the world, you have seriously misjudged both me and this situation. Now, I am rapidly running out of patience. What’s it to be?’
Tychon made up his mind surprisingly quickly. ‘All right, I’ll tell you what I know of him.’
‘Good,’ said Cassius. ‘And by the way, I wouldn’t worry too much about reprisals from this man. I doubt he’ll be walking the earth much longer than you will.’
He had arranged to meet Kabir at the Beroea Gate, part of the imposing fortifications that guarded the northern approach to Antioch. The nomads were staying with friends within one of the sprawling, semi-permanent encampments outside the city’s walls. The streets were busy with morning traffic and Cassius agreed that they would get more privacy at the camp.
A Roman officer accompanied by four long-haired nomads was an unusual sight and the most bemused looks came from the soldiers on duty at the gatehouse. Even so, Cassius’s uniform was enough to get them through without a word. He exchanged pleasantries with the optio in charge but his mind was elsewhere: he remembered sitting in the gatehouse with Indavara, examining documentation while on the trail of the Persian banner. They had barely known each other then and had spent much of their time arguing.
He and Simo mounted their horses and followed the Syrians away from the gate. Much of the ground north of the city was low-lying and the approach road was built upon a causeway. The first cluster of tents had been erected at the end of a track running east from the road. The autumn rains wouldn’t be long coming; and Idan commented that the camp would soon be moved. Kabir himself said nothing, simply leading them along at a trot. Cassius knew he would be desperate to hear what he had discovered.
Many of the tents closest to the track were owned by traders and their customers were an eclectic bunch. Cassius saw soldiers, priests, city sergeants, even a couple of administrators in togas. The nomads were selling all manner of things but spices and trinkets seemed particularly prevalent.
Kabir hailed an older man then spoke to him in their native Aramaic. The old man swiftly moved aside and gestured to his tent. Cassius had learned that Kabir’s son was named Kammath, the nephew was Yablus. They all seemed keen to take part but Cassius had no desire to face a barrage of questions.
‘Perhaps just the two of us for now?’ he suggested.
‘Very well,’ said Kabir. Before entering, he put a calming hand on Kammath’s shoulder. The son’s face was set in a stony glare. Cassius watched Simo moving the horses into a vacant area between the tents then followed Kabir inside.
Light was admitted through an opening at the top of the shelter. Below it were several drum-like stools arranged around a table. Cassius put his satchel on it and retrieved the half page of notes he had made while interrogating Tychon.
‘Well?’ enquired Kabir as they sat down.
‘The girls – all three of them – were sold on only days after they were taken – at a location not far from Gindarus. According to Tychon this is common practice, to avoid them being traced and for the likes of him to make a quick profit. The buyer was a Cilician named Meliton. Tychon cannot be entirely sure but this Meliton usually sells on in Tarsus – his native city. He seemed to have already gathered a large number of slaves, which makes it more likely that he would have gone there soon after. Tarsus is approximately a hundred miles from Gindarus. We might surmise that the girls were taken there around two months ago.’
Kabir had not blinked once as Cassius had spoken. ‘And Tarsus? What happens there?’
‘These people have forgers who can provide documentation so they can sell using official markets. But there is also an underground trade. Lower prices; no questions asked.’
‘Who does he sell to?’
‘Tychon didn’t know that. But apparently this Meliton has had run-ins with the law too. If he’s known to the city sergeants in Tarsus, it may be possible to track him down.’
Kabir eyed Cassius’s notes. ‘The girls are taken for … to be …’
‘I’m afraid so. Apparently this is what Meliton specialises in. According to Tychon, they are often taken north or west – to lands where their appearance is more exotic.’
Kabir scraped his fingers across his brow and paused for some time before replying.
‘Tarsus it is then.’
‘Here is what I can do. There will be a Service agent – a man like me – there. I will write to him via the imperial post. The letter will arrive before you; hopefully he will be able to help.’
‘His name?’
‘I don’t know yet. But I’ll find out and make sure you have everything you need before you depart.’
‘We will leave at dawn.’
Kabir’s white hair shone under the light from above, framing his dark face. He stared blankly past Cassius. ‘If we ride hard, we can reach Tarsus in four or five days.’
‘Do you have money?’
‘Enough. This man will definitely help us?’
‘Yes,’ said Ca
ssius, though he was far from sure. From what he had gathered, the average ‘grain man’ was more like Abascantius than himself.
‘I must thank you,’ said Kabir. ‘We would not have discovered this without you.’
Cassius thought it typically magnanimous of the man not to mention that if Cassius had reacted to his letter sooner, Kabir might be well on his way to Tarsus already.
The Syrian stood. ‘I’ll tell the others.’
‘Kabir, these girls. They will be kept – forgive me – in good condition. The money they can generate depends on it. I doubt they’ll be seriously harmed.’
‘Do you know why I let her go to the village unescorted? Aikaterine – Katia, we call her – is almost as good with a sword as Kammath and far better on a horse. She never left home without a blade hidden behind her belt.’
‘You could not have known this would happen.’
‘I could; had I bothered to find out what was going on in the area. But that’s in the past; I can do nothing about it. I am sure she would have tried to defend herself but what worries me now is that she will continue to fight back against these men; and that she will be dead before I find her.’
That afternoon, Abascantius and Shostra came to the inn. The agent seemed in an ebullient mood but to Cassius it appeared rather false. Shostra was carrying a money bag containing an advance of one hundred denarii. Cassius didn’t ask about the rest; it was obviously being withheld until he made up his mind. Abascantius commented that he was lucky to be getting even that as he’d wasted most of what he’d been given previously on wine.
The agent did not stay long, but did offer another reason to remain in Antioch. If Cassius accepted the post, one of the operatives he would be working closely with was Lady Antonia (an older women he had conducted a brief affair with). According to Abascantius, she was looking forward to seeing him again. Though he found the agent’s tactics typically grubby, Cassius couldn’t deny that he found the idea appealing.
Just before leaving, Abascantius ordered Cassius to meet him at the fortress at the eighth hour of the following day. They would attend the baths and discuss his future. The agent asked if he was close to a decision.
