by Nick Brown
‘Not very bright, young man.’
Cassius glanced over his shoulder. Neither soldier looked at him. The optio was still holding his dagger.
As if it made any difference; what was he going to do – fight his way out of here?
Kabir and the others? They would go on without him but what chance did they have now? Even worse, he would have to wait here under guard, unable even to work on finding Indavara.
You stupid, ignorant prick.
‘I must admit I’m intrigued,’ continued Terentius. ‘The Service are adept at controlling people, especially their own. Why have you disobeyed Pitface, Corbulo? What brought you here?’
Cassius couldn’t see much harm in telling him; perhaps the chief centurion might take pity on Kabir’s plight.
After he had described everything from the capture of the girls to that day’s developments, Terentius rapped his fingers on the table, then dismissed the men. The optio protested briefly but his superior insisted.
The sheathed dagger tapped against Cassius’s shoulder. He took it and replaced it on his belt as the pair left.
A little hope returned; surely this was encouraging.
The chief centurion scratched his scar. ‘Why are you so keen to help these nomads?’
Cassius saw a further opportunity to persuade him that his mission was a noble one. There seemed little point in clouding the issue by mentioning Indavara.
‘Have you heard of Alauran, sir?’
‘I have not.’
‘It is a small fort in the Syrian desert. My first – my only – field command. We held out against a force of Palmyran rebels. This man Kabir led the auxiliaries – without them we would have lost. I owe him a debt.’
‘Loyalty. I admire that. It is not often to be found in the younger generation.’
Cassius thought it best to stay quiet.
‘You’ll not be surprised to hear that I don’t have a lot of time for the Service. I have encountered the odd decent agent – who actually helps the army instead of getting in its way – but a lot of your kind become … inebriated with the power they are given. And Pitface is one of the worst.’
Cassius was definitely not about to interrupt now. From the large door that seemed to have closed in front of him, a chink of light.
Terentius adjusted the left sleeve of his tunic. ‘My cohort fought with the Emperor at the Battle of Emesa. Instead of six centuries I had only four. Why? Because Abascantius pulled them out of the line the day before – as extra protection for the Emperor. There was some administrative foul-up and they never even got near Aurelian. They sat out the first hours of the battle twiddling their thumbs while my cohort got pummelled by the Palmyran cavalry. We lost two hundred and forty-one men that day.’
Cassius had seen the aftermath of the battle: the skeletons of countless horses, half-buried in the sands of the Syrian desert. Despite significant losses, the victory had contributed much to Aurelian’s triumph over Queen Zenobia.
‘I could go on,’ said Terentius. ‘But the fact is I am simply not inclined to do Abascantius a favour, especially not at the expense of a young man who seems to be engaged in a worthwhile cause. My men and I will forget we saw you. Nobody – your superior included – will know you came here.’
‘Sir, I cannot thank you enough, I—’
‘Yes, yes. Enough of that. Let’s see what we can do to help you find this bloody criminal.’
Terentius disclosed all he knew about the column heading north, including the name of the man in charge, an Optio Chariton. And when Cassius reluctantly admitted that in fact he was in need of directions to the gate, the guard officer was assigned to escort him.
As they trotted through the streets, Cassius commented that the chief centurion seemed like an exceptionally considerate officer. His companion – who’d said little up to that point – regaled him with a series of anecdotes that highlighted both the centurion’s exceptional military record and his habitual concern for those serving under him. Apparently the men referred to him as the ‘Father of the Legion’. He was due to retire in two years and none of the other centurions seemed keen to step into his shoes. Cassius made a mental note to thank the gods for putting this man in his path.
The guard officer hailed the legionaries on duty at the gate; an imposing arch of large limestone blocks. While he instructed them to let the ‘civilian’ through without question, Cassius heard hooves on stone. From a side street, five men leading horses emerged: Kabir, Kammath, Idan, Yablus and Simo.
‘We were starting to worry, sir,’ said the Gaul as they entered the glow of the torches mounted at the gate.
Cassius dismounted. ‘Not as much as I was, believe me. Nothing from Merenda, I presume?’
‘No, sir.’
The guard officer turned his horse around and surveyed the unlikely looking party. ‘You know about the Tyana road?’
‘Yes,’ said Cassius.
‘And the Podandus approach?’
‘Yes.’
‘If you’re intent on continuing on through the night, the inn at Sidassa remains open at all hours. It’s about twelve miles from here – to the right, surrounded by trees.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Farewell.’ The guard officer waved at the sentries and trotted away back down the street.
Cassius turned to Kabir. ‘Shall we get moving? I can tell you on the way.’
With the sentries looking on, he led the others under the arch and on to the open road. A little colour remained in the sky. Far away to the north, streaks of white and grey cloud lay low over the dark peaks of the Taurus mountains.
X
Two days after his first visit, Slab returned. He was not alone. As well as Warty and Narrow Eyes – who entered first with daggers drawn – there was an older man. He was quite old in fact; stooped and white-haired, with a heavily wrinkled brow and a mouth that seemed to have collapsed in on itself. He was carrying a cloth bag.
Indavara was standing by the window. Though he could hear their cries, he hadn’t caught a single glimpse of the gulls for a long time. The beetle and the mouse hadn’t reappeared either.
‘This is the surgeon,’ said Slab. ‘You will let him examine you.’
Indavara had decided to continue to appear compliant in the hope that his captors would eventually grow relaxed and make an error.
The old man put his bag on the bed, then walked over to the prisoner and examined his face. ‘Tongue.’
Indavara stuck it out.
Surgeon looked at it, then took Indavara’s hand and placed his fingers on the veins at his wrist and closed his eyes. The other three watched. Indavara spied sunlit grass between Warty and Narrow Eyes. Surgeon then placed his hand over Indavara’s heart and closed his eyes once again. After about a minute, he retreated and asked him to walk to the corner and back. Doing so was difficult.
‘Are the irons necessary?’ croaked the old man.
‘Entirely,’ said Slab.
Surgeon inspected the manacles. Indavara tried to move them – and himself – as often as he could but the sores were getting worse.
‘What about loosening them?’
Slab shook his head.
‘He needs to move around more,’ said Surgeon. ‘His condition will deteriorate. I take it you’re feeding him properly?’
‘Big meal, twice a day,’ said Slab, his large face stern.
Surgeon returned to Indavara and held up his arm, the right one this time. He peered down at the skin then ran his fingers over the numerous scars and prominent veins.
‘We shall need some more light for the procedure.’
‘We can do it over here. By the door.’
Surgeon lowered Indavara’s arm, then returned to his bag and extracted a length of string with knots tied at regular intervals.
‘I shall need some help to measure him.’
Slab waved the other two forward. ‘Either side.’
As they took up position, daggers at the ready,
Slab sheathed his weapon and went to help the old man.
‘Shoulder to shoulder first.’
Slab held one end while Surgeon stretched the string across Indavara’s chest.
‘Now shoulder to wrist.’
Though the three guards were watching him intently for any move, Indavara’s mind was far away. He had been injured several times during his time in the arena, and often been treated by his owner’s surgeon. He could not work out what these people intended to do with him.
Having also measured his height and the length of his legs, Surgeon shook his head. ‘It would be useful to know his weight but unfortunately we don’t have the equipment. Make sure he eats and drinks well today. If you wish to start tomorrow, he may not be able to take on much sustenance after that.’
‘But is he strong?’ asked Slab. ‘Healthy?’
‘Exceptionally, I should say.’
Indavara now realised that there might not be another chance. He examined his options. His wrists were manacled together but he could still use a dagger if he got hold of one. The chances of getting to the three of them were slim but he had to try something before it was too late.
Surgeon had already retreated. Slab did the same, careful not to turn away from the captive. Warty followed, also careful to keep a good distance between them. Narrow Eyes passed close. Close enough.
Indavara made a grab for the knife. His fingers closed over Narrow Eyes’s hand and the hilt. He jerked it forward, out of the smaller man’s grip.
Just as he was about to slice at his throat, something smashed into his chest. He found himself pinned back against the wall, Slab’s hand on his wrist.
‘Take it. Hurry up, you useless prick!’
Narrow Eyes had recovered himself sufficiently to retrieve his blade.
Slab’s face was an inch from Indavara’s. ‘No, no, no, boy. It’s not going to happen. You need to accept that.’
Indavara would have tried to knee him in the balls had he been able. Slab – who was stronger than he looked – had turned side on to protect his groin. He held Indavara’s arms down by the manacles and slipped his dagger out.
‘And now I’m going to have to take off those fingers so this doesn’t happen again.’ He glanced back at Surgeon. ‘Lucky we’ve got you here – you can patch him up afterwards.’ Slab pointed at Narrow Eyes. ‘You two get him on the floor – think you can manage that?’
‘No,’ said Surgeon.
‘What?’
‘You can’t cut him. Or hurt him. Not now. Why do you think I came to check on his condition? The better health he is in, the more likely our chance of success. I made that perfectly clear to … to our employer.’
Slab looked genuinely disappointed. He moved backwards, the tip of his dagger still aimed at Indavara’s throat.
‘And afterwards?’
Surgeon shrugged. ‘By the way, we’re also going to need a bed. Something with a proper frame.’
Slab gave a reluctant nod. ‘Out.’
As the others complied, Slab glared at Narrow Eyes, who mumbled an apology as he passed him. He turned back to Indavara. ‘Lucky boy. But it’s going to run out tomorrow. See you then.’
Slab withdrew, shutting the door behind him. As the key turned in the lock, Indavara slumped back against the wall.
He remained there for some time and eventually decided to pray to Fortuna once again. There was no more he could do himself; he needed help.
He only noticed he was crying when he saw the tears splashing on to his arms. He almost let out a cry of rage but he didn’t want to give his captors the satisfaction.
After some time, he began to think about methods. He was giving serious thought to killing himself.
XI
The six men sat on a patch of grass below the aqueduct, enjoying the shade. In front of them was a broad corral – empty of horses for the moment – and beyond that the stable itself. Two grooms were struggling to pull a large black horse from its stall, causing much amusement to a nearby trio of lads who were supposed to be mucking out.
‘Where are they?’ moaned Kammath, who generally spoke in Greek when he had a complaint to make.
‘Rest awhile,’ said his father, who was leaning back against the roughly hewn blocks of one of the aqueduct’s piers. Beside him, Idan continued a repair to his sling that seemed to have been going on for days. The aqueduct ran straight into the heart of Tyana, which they had reached in exceptionally good time, stopping only at night and to rest their horses. The Podanus approach – where the road passed through the famed Cilician Gates – was notorious for bandits but there had been not a single incident. Cassius had been this way before, when summoned from Cilicia for his second assignment in Syria. He had pointed out the ancient fortifications and regaled the nomads with tales of Alexander and the Army of the Ten Thousand. Simo described the journeys of the Christian Paul of Tarsus, which Kabir and the others seemed even less interested in.
Their progress had slowed as they neared Tyana due to road repairs and the morning traffic. And with two of the horses requiring attention, Cassius had suggested they stop at the first stable they saw, which was on the edge of the city. They had already been waiting an hour.
‘Perhaps you could see how they’re doing?’ said Cassius to Simo.
Kammath’s mount had turned a hoof on the road while Simo’s had some sort of skin infection that was clearly causing it great discomfort.
‘Sir.’
The attendant got to his feet and hurried down a short bank towards the corral. The restless Kammath and Yablus took their slings from their packs and went to practise, which they and Idan did on a regular basis. Though he had seen them in action before, Cassius was always impressed by their accuracy. The nomads had found some apples the previous day and placed them in a row upon a log. Even from a range of fifty feet, they would hit them more times than they missed. For such an apparently rudimentary weapon, the slings – in the right hands – were remarkably effective.
‘You have heard of the Emperor’s vision?’ asked Cassius.
Kabir frowned. Idan ignored him.
‘His forces besieged this city just last year while putting down the Palmyran rebellion. One night he had a vision of Apollonius, a famous philosopher who hailed from Tyana. Apollonius begged him to be merciful, to spare his city. The Emperor did precisely that.’
‘You Romans do love your philosophers – what was he known for?’
‘Several things – he wrote about science and nature and was said to have raised a senator’s daughter from the dead. I believe he also concurred with Ptolemy that the sun revolves around the Earth.’
‘With that, I might agree. The Glorious Fire moves constantly to give its heat and protection to all.’
‘An interesting interpretation. He was also a vegetarian.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Someone who refuses to eat meat.’
The chief frowned again. Idan snorted.
‘So what now?’ asked Kabir.
Cassius stood up and stretched his aching legs. ‘We find the nearest army way station. I doubt they’ll still be here but we know we’re not far behind.’
By making enquiries as they went, they had charted the progress of the column. Cassius knew from Terentius that Chariton’s group was made up of around fifty prisoners and an escort of two squads of legionaries. They were – as Merenda had suggested – bound for the Tuz salt mines. Terentius had also explained that these mines were not underground, but salt flats around Lake Tuz, where workers extracted the valuable mineral for transport around the Empire. Due to the outbreak of plague in the area, there was a shortage of workers. An arrangement with a private businessman named Draco provided a secure destination for the condemned men and a flow of much-needed revenue into Tarsus.
‘About a hundred miles, then,’ said Kabir. ‘From here to the mine?’
‘About that. I shall also ask about the route.’
The main road, which cut north-east
through the centre of Galatia, had always been considered secure but the arrival of the plague had left way stations unmanned and whole sections unguarded. According to Terentius, Chariton had used it on his previous trips but had occasionally encountered groups of bandits and plague-ridden locals. The legionaries kept both at a distance with arrows.
Kabir stood up too, which seemed like quite an effort for him; whatever his affliction, the relentless riding had clearly taken a toll. ‘These diseased people Terentius spoke of – how is it that they are still alive?’
‘There is the bleeding plague, from which most victims expire; and then different non-fatal varieties. Those who catch it are covered with the pox and usually suffer other symptoms. They must try to live on but of course others do not want them near. They often retreat to caves or forests and other remote areas; scratch out a living as best they can.’
‘Or turn to banditry?’
‘It always worsens in an area where disease strikes. Trade slows; wealth declines – people turn to crime.’
‘The Empire seems to have criminals everywhere.’
Cassius wasn’t about to argue with him about that. ‘And amongst your people?’
‘Occasionally – very occasionally – someone acts against the tribe. But not often. We are all related by blood or marriage. We would not hurt our own.’
‘It seems a fine way to live.’ Cassius gestured towards the high buildings visible in the distance. ‘But we build cities. Dark, dirty places – where crime can flourish.’
‘I hate cities,’ said Idan suddenly, his first contribution. He spoke again without looking up from his repairs. ‘And I hate Rome.’
They left the stable two hours later. Simo’s horse had been treated and he had been given a poultice to apply over the next few days. Kammath’s mount, however, could hardly walk. The stable owner offered an exchange and the ensuing negotiations went on for some time. The Syrians felt that he and his employees were exaggerating the condition for gain and Cassius ended up playing peacemaker. In the end, Kammath left with a fine-looking horse but the Syrians were now a dozen denarii poorer. Kabir confided that their funds were running low; they couldn’t afford to lose another mount. Cassius didn’t admit that he was in the same position; he had resolved to solve the problem by the time they left Tyana.
