by Nick Brown
‘The girls. They were held captive, suffered greatly. We got them out. Regardless of what you may hear, it was done for the right reasons.’
‘I’m starting to think we might have under-charged,’ said one of the twins. ‘Clearly some bloody business. So it is hardly in our interest that anyone know of our involvement. No one saw us leave the harbour, no one saw us at Philo’s Point. I suggest you get moving.’
Cassius did so and found the others at the rear of a tiny cove beyond the pontoon, gathered around a stone bench facing the sea. Only Idan amongst the Syrians looked anything short of exhausted. Simo was holding the lantern and shaking his head as he surveyed the pile of bags.
‘One last effort,’ said Cassius. ‘We must clean ourselves up before going anywhere in case we run into watchmen. I suggest the same inn that we used before. It’s late but they know our faces and that we pay our bills – they’ll let us in. We can rest there awhile but we must leave at dawn.’
They took the last two rooms left, leaving the smaller one for the girls. Cassius insisted on letting Kabir and Yablus have the two beds and slept on blankets beside Simo. Sheer exhaustion gave him three hours of rest but once he awoke, the pain in his hand stopped him returning to sleep. Simo had applied some kind of treatment to staunch the bleeding and numb the pain but the latter effect had clearly worn off.
Cassius lay there, running over the horrific events of the night. Only his experience of similar trials enabled him to grasp that it had all been real, that he had actually seen and survived such things.
He imagined the scene at the Temple of Apollo. The magistrate’s men might be there already. It was possible the governor had been informed; senior military officers too. A tribune, a centurion, an optio and eight legionaries dead.
Cassius’s head grew warm. He brought his good hand up and held it against his brow.
He’d barely thought twice while pursuing the girls but he had to wonder now; had it been worth it? Poor Aikaterine was dead. The others had been rescued, ‘The Earthly Gods’ consigned to a fate they deserved but what about him? The events of the previous night could ruin his life, bring infamy and shame to his family. Like the fear of those who had hunted he and Indavara during their last assignment, he would now have to live with this threat hanging over him.
There were some causes for hope. Whether dead or alive, all those involved with The Earthly Gods would be tainted by criminality and shame. When the chief magistrate investigated, the truth would come out. But – as with most things – it depended on the men at the top. If the governor, the magistrate and the military discovered exactly what The Earthly Gods had been doing, would they distance themselves or order a pursuit of the killers?
The killers.
Would they even allow the truth of what their fellow leaders had been involved in to become public knowledge? Whether they did or not, the friends and family of Octavius, Nereus and Phaedrus might never know what they had done; only what had been done to them.
Too many questions. Only time would provide the answers; and Cassius intended to discover them from a great distance. He was relieved to be on the other side of the straits but that was nothing like far enough.
‘Sir,’ whispered Simo. ‘Are you all right?’
Cassius bent his head back and looked up at a window. He could see light through the shutters and hear movement upon the streets.
‘Let’s get up, Simo. That stable isn’t far away, I’ll get over there now to find us some horses.’
‘I don’t think there is enough money, sir.’
‘Actually there is.’
Far from making him feel better, Cassius’s trip outside only amplified his anxiety. Glancing from face to face as he returned from the stable, he was at least glad to have arranged the horses. He had used the aureii to buy eight mounts and two spares, which the stable owner would deliver within an hour.
Glad to be back inside the inn, he greeted the innkeeper’s wife in the parlour and passed a group of guests taking breakfast. He realised he was in desperate need of the latrine. It was his habit to go early, when there was some chance of the place being vaguely clean. He found it empty and was just reaching down to lift his tunic when the door opened.
The man who came in immediately shut it behind him.
‘I thought you were supposed to be bright.’
‘Tarchon.’
‘Coming back to the same inn? Frankly, I’m surprised Abascantius rates you so highly.’
For a moment, Cassius felt sure the agent knew everything. He told himself to betray nothing, stay calm, think logically. ‘How did you … I thought you were headed to Cappadocia.’
‘I was. Then a messenger caught up with me. Poor bastard had ridden all the way from Antioch. I thought our paths might cross at Ankyra but I didn’t pick up your trail until Nicomedia. I arrived here yesterday and spent my day touring the inns.’ He gestured at the latrine. ‘Be quick. I’ll meet you outside.’
‘You’re here to take me back? Is that it?’
‘Possibly. Afterwards.’
‘After what?’
‘After we see what happened to your bodyguard friend. Abascantius thinks he’s found him.’
Tarchon allowed Cassius to fetch Simo and they met the agent out in the courtyard. He was leaning against a shady wall, beside a wooden trellis covered with ivy. When the innkeeper’s wife came out asking if they needed any breakfast, Tarchon dismissed her with a word. The woman smiled cordially; she seemed to know him.
‘Only two girls with you,’ he said as Cassius and Simo joined him. ‘What about the third?’
Part of the reason Cassius had asked if he could fetch Simo was so they could decide how much to disclose. As before, he was under no illusions about the difficulty of deceiving the veteran.
‘Dead. Killed by the slave traders for resisting them. Our friend’s daughter. At least we got the others.’
Tarchon ran a finger across one thick, black eyebrow. ‘What happened to your hand?’
‘There was a fight when we got them out. Please, we have waited months for news.’
‘The message did not come from any of our contacts but from an optio on the island of Rhodes named Clemens.’
‘Clemens?’
‘I believed you worked with him while investigating the Memor case?’
‘Yes.’
‘Clearly he remembers you too. A few weeks back he had a visit from a concerned young lady. She had seen a man trying to escape from a ship. Before his captors silenced him he shouted the optio’s name twice. Her husband ordered her not to get involved but a few days later she walked into the way station and told Clemens himself. He remembered Indavara’s name and when he heard the description felt sure it was him. He made some enquiries and discovered that the ship is a privately owned galley called the Leontophoros. Clemens kept digging and got the owner’s name: a man named Cornelius. Apparently he’s a retired shipping magnate who lives on the island of Chios. That’s all we know. Clemens contacted Memor’s daughter, Annia, who said you’d left Antioch basilica as an address for any post.’
Cassius stood there in silence, trying to take it in. All the letters sent across the Empire and this was how they found him. As suspected, Abascantius had monitored the post.
‘Where is Chios?’ asked Simo.
Cassius had a rough idea but could still not summon any words.
‘South-west,’ said Tarchon. ‘Off the coast between Pergamum and Ephesus. About two hundred and fifty miles. By sea we might do it in three or four days.’
‘By sea?’
‘I have the necessary documentation to secure funds and passage. If it comes to it, we can approach the Fleet.’
‘Abascantius gave you that order?’
‘It seems he values you and that bodyguard of yours rather more highly than you think.’
‘By all the great and honoured gods. Clemens? Annia? We were lucky.’
‘Wasn’t just luck,’ said Tarchon. ‘You would
never have heard a thing if your man hadn’t tried to escape.’
Cassius gripped Simo’s shoulder. ‘At last.’
Simo gave a grim smile.
‘I’m sure you have some packing to do,’ Tarchon told the attendant.
‘Yes, of course.’
‘I’ll see you up there,’ said Cassius.
As Simo departed, Tarchon stepped away from the wall. ‘I’ll get down to the docks – I know a few likely candidates.’
‘Good.’
‘This business with the girls. I know you came back in the middle of the night and I’ve seen the state of you and the Syrians. You may be absent without leave but you’re still a Service man. If Abascantius was here, he would ask if you’re exposed; if the Service is exposed.’
Cassius had never tried so hard to retain his composure. ‘An unpleasant affair but it has nothing to do with the Service.’
‘No loose ends, then?’
‘None.’
Simo somehow packed all their gear into just six saddlebags. Cassius had agreed to let the Syrians keep the horses for their journey and also gave Kabir all but two of the remaining gold coins. When the mounts were delivered and the nomads took their gear downstairs, he sat in the empty room while Simo hastily stitched his wound. There would be no time later and the job would be doubly difficult aboard a ship.
With the Gaul kneeling in front of him and his hand resting on his thigh, Cassius supped from a large mug of strong wine. Despite his numerous preoccupations, it was bidding farewell to Kabir and the others that preyed on his mind. He had, however, made a single calculation that eased some of the guilt; even if he’d replied to the first of the Syrian’s notes in Antioch, they would never have reached Byzantium in time to save Aikaterine.
According to Dinora, who unlike Marte could speak of her experiences, they had simply returned to their room one night and found Aikaterine missing. They asked the other slaves and even their captors what had happened but a raging Nereus dissuaded them from ever asking again.
Cassius couldn’t help feeling he had let Kabir down. Perhaps he should never have promised that he would find them. The Syrian’s premonition had been right after all.
Soon he was occupied only by the pain of the needle digging into already tender skin. By the time Simo tied off the last of the eleven stitches, the mug of wine was empty.
‘By gods, that’s sore.’
‘I’ll apply another treatment when the inflammation has reduced, sir.’
The Gaul tidied away his equipment then helped his master to his feet.
Cassius had asked Kabir if they could say their farewells in the room. Apart from the fact that he and Simo had to get down to the docks, he did not wish to part on some busy street.
The six Syrians came up the stairs together, the girls first. Even Marte managed a ‘thank you’ in Latin. Cassius did not know what else to do other than kiss each of them gently on the cheek.
Next in was Yablus.
‘How’s the arm?’
Simo had made a sling for the young warrior, who was clearly not concerned about the wound.
‘Can’t even feel it.’
Cassius shook hands with his left. ‘You did well, young man. You’re a credit to your family and your tribe.’
‘Thank you, Cassius.’
Yablus also thanked Simo, who reminded him to change the dressing regularly and not to scratch at his stitches. Once outside, Yablus escorted the girls downstairs.
Idan came in. He now had a bruise of livid purple and yellow where Octavius’s elbow had connected with his chin.
Cassius said, ‘Back to that woman of yours at last, eh?’
‘I can still come with you.’
It had taken Cassius quite some time to convince them – Kabir in particular – that there was now no need to honour their original arrangement.
‘No, I have all the help I need. Anyway, don’t you have to stay beside your chief?’
‘He’s freed me from the blood oath – if you need me.’
‘You deserve to go home. All of you. Maybe I’ll see you back in Syria. You can show me how to fire a sling.’
‘You’re Roman. Stick to your sword.’
Idan spoke briefly to Simo, then left. Kabir and Kammath came in together. Remarkably, other than a few scratches and scrapes, the son bore no physical trace of the fight. But there was a change in him; something in the eyes.
‘I should not have doubted you,’ he said. ‘Without your help, we would never have even found the right city. I thank you.’
‘I am only sorry that … we could not …’
Cassius fought back the emotion welling within and gripped Kammath’s hand. ‘You are a warrior worthy of your father.’
On his way out, Kammath offered to pick up Patch from Karolea. Simo assured him that they would do so themselves when the time came.
Kabir still looked a broken man. Cassius could hardly recall the handsome, lively figure he had known three years ago. Two bloody lines marked his forehead where he had driven it into the wall and there was lump like an egg over his right eye where Octavius’s kick had landed.
Knowing how difficult this would be, Cassius had prepared some words but it was Kabir who spoke first, taking the younger man’s hands in his.
‘You are a true friend. I shall never forget what you did – what both of you did – for my family and me. I ask once more that you allow me to fulfil our agreement and help you find Indavara.’
‘And again I say no. I won’t hear of it. Get yourself back to Syria and your loved ones. Kabir, I know no words can ease your pain – it is something I cannot hope to understand. But please remember this: you did nothing wrong. There are evil men in the world, and they cause great suffering to others. They are responsible, not you. And if it’s any help at all, think of those girls and the others we helped. They are free because of us, what we did.’
‘It does help. A little. And do you know that I am proud? Proud that my Katia fought them. She is part of the Glorious Fire now. Whenever I look up in the hours of the day, I will see her.’
Cassius blinked but the tears came. Kabir squeezed his arm affectionately, then moved on to Simo and shook his hand.
‘We will meet again,’ said the Syrian to them both. ‘In better times.’
XXXII
He’d lost count of the times they had bled him.
He lay on his side, freezing and unable to move. Someone had been in to give him water; he wasn’t sure when. He could see the mug on the floor below the bed. He tried to move his hand but he could barely flex the fingers, let alone shift the arm. He heard scrabbling claws. The mouse perhaps? He hadn’t seen it for days. The mug shimmered and blurred. He closed his eyes and put his head back on the pillow. It was more than just weakness now; there was a dull but insistent ache within his bowels, stomach and chest. It was difficult to remember anything or hold a thought.
His left arm slipped off his hip. Like the right arm it was bandaged by wrappings soaked dark with blood. Surgeon usually came in to change them but Indavara could not recall when he’d last seen him. The most recent visit he was sure of was Warty and Narrow Eyes. They had said nothing as they removed sheets covered in shit and piss. Indavara had to lie helpless on the floor watching the men change them before they lifted him back on to the bed. He thought of Corbulo and Simo. They must have given up by now. He didn’t blame them; he knew they would have done everything they could. He thought of Fortuna, looking down on him, leaving him to die. He had killed so many men, perhaps that was why she had abandoned him.
He closed his eyes. He knew where he wanted to be. The forest, the village, the house with the conical roof.
A broad man; bearded and stern. A woman; dark-haired and kind. His mother and father, he was certain.
He only had one dream now; it was the same every time.
He walked inside and sat between them, in front of the fire. He leaned against his mother and she put her arm around him.
> The Kingdom Simo spoke of was real. Indavara was going there. And he would stay forever.
XXXIII
At dawn, Cassius went up on deck. The ship and its captain were well known to Tarchon and they had left Chalcedon the previous afternoon. Both men appeared to still be in their cabins. The first mate was manning the tiller while another sailor bailed water from the ship’s tender and four more supervised yard and mainsail.
The sky was oppressively grey overhead, mirroring the colour of the sea. Cassius did not care. All that mattered was the wind; and he was relieved to see that – though light – it was still from the north, propelling the galley south across the Sea of Marmara.
‘Morning, sir,’ said the first mate, whose name Cassius could not remember.
‘Morning. We seem to be going well.’
‘Not bad at all, though we could do with a stronger breath at our backs. You can’t see Proconnesus now because of the morning mist but it’s only four or five miles behind us.’
‘Not far from Cyzicus then.’
‘Not far at all. About fifteen miles off our port beam.’
Cassius thought of the city where he had been posted after the siege of Alauran. It was there that he had shown ability as an investigator before being recalled to Syria by Abascantius. Not long afterwards he had met Indavara: the first of many times when the bodyguard had rescued him, seeing off a gang of thuggish auxiliaries.
Despite this crucial breakthrough, Cassius again faced a journey into the unknown. He had no idea what they would find on Chios and how this man Cornelius was involved. Drinking in a long draft of fresh sea air, Cassius thanked the gods that he and Simo were at least out of Byzantium. Equally as important, Tarchon was out of there too. Whether the whole affair was covered up by the authorities or became common knowledge, it was surely too much to hope for that Abascantius would not eventually learn of the incident and connect it to his agent and the Syrians. Cassius at least had time to prepare for such an eventuality; and he had arrived at the conclusion that there was in fact little concrete proof of his involvement. The soldiers, the freed slaves and the servants he had encountered would be able to pass on little about his identity. Everyone else who could have posed a threat was dead.
