by Nick Brown
They’d already stopped twice to water the horses but the mounts were faring well on the smooth, even road. Indavara had taken to the ground again and Cassius was pleased to see him striding along at quite a pace. Even three or four weeks ago he would not have managed such a feat. It seemed Simo had noticed it too; master and servant exchanged a nod of acknowledgement.
‘Wishing you were back at that well, I suppose? Hoping for a sight of the angel?’
‘I believe they can appear in any place at any time, sir. I may yet be so blessed.’
‘It was rather amusing, you must admit – both sides in utter disagreement yet united by their conviction and zeal.’
‘I don’t necessarily believe my fellow Christians over those others, sir. They seemed just as convinced.’
‘It’ll probably go on for years. That’s the kind of thing that can start a war, you know.’
‘Those men would not fight, sir. Not ever.’
From the trees to their right came the squawks of some warring birds. The horses – Cassius’s in particular – were momentarily disturbed.
Once they had calmed down, Simo continued. ‘There have been times where I’ve thought a guardian might be watching over us, Master Cassius.’
‘I know you do. We were discussing the notion earlier.’
The pair had dropped back from Indavara, who didn’t seem interested in the conversation.
‘In Africa.’ added Simo. ‘That terrible town in Arabia. And when we found Indavara on the island. I could not see any reason for hope and yet it came.’
Cassius considered this for a moment. ‘I had a friend, Caius, a neighbour of similar age. When we were about eight, our fathers took us down to the harbour to see a navy ship coming in. It was delayed somehow so of course we got bored and drifted away. We found ourselves under a crane and some errant piece of wood fell and struck Caius on the head. He fell right in front of me, unconscious. There was so much blood, I honestly thought he was dead. I was still looking at him when a man arrived. He sat Caius up and pressed his cloak against the wound. Once the bleeding had slowed, he carried him into his house and stitched Caius up. Before long he was awake and – other than a headache – feeling fine. His father was kind enough to delay giving him a hiding for a week – I got mine that night. Anyway, the helpful man was an army surgeon, would you believe? Incredibly fortunate – and of course that’s what everyone spoke of – “the gods had been watching over Caius” and so on. Granted, he was extremely lucky the surgeon was there. But what of the bad fortune: the piece of wood that fell just as he was passing – and struck him on the head? That’s pretty bloody unfortunate if you ask me. It all just depends on how you see the world.’
VII
Volosus cursed his own impatience. Waiting, doubt and uncertainty were unavoidable parts of his job; something he was well used to. And yet – as the wait dragged into a second day – he could barely contain himself. The empty hours led to pointless rumination that he could not ignore.
Would Dolabella visit the encampment? If he did, would he also visit Lavona? If so, who would be with him? Would he be tempted by Aphrodite? And even if they captured him, could they escape back across the bridge?
Volosus suspected that another part of his frustration was his inability to put thoughts of the girl aside. How utterly unprofessional; embarrassing for a man of his age. He had expected these desires to fade with the passing years but, when it came to the possession of beauty, he could sometimes not control himself: usually with women, sometimes men, occasionally boys.
He was now reliant on another man sharing that weakness.
Earlier in the afternoon, he had made an excuse to unlock the door, check on Aphrodite and Ioanna. Once inside, he had stayed longer than necessary, told the servant to continue brushing Aphrodite’s hair. She was at least cooperating now; perhaps because he’d told her she might not even have to sleep with their target. She was clearly frightened, however, and had asked about Dolabella – why he was so important. Volosus used the opportunity, explaining that Dolabella was a spy, an enemy of the true emperor. He told her that she was doing a great duty for Tetricus and the people of Gaul. Volosus considered himself an excellent liar but he wasn’t sure she believed him. He supposed a girl like her might have heard more lies than truths.
He sat alone in the The Apollo Inn’s courtyard, trying to read a book of poetry. But when he was not thinking of Aphrodite, he was thinking about the operation. If Dolabella did not appear tonight, it seemed unlikely he would.
‘Afternoon, sir.’
Volosus nodded to the innkeeper’s wife as she brought a basket of washing out and began hanging it. ‘Do excuse me – I must take advantage of this sun.’
He was in a corner, upon a bench shaded by the courtyard wall. Even there it was hot, and he could feel sweat upon his skin. He leant back and shut his eyes. There might not be time for prayer later.
Almighty Mars, I ask that you remember my years of devotion and the many votives I have given. I ask that you watch over me; guide my hand; bring fortune to me; do not afford it to my enemies. Almighty Mars, favour me as you have before and I will remain your faithful servant for eternity. Almighty Mars, watch over me.
Ever since he had first taken up his sword and given his oath, Volosus had devoted himself to the God of War above all others. He did not think it possible that Mars would concern himself with the fact that there were now two emperors; two empires. He was a god for all Romans, and Volosus was certain Mars had returned his faith. If not, why had he enjoyed so many successes? Endured so few failures?
Shortly after the innkeeper’s wife finished with the washing, Gutha entered the courtyard. He carried no weapons and had done his best to appear unthreatening. When he reached Volosus, he spoke quietly, aware of the windows that faced onto the courtyard.
‘Activity, sir. A party of officers has just arrived in the town. Bibulus thinks it’s him.’
The groundwork had all been done well before Volosus entered The White Pony with Aphrodite on his arm and Bibulus behind him. The tavern owner – and his competitor – had been subtly slipped two denarri in order for Volosus to ‘exhibit his wares’ on the premises. If Dolabella was successfully hooked, he would be lured back to The Apollo. Gutha was there now, waiting with Ioanna and their bags. Volosus had paid the innkeeper ten denarii to look the other way for the duration of the evening; and mention nothing of them to anyone.
The sight of the girl quietened the tavern and drew every pair of eyes. There were at least thirty people present, mostly men, and they barely seemed to notice Aphrodite’s companions.
At a nod from his attendant, Volosus sat at the table Bibulus had earlier identified. It was pretty much in the middle of the inn, not far from the counter. As instructed, Bibulus sat opposite his master, Aphrodite on one side. It was a warm night and she wore only the new pink stola over an elegant cream-coloured tunic cut low at her chest and high above her knee. In her hair was a diadem of freshly-cut flowers made by Ioanna. She flicked her hair off her shoulder, causing her breasts to move in a way that elicited audible approval from at least three of the watching men. She placed her hands in her lap and gazed at the lamp in the middle of the table.
Volosus called over a maid and ordered some Caecuban. He then made a show of examining the tavern, which was of above average quality. Thick Eastern-style rugs covered most of the floor and two walls were decorated with passable tapestries.
‘Nice place.’
‘Very nice, sir,’ said Bibulus.
Volosus turned to Aphrodite, who looked as apprehensive as she had all night. ‘You would like some wine, I expect?’
‘Yes, I would.’
When the Caecuban arrived, Bibulus poured it and Volosus took the opportunity to inspect the party in the corner. Bibulus had done well: the army officers were pretty much in his line of sight.
Dolabella was already there, seated at a table with the local commander, Ampelius, and two officers, one o
f them very young. The centurion was easily identified by the crested helmet nearby and the behaviour of his subordinates. An added – but not unexpected – complication was the presence of two more men; those from Dolabella’s cavalry escort. This pair sat at an adjoining table and were playing some game with counters. Both looked experienced and tough.
A second glance at Dolabella sparked a memory of recognition; Volosus had observed him at distance on several occasions. He was at least sixty, his face ruddy, hair snowy white. Unlike Ampelius and the others, he did not wear anything to mark him out as a soldier. The general wore a light cape over a long-sleeved, pale green tunic with a pattern of lozenges at the wrist. He looked like a merchant or an administrator on the verge of retirement. Volosus felt a brief surge of excitement at such proximity; within this man’s head was knowledge of incalculable value: knowledge he could extract and exploit.
Almighty Mars, please favour me.
Judging by the continued ogling, Dolabella and his companions were still discussing Aphrodite. An equally promising sign came moments later when Centurion Ampelius ordered another jug of wine from the maid. The officers were drinking local stuff, which also reassured Volosus; a more expensive choice might suggest a short visit.
Bibulus was as used to such operations as his master, and for the sake of appearances they spoke of wine; different regions, grapes and tastes. Aphrodite even made a few contributions herself, which seemed to calm her nerves.
It only took a quarter-hour for the first man to approach the table. He was a young local clad in a shoddy tunic; rather unsteady on his feet.
‘By all the gods,’ he said, eyes fixed on the girl. ‘What a beauty. Might I ask your name, miss?’
‘No, you may not,’ said Volosus. A glare was sufficient to send the youth on his way, though he parted by blowing a kiss at Aphrodite. Her only reaction was to drain the remainder of her glass.
‘Slow down,’ said Volosus. ‘This could be a long night.’
An hour passed. He was forced to order another jug to keep up appearances. Other than trips to the latrine, the local officers had not moved and Dolabella had not left the table at all. One of the younger men ordered some soup and bread but the others kept at their drinking – except the bodyguards, of course.
‘Third hour of night?’
‘Must be,’ answered Bibulus. ‘Shall I make an approach?’
‘No, if it has to be done, I shall do it. We wait.’
Ten minutes later, Dolabella himself passed them on his way to the latrine. He gave a lascivious smirk to Aphrodite who responded with a demure smile. On his return, Volosus noted how overweight Dolabella was. He would not present a great challenge.
Another twenty minutes passed. Volosus was about to make a move when Centurion Ampelius walked over and knelt on one knee beside Aphrodite.
‘Good evening, young lady; and to you, gentlemen.’
They answered. She nodded shyly.
Ampelius was a rugged, impressive man. He ran his eyes over the girl. Volosus adjudged that he was only a little drunk.
‘Forgive my impertinence, but you are quite lovely, might I ask your name?’
‘Aphrodite.’
Ampelius grinned. ‘But of course.’ He turned to Volosus. ‘I hope you don’t mind me speaking to your … daughter, is it?’
‘Not at all, centurion. Aphrodite is my … companion.’
It is was clear from Ampelius’s expression that he understood the implication. ‘Ah.’
‘We’re just passing through,’ continued Volosus. ‘But here for the night. I can assure you that Aphrodite is excellent company.’
‘Of that I have no doubt.’ Yet the centurion seemed almost disappointed. He gazed at Aphrodite for a moment longer then offered his hand. ‘May I?’
She gave her hand and he kissed it. ‘I am truly honoured. You are one of the most beautiful girls I have ever seen.’
Ampelius let go, stood and walked away.
Volosus drank his wine, careful to show no reaction whatsoever. He, Bibulus and Gutha had been over every eventuality, including what they would do if one of the others wanted to bed the girl.
‘Didn’t want to do it with a senior man here,’ said Bibulus after a time.
Volosus nodded. ‘At least they know she’s available now.’
When Aphrodite lifted her glass again, Volosus saw that her hand was shaking.
By the fourth hour of night, the inn was beginning to quieten down. The officers had slowed their rate of drinking. If they appeared to be leaving, Volosus and Bibulus would not have long to fetch Gutha. They would have surprise on their side but they were outnumbered. An ambush in the open was replete with risk.
Then one of the junior officers left, which was at least one fewer to deal with. Dolabella was casting regular looks in the girl’s direction and seemed in good spirits. He had told several jokes that even the stern bodyguards had smiled at. But their glasses were running dry and no one had ordered more wine. And as the laughter caused by his last jape finished, Dolabella dropped a fist on the table and yawned loudly.
Bibulus did not have to turn around to see that his master was concerned. ‘Shall I get Gutha, sir?’
Before Volosus could answer, Dolabella lifted his heavy frame and stood. The bodyguards, Ampelius and the other officer did so too. Volosus was about to nod to Bibulus when Dolabella coaxed Ampelius aside and ambled over to the table, eyes on Aphrodite.
‘Just wanted to have a better look at you, my dear,’ he said loudly. ‘Eyes aren’t too good, you see.’ He wiped his mouth, then hunched over, inspecting her figure. ‘Mmm’. He glanced at Bibulus, then at Volosus. ‘I assume she belongs to you.’
‘In a manner of speaking.’
Dolabella waved him closer. Volosus stood and approached him. The old general looked weary but not overly drunk. He lowered his voice.
‘How much then? For an hour?’
‘Fifteen denarii, sir.’
Dolabella frowned. ‘Blood of the gods, have you lost your mind?’
‘Sorry, sir, that is the price. Fifty for the night.’
‘Fifty?’ Dolabella turned to the girl. ‘Stand up.’
At a nod from Volosus, she did so. He looked around; all the other customers had left. The innkeeper and the maid were collecting mugs and glasses.
Dolabella rubbed the back of his broad, wrinkled neck as he circled Aphrodite, his breathing audible. ‘I can’t deny the quality. Ten for the hour.’
‘Sir, I cannot go lower than twelve.’
‘And if I hold my sword to your neck. What then?’
Volosus held his nerve, and his target’s gaze. Dolabella turned to the others and laughed. ‘This fellow knows his business. Twelve it is.’ He reached for the moneybag on his belt.
Volosus looked around again. The innkeeper and the maid were studiously ignoring the encounter. The other four soldiers looked on.
Dolabella counted out the coins and offered them to Volosus, who gestured to Bibulus. Once he’d handed them over, Dolabella pointed to the young officer.
‘Come then, Numerius – she’s all yours.’
The man crossed the room apprehensively.
Volosus felt both the girl and Bibulus looking at him but he did not react.
Dolabella put his arm around Numerius’s shoulder. ‘I shall expect a full report. And don’t ever, ever tell your aunt that this was my birthday present to you.’
Volosus wondered if the presence of Dolabella’s nephew here was a coincidence or if he’d gone out of his way to visit him. Whatever the cause, he faced an awkward complication.
The old general was still eyeing Aphrodite. ‘By Jupiter, you lucky beggar – if I wasn’t so exhausted I’d take your place.’
While he was speaking, Volosus gave Bibulus the nod. The attendant had already left by the time Dolabella bade the innkeeper goodnight and led the way out of The White Pony. Volosus was relieved to see the main street deserted. The only other men in sight were the tw
o sentries at the bridge, some hundred yards away.
‘See you later, then, Numerius,’ said Dolabella, slapping the young officer’s shoulder one last time. ‘And never forget your favourite uncle. Do you know what I got for my twenty-first? A bloody belt buckle!’
Centurion Ampelius roared at this. He headed for the encampment with Dolabella, the two bodyguards close behind.
‘Come then, sir,’ said Volosus, hurrying towards The Apollo. Numerius followed and took Aphrodite’s hand. Judging by his voice, he was excited but nervous.
‘Nice evening, isn’t it?’
‘It is, sir,’ she replied.
‘Do you know this area?’
‘Not really, sir.’
‘You don’t need to call me sir. It’s Numerius. What are you doing?’
Volosus had stopped at the corner of The Apollo, close to a narrow alley that separated it from the neighbouring townhouse.
‘Waiting.’
‘For what?’
Volosus turned to Aphrodite. ‘Do not scream.’
Ghosting out of the shadows, Bibulus clamped one hand across Numerius’s mouth and slit his throat with the other. The unfortunate officer fell with a garbled groan. Blood poured noisily from his throat as Gutha appeared, axe already in hand.
‘Fetch Ioanna and wait by the stables,’ Volosus told Bibulus.
He could have done with his help but couldn’t risk leaving the girls alone. It was time for Gutha to prove his worth. To her credit, Aphrodite had not screamed.
‘You know what to do.’
Volosus gave him a head start then jogged along the deserted street. At this late hour, there were only a few lanterns alight and no one around. Passing the last of the houses, he reached the rough track that led to the encampment. He heard the four men before he saw them: chuckling at something.
