by Nick Brown
On this day, Indavara had managed to stay awake longer than usual. The gulls were shrieking loudly, reminding him that there was a world outside. The thought formed slowly. Might these not be dreams? Might they be memories?
Of all the cruel tricks played upon him, this might prove to be the worst of all. Now as he faced death, was he at last beginning to remember where he came from? Who he was?
When he next awoke, they were there.
Arms crossed, Slab looked down at him with his usual cold curiosity. Warty and Narrow Eyes were there too, behind him. Indavara couldn’t remember the last time they had bothered to unsheathe their blades. He could barely summon the energy to lift a mug to his mouth.
‘How are you feeling today?’ Surgeon stepped into view and peered at him, his tongue poking out as it always did when he carried out his examinations.
Indavara didn’t answer. He had stopped speaking several days before because nothing he said made any difference. What he did notice was that Surgeon didn’t have his wooden chest with him, which gave him a little hope.
‘A visitor for you,’ said Slab, gesturing towards the door.
It was bright outside and the stranger had to come close before Indavara could see him. He was walking with a stick, and beside him was a servant who put a chair down so his master could sit.
He was old, but not as old as Surgeon. His hair was quite dark, his beard almost white. Though he was fat, his limbs seemed weak and withered. His eyes were very bloodshot, and he dabbed at them with a handkerchief before speaking.
‘I am so glad that I have the strength to come at last, Indavara. It is you who has given me that strength.’
His voice was gentle, reasonable.
‘They told me there were no other alternatives, no treatments left to try. But I remembered you – I believe it was your eighth fight. The two Africans and the barbarian with the axe. By all the gods, three times I thought they had you. I have seen men with such power, and men with such agility, and men with such quickness of thought. But together? Truly, you are one of a kind. When they at last found you in Arabia, I knew there was hope.’
He placed his hand on Indavara’s, which was again strapped to the pole.
‘I can never apologise enough. And were I to do so, it would be meaningless because of what I have done to you. Believe me, I would never have even entertained the idea if I’d had any other choice. All I can do now it try to re-balance the scales. I am improving all the time. We will not need too much more … help from you. We can give you time to recover between each session now. And soon it will stop. We will wait until you are able to travel then take you to the mainland.’
Indavara noted a roll of the eyes from Slab. So he was on an island. Again, he wondered how far from Rhodes it was.
‘And you will be paid,’ said the old man. ‘Not just well, but well enough to ensure that you never have to work again. That is the least I can do – the very least.’
Indavara heard himself speak before he even realised he wanted to break his self-imposed silence. ‘Let me go. I beg you.’
‘Soon. Very soon.’
‘Why do you think I am worth less than you? I was free. I had a life. You have taken it from me.’
The old man removed his hand. He dabbed at his eyes.
‘Perhaps you should go, sir.’
The man let Slab help him to his feet. The attendant handed him his stick.
‘We will do all we can for you, Indavara, I promise you.’ He turned to Surgeon. ‘Not today. Nor tomorrow. I don’t need it.’
He walked out, his form lost quickly to the light.
‘You hungry?’ asked Slab.
Indavara turned away and closed his eyes. He wanted to sleep and he wanted to dream. He wanted to see the house with the conical roof and the darkened door. He was beginning to think it was his home.
XXV
‘I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.’
‘It may only be because we are close to the city now,’ said Kabir. ‘The illness, whatever it is, seems to fade when I am required to take action.’
He and Cassius were standing outside a stable, waiting for the owner to assemble the coins he was exchanging for the horses. The six mounts had been of decidedly average quality but had conveyed them to Chalcedon within two and a half days; a reasonable time. Simo and the Syrians were re-packing their gear, ready to cross the mile of water that separated Chalcedon from Byzantium. Cassius didn’t anticipate any difficulty; one of the stable lads had disclosed that dozens of vessels – large and small – made the trip from dawn to dusk. He and Simo had also sold their saddles, bringing in much-needed funds. If necessary, he could hire a mount by the day.
The pair watched a squad of legionaries approaching, each man armed with pilum and shield. The locals gathered on the street made sure they were well out of the way by the time the soldiers marched past.
Kabir turned to the west, and the gently sloping street that ran down to the harbour. It was a bright day and sunlight glittered upon the calm water. Beyond the channel lay the walls and towers of Byzantium.
‘You have been there before?’
‘No,’ said Cassius. ‘Though I’ve always wanted to. It is an important city for us, strategically speaking. Apart from its position upon the peninsula, there is a large and easily defended estuary to the north – the locals refer to it as “the horn”.’
‘A rich city, is it not?’
‘It is – mostly as a result of trade and the taxation of vessels passing through the straits.’
Kabir shielded his eyes. ‘It looks very large.’
‘Not as large as Antioch. And most of it is concentrated on the peninsula.’
‘You said you would tell me what you intend to do. That was two days ago.’
‘I have had to give it a good deal of thought.’
The street was noisy. Cassius guided Kabir into an unoccupied alley that ran between the stable and dwelling next door. Three brown rats scurried away, tail to tail.
‘Clearly these people take considerable precautions to protect their identity. However, we can make some educated guesses about their clients. They will be rich men: risk-takers with exotic tastes—’
‘—who are not concerned about associating with criminals.’
‘They may not even know that they are. All the clients will care about is the girls. Meliton mentioned that there was a great … variety on offer. That alone may set this place apart. There are different types of brothels; different levels. I wouldn’t be surprised if this place is rather “exclusive” – possibly invitation only, probably in some secret or remote location.’
‘You have used such places?’
Cassius reckoned Kabir thought he might be ashamed. But he was not.
‘On occasion. It is practically mandatory for soldiers; men and officers. But only decent, well-run places, you understand. They are generally regulated by the magistrates – like any other business.’
‘If they use illegally bought slaves, might the authorities know of them?’
‘They might. Unfortunately, I must assume that word of my unsanctioned absence has also reached here. I cannot risk approaching the army or even giving out my name. Not only for my own benefit, I might add – I will be no use to you locked up in a cell.’
‘Then what we can do?’
‘The fact that this operation is able to keep going despite some highly unsavoury connections might in itself be instructive. The best way to protect any such organisation is to have well-placed contacts among the authorities – especially as some of them might well be clients. If they have been going long enough to earn themselves a nickname, then they may well have some powerful patrons.’
Kabir did not look encouraged by what he had heard. ‘But what can we do?’
‘Apart from the need for haste, I’m not convinced that conventional enquiries will get us anywhere, especially as we have limited funds to grease the wheels. However, I imagine that these men
– whoever they are – secretly enjoy the notoriety of this nickname. But they have made a mistake in allowing it to spread so far. I intend to make sure they regret it.’
‘How?’
‘As there is little chance of me finding them, I must ensure that they find me.’
It was a calculated risk; of the type Cassius had taken several times in the last few years. If these ‘Earthly Gods’ took their security as seriously as the evidence suggested, he reckoned they would show themselves either on this day or the one after. He certainly hoped so, because his other options were limited.
‘Last trip!’ came a particularly loud cry from outside. ‘Last crossing of the day!’
‘Gods, shut your hole, man.’
Having dispatched the others to the city on a crucial errand, Cassius was alone in the room they had rented. The inn was a decidedly unpleasant place; musty and damp, being next to the water. But it was cheap and utterly anonymous amongst the similar establishments that lined the northern end of the harbour. With sailors and passengers coming and going at every hour, they would be lost in the crowd.
Cassius had asked Simo to take out his hardwood box before he left. He now opened the lid of a smaller box, placing it on the room’s only table. Standing there in two rows were the great gods of Rome, each two inches tall and carved from well-oiled mahogany. It always struck Cassius as vaguely ironic that Simo took such good care of them; symbols of a pantheon that meant nothing to him. Typical of the man.
‘Last trip of the day! Any takers? Last trip!’
Cassius tutted, then stood up and closed the shutters of the window. Though the noise from outside would be reduced, the room’s odour – sweat? urine? fish? – would grow stronger. Leaving the gods for a moment, he grabbed a cloth and finished cleaning his dagger. He would not be able to take the sword with him, so the wide blade would be his only defence. Once it was sheathed, he walked over to the selection of tunics Simo had hung from a hook. After some thought, he selected a pale green outfit with dark blue lozenges at the collar and wrist. He also retrieved an opulent silver belt and some similarly vulgar rings he kept for his merchant alter ego.
He would put it all on later, just before they left. For now, he was clad only in his loincloth.
‘Ugh.’ The air soon became intolerably stuffy without ventilation. He pulled back the shutters and leaned over the sill. The room was at the back of the inn, overhanging the water. Several well-packed skiffs and boats were taking passengers across the straits as the sun set. They would have to be careful. A dozen large galleys were powering north and south under oars; there was barely enough wind to fill a sail.
For the thousandth time, Cassius considered where Indavara might be. So many weeks had passed now; his captors could have reached just about every province of the Empire; every corner of the world. Cassius realised he had almost stopped speculating about why they had taken him.
If he could find the girls, he and the others could find a ship heading south. The sailing season was coming to an end but there would be someone prepared to take them. With a fair wind, they might be back in Antioch within two weeks. He could also head straight for Berytus to resume the search but both cities held the danger of discovery. He winced at the thought of coming face to face with Abascantius.
Cassius turned his mind to more immediate concerns. He knelt in front of the figurines and bowed his head.
‘Jupiter, god of gods, I speak to you now as your loyal and dutiful servant. I know I have asked you many times for help but I am in greater need than ever. There are four people lost to us; innocents in great danger. We must find them. Father Jupiter, I beg for your help.’
Having evaded the party of noisy Arabian sailors at the inn and the porters bearing baskets of fish along the side of the harbour, Cassius and his four companions halted beside a round stone mooring post, to which several thick ropes were tied.
He had earlier sent Simo and the Syrians to buy some more typical Roman clothing and the warriors were now clad in plain, low-quality tunics. He had, however, allowed them to keep their durable leather shoes: they might well have to run. Other than Idan (who was to fulfil the role of bodyguard), they appeared unarmed. In fact, Kammath was carrying their long knives and slings in Cassius’s sword bag.
‘Now,’ he said, when he had the nomads’ attention, ‘according to the innkeeper, the main street of taverns and brothels is close. There are two more areas nearer to the city but we will start here. I – we – will be going to lots of different places so it’s essential that you keep track of us. Don’t get too far away. If a city sergeant or a soldier asks what you are doing, reply that you are attendants waiting for your master. You remember the name?’
‘Cyrillus,’ said Kabir. ‘Cloth merchant.’
‘Good,’ said Cassius, who had decided he could not even risk using his usual cover identity. ‘It is unlikely that anything will happen early on. We might attract interest later tonight but it may well be tomorrow. Now, if you do see a confrontation unfolding, get as close as you can but do not intervene unless I call for you. Clear?’
‘Yes,’ said Kabir.
Cassius addressed Kammath. ‘You will see girls on the street. You will see men with those girls. But unless you spy your sister or one of the others, you will do nothing. Is that clear?’
‘Yes.’
Cassius turned to Idan, who seemed uncomfortable in his new clothes and his new role. He was undoubtedly the best choice. Apart from his quick reactions and steely presence, he was less impetuous than Kammath, less raw than Yablus and less personally involved than Kabir.
‘Your job is simple. Stay close. If I need you, you’ll know it – but don’t go out of your way to provoke. And no blade unless you absolutely have to.’
Idan nodded.
‘Never thought I’d say this – but you make my usual bodyguard seem talkative.’
The street in question was the Via Bithnyia. At first it seemed rather quiet but upon closer inspection Cassius could see that most of the taverns were quite full and that for every three taverns there was a brothel. Some were clearly denoted by a phallic symbol above the door and Cassius identified five establishments on his first pass along the street. One in particular looked promising. It boasted no less than four doormen, glassed windows on the ground floor and a fine fresco of intertwined naked figures. Cassius had, however, decided to try the taverns first; he could pick up information there more easily.
One of the more respectable-looking places was occupied mainly by merchants, rich youths and officers of both the army and navy. Cassius ordered a mug of cheap wine for himself and took a seat at a small table with Idan. The Syrian attracted quite a few looks. His distinctive appearance would mark them out, which Cassius considered an advantage for what he had in mind.
The patrons’ apparent devotion to their peers was not helpful; there were few opportunities for Cassius to isolate an individual. He waited for a likely-looking fellow to approach the counter, then joined him. Cassius had settled on the man – who was a civilian – because of his drunken state, merry demeanour and the golden rings upon both hands: a decadent fellow who liked to spend.
‘Decent place this,’ said Cassius. ‘Some decent girls, too.’
‘Not bad.’ The patron was tall and rather noble-looking, with a strong nose and wavy, black hair.
‘A tad mundane perhaps,’ added Cassius, ‘do you know of anywhere that a man might have more choice?’
‘Plenty of choice here on the Bithnyia; the old quarter too.’
His drink had arrived.
‘Mmm,’ said Cassius. ‘I’ve heard of one outfit who offer a most eclectic variety – The Earthly Gods. Mean anything to you?’
‘No. Hope you find what you’re looking for.’
With that, he took his drink and returned to his friends, seemingly saying nothing of the encounter. Cassius had no clue if he had told the truth; he seemed like a man who might be quite adept at lying.
A minu
te later, Cassius asked the same questions of a serving-girl. Her face was more readable but she seemed to have no idea what he was talking about.
The pair visited three more taverns on the Via Bithnyia. Cassius spoke to ten patrons and five workers and was met with nothing but blank faces. The only response of more interest came from a young, very well dressed fellow who could barely stand up.
He gave a dramatic shake of his head, then pointed at Cassius. ‘Naughty. Very naughty. You shouldn’t—’
At that moment, his similarly young and similarly drunk friends grabbed him as they exited the inn. But as it was the only grain of hope to be drawn from the night’s enquiries, Cassius felt rather encouraged.
From the Via Bithnyia they moved on to the old quarter, then a third area close to an impressive statue of Julius Caesar. Kabir, Kammath and Yablus did a good job of tracking them and avoided any encounters with the city watchmen, of whom there were many.
By what he guessed to be around the fourth hour of night, Cassius had spoken to at least thirty men, without improving on what he had gleaned from the young drunk. But from at least two of those he questioned later on, he’d detected an underlying fearfulness at the very mention of ‘The Earthly Gods’. When he and Idan met with the other three at the statue of Caesar, he had already established where their limited funds would be best spent.
‘It’s called Dianthe’s Den – I spotted it earlier on the Via Bithnyia. Sounds cheap but apparently there are some exotic girls.’
‘They could be in there?’ asked Kabir.
‘Possibly. But from what I’ve heard, it’s a big, well-established place. Very well known. It’s unlikely they would risk using illegal slaves. Then again, they may not know who is illegal and who is not – they might pay off whichever inspector is supposed to check on such things. In any case, there’s still a good chance that someone might know something. Let’s get back there. Even brothels don’t stay open until dawn.’
