by Nick Brown
‘Did you hear any names mentioned?’
‘I spoke to the maid when she went to the latrine. I think it was Ioanna.’
‘Good. Thank you.’
‘Somebody must know that girl,’ added the tavern owner. ‘She isn’t just beautiful. She’s … special.’
The maid nodded in agreement.
‘So, it was the old fellow they were after?’ asked the tavern owner.
Cassius ignored the question. ‘The pink stola she wore. Apparently, there is a man on the other side of the river who makes them. Any ideas?’
The tavern owner shook his head.
The girl said, ‘I don’t know. But my aunt might – she’s a seamstress.’
‘Where does she live?’
‘Just down the street.’
‘Bring her here. Immediately.’
‘Yes, sir.’
As the maid left, her employer asked if he could go. Cassius dismissed him and waved the sentries over.
Their boots made quite a noise on the stone floor and all had to adjust their swords as they sat down. The legionaries should have constituted an intimidating presence yet it was they who wore fearful expressions. And as soon as Cassius began, it became clear from their tone that all four felt some measure of culpability for Dolabella’s capture. Cassius wondered if some kind of punishment had already been applied.
He again started with the physical description. Having seen the party only fleetingly, they were able to add nothing of note. The only point that did catch Cassius’s interest was the mention of the governor’s letter.
‘I’ve seen that seal many times,’ said one of the older legionaries. ‘It was either genuine or a very good forgery.’
‘That girl,’ said one of the others. ‘Everyone was talking about her. Somebody must know her.’
‘Not so far,’ said Cassius. He could not refute the logic but it seemed obvious that this ‘Aphrodite’ was not local. If that was the case, it was just another in an increasingly large collection of dead ends.
Having dismissed the soldiers, Cassius moved to the table where lunch had been served.
‘Astonishing,’ he said to Indavara, ‘you actually left us something.’
The bodyguard grinned and offered Cassius a plate of bread. Cassius took one along with a slice of cooked meat.
‘By Jupiter, I’ve barely the strength to lift my hand.’
‘Not much chance of an afternoon nap, I take it?’ said Indavara.
‘No. We should examine the bodies but I doubt we’ll learn much there.’
‘Want me to go and check them? They’re out the back.’
With his knowledge of weaponry and wounds, Indavara had previously proved himself useful in this regard.
‘Certainly. But you just ate lunch.’
Indavara shrugged.
‘Sometimes I forget what you used to do for a living.’
‘Living was the only reason to do it.’ Indavara stood and walked over to the innkeeper.
Cassius was glad to see him wanting to get involved and soon the pair were heading outside.
One taste of the meat was sufficient for him drop it. ‘Caesar’s balls. I might as well chew on my saddle.’
Simo poured his master some wine. ‘I’ll go and see what else there is, sir.’
Cassius dipped some bread in olive oil and ate it while staring out of the window. Enca entered and loitered by the door before Cassius instructed him to sit and eat.
‘Anything, sir?’ asked the scout.
‘Nothing we can use. This is a waste of time. These people knew exactly what they were doing. I’ll be very surprised if General Dolabella is ever seen alive again.’
A quarter-hour later, Indavara returned to report on the bodies. In his estimation, the weapon used on Ampelius and the other two had been a very large axe. Each man had been felled by a single blow, delivered with extreme force.
‘This big man then?’
‘Looks like it.’
Cassius recalled what Tribune Plinius had told him about the enemy agent named Volosus. Was he Centenius? Like Cassius, did he depend on a capable warrior to do his dirty work?
Before he could consider the matter any further, the maid returned with her seamstress aunt. Cassius ushered her over to the window to show her the fibres.
The seamstress nodded. ‘See the grey mixed in with the pink, sir? That’s one of Basil’s, I’m sure.’
‘He’s well known?’
‘Oh, very, sir. Even rich folk on this side of the Rhone use him. His family have been in the business for-’
Cassius interjected: ‘Yes, yes, but where is his store?’
‘Divaro.’
Cassius turned instantly to Enca.
‘About fifteen miles,’ said the scout. ‘Decent road. No man’s land used to stretch quite a way but that could well have changed by now.’
‘With Umbrius’s cavalry roaming around, quite possibly.’
‘Might take the attention off us,’ countered Enca.
‘Or bring more troops into the area,’ added Indavara. ‘We going?’
‘This clothier may not know enough to help us but if this group stayed in Divaro we might pick up more information. Is there a military presence there?’
‘Not usually,’ said Enca. ‘Divaro is a village, bit bigger than this place. I can avoid the road if necessary, though that will slow us down.’
Cassius didn’t think it much of a lead but it had always seemed inevitable that he would have to cross the Rhone into enemy territory at some point. ‘Can we make it by nightfall?’
‘If we leave now.’
The scout did a reasonable job of hiding his dismay; Simo and Indavara made no attempt to do so.
‘Apologies, gentlemen,’ said Cassius. ‘We must ride on.’
XI
Volusus was on his way to the cellar when Manilia intercepted him, holding a tiny sheet of paper. ‘Carrier bird just arrived, sir – a report from Prefect Clemens.’
‘For me?’
‘No, sir, but I’m sure you’ll want to hear it.’
Volosus gestured for the optio to continue.
‘Sightings of large enemy cavalry detachments on the western bank. Force dispatched to counter.’
‘To be expected, I suppose.’
‘They’ll not get far, sir,’ said Manilia. ‘The Twenty-Second has a lot of ground to cover but the prefect will handle them.’
‘I’m sure but we can’t afford to spark wider hostilities until the emperor is ready.’ Volosus didn’t add that whatever he extracted from Dolabella could make a crucial difference to Tetricus’s approach.
‘It’s only the cavalry, sir,’ replied Manilia. ‘We’ve given the enemy the run of the river for years but they’ll hit trouble before long. When they realise they’re not going to find your prisoner, they’ll head back across. Their prefect won’t want to be the one to make a mistake either.’
‘Let us hope you’re right.’
‘One other matter, sir. Shall I take some food up to the young ladies? It’s well past midday.’
‘No, no. You can leave all that to us.’
Manilia did a reasonable job of hiding his disappointment as he excused himself and continued into the guardroom.
Glancing down at the platform, Volosus saw two legionaries oiling the moving parts of one winch. He continued down into the cellar and was not pleased by what he found.
Dolabella was lying on his right side, hands still tied behind him. His face was a mass of blood and purple welts. Bibulus – who had bound his own hands with leather straps to administer the beating – turned to his superior, lamplight casting a gritty yellow glow onto his anxious face.
‘Sorry, sir. Passed out.’
‘So I see. At least tell me what you’ve got out of him.’
Bibulus shrugged. ‘You did say no blades.’
‘Gods, man, you’ve had hours. Rouse him – use the water.’
The attendant grabbed a nearby j
ug and poured its contents over Dolabella’s head. Even after this shock, it took a while for the old man to come round. Volosus squatted in front of him. The right eye was so swollen that it was impossible to tell if it was open. The left, however, was bright and alert. Bibulus moved one of the lamps closer.
‘Hello, general. I can imagine what you must think of me but I am, in fact, a great respecter of rank. I derive no pleasure from this. Unfortunately, time is very much of the essence. If you do not wish to tell me about the Third Italian, what about the Second? Or the First Adiutrix? Where are they located? Where will they strike?’
‘Drink,’ rasped Dolabella.
Volosus nodded to Bibulus who went to fetch more water.
The old general coughed, releasing a lump of bloody phlegm onto the stone floor. Shortly after, he broke wind in such a powerful manner that Volosus could not help himself laughing.
Dolabella rested his head on the wet stone, breathing deeply.
‘Come now, general. You are not a young man. I do not wish to see you suffer further.’
‘Very kind of you,’ croaked the prisoner. ‘A warm bed and a hot meal would be most welcome. I assume you can oblige.’
Volosus was displeased to find that the old bastard’s spirit seemed far from broken. He stood and walked to the rear of the cellar. Bibulus had a pack of tools laid out on a table, even though he hadn’t used them yet. The attendant hurried back down the steps with a jug and poured water into a wooden mug.
‘Wait,’ said Volosus, returning to stand over the general.
‘If you’re thirsty, I’ll need something in return. One drink – one question. The Second Italian – are they north of Genava or south?’
Dolabella just lay there, belly moving with every breath.
‘Well, general? North or south? Just one word. That’s all I need.’
‘One word?’
Volosus nodded.
Dolabella raised his head, glassy left eye looking up at his tormentor.
‘Traitor.’
Volosus returned to the back of the room and selected a small but heavy hammer which he handed to Bibulus.
‘Start breaking his fingers. If you don’t have something for me when I come back, I’m going to start breaking yours.’
Half an hour later – after doing no more than sit in the guardroom drinking some very unpleasant wine – Volosus looked up to see Manilia in the doorway.
‘Your man is asking for you.’
Volosus was not entirely surprised. The screams from below had given way to an angry tirade and then silence. Leaving the wine, Volosus grabbed his writing materials and descended the stairs.
Dolabella was sitting with his back against the wall. Bibulus had untied him and the general now cradled his injured right hand with the left. His head was bowed and he would have appeared asleep were it not for his quick, pained breaths.
Bibulus stood nearby, still holding the hammer.
Volosus picked up the stool and positioned it directly in front of the general. He then sat on it and placed a piece of paper on the writing block. In his hand was a slender reed pen.
‘We shall start with something easy. Back to The Second Italian.’
‘Some … something for the pain. Please.’
‘We can talk about that, Titus. Some wine, perhaps. But first I need something from you. Tell me about the Second Italian. How many auxiliary units? Let’s start with the archers. How many cohorts are there, Titus?’
Dolabella shook his head. Volosus initially took this for a refusal but soon realised the gesture had another meaning.
‘Three. Five hundred and forty men.’
‘I see.’
While with Tetricus, Volosus had collated all the latest intelligence reports, adding them to what he’d gathered in recent weeks and months. Dolabella’s claim seemed feasible.
‘And the location of the legion, Titus? They’re still at Eburodunum?’
‘They were. I was to join them further south. The town of Mibrio.’
This also sounded possible.
Volosus made his notes.
‘A few more questions, Titus, and then let’s see what we can do about that wine.’
Though there were a hundred more questions he could ask, Volosus was done within a quarter-hour. He told Bibulus to fetch the compliant general his reward, then hurried up to the guardroom. Having written a short note for Prefect Clemens, he summoned Manilia and accompanied the optio up to the top platform. The legionary on duty took a bird from the cage and held it while Manilia attached the note, which had been rolled up and enclosed in a tiny length of grass.
‘The birds are reliable?’ asked Volosus.
‘This one is,’ replied the optio.
‘Pegasus, we call him,’ added the soldier proudly.
‘And how long will it take to reach the Twenty-Second?’
‘Around an hour,’ said Manilia.
Volosus watched as the pigeon was flung into the sky before speeding northwards. Listed within the note were ten queries for Prefect Clemens. The Twenty-Second was the most advanced of Tetricus’s legions and nobody would have more current intelligence on enemy numbers and movements. Even if Clemens and his staff could answer only a few of the queries, Volosus could establish if Dolabella was telling the truth.
In the meantime, he would continue the interrogation and learn as much as he could. Assuming he received something from Clemens the following day, Volosus could have a revised plan drawn up for Tetricus and sent north by courier. If the imperator acted swiftly, he could gain a crucial advantage before Aurelian had a chance to react. Even if the usurper knew that his general had been taken, he would have little time to change his plans.
Volosus knew he was close to making this whole enterprise work. Very close.
Ioanna was now the one at the window, gazing out at the clear summer sky. ‘We’re prisoners here. Master Damianos wouldn’t be happy if he knew.’
Amarante was lying on the bed under a blanket. ‘He doesn’t care about us any more than his wife does. As long as they get their gold coins.’
‘What are we even doing up here?’ wailed the girl. ‘When are we going back to Cavillonum?’
‘It might not be too long. The old man has stopped screaming. Perhaps Volosus has what he needs.’
‘What?’
Amarante had long realised that Ioanna was a simple-minded girl. Though four years older, she seemed unable to understand anything that was going on around her.
‘Do you listen to a word I say? That’s what this is all about. Volosus is some kind of spy. He needs what the old man knows. He must work for the emperor.’
Ioanna turned from the window. ‘Our emperor?’
‘If you want to call him that.’ Amarante shivered. ‘All that sun outside and it’s freezing in here.’ She wrapped the blanket tighter around her.
Ioanna let out a long sigh then sat on the bed. It was nothing like big enough for the both of them and they’d slept badly, arranged head to toe. Still, Amarante had marked off another night where she’d escaped Volosus’s clutches.
She supposed it was inevitable that he would get his way eventually but she felt that every time she endured these abuses, she lost something of herself. She imagined it was easier to those born slaves; at least they lived with their own kind; could prepare themselves for such a life. But she felt utterly certain that she was not supposed to be here; and her life was not supposed to be like this.
‘We might have a different emperor soon,’ she said.
‘If there’s a war?’
‘There’s no if, Ioanna. We’re in the middle of it.’
‘That’s why we should be at home. I don’t care what my father says, I’m not working at that place anymore. Not if I can just be sent off anywhere at any time.’
‘Not so bad, is it? Volosus gave you some extra coins.’
‘Don’t care. Just want to be home with my sisters. Home and safe.’
‘Cavillonum i
sn’t safe. Nowhere will be safe when the other side attack.’
‘Why can’t they just leave us alone?’ said Ioanna, throwing up her hands.
‘Because Aurelian thinks he is the true emperor.’
‘Father says that’s Tetricus. He’s been our emperor since I was a little girl.’
‘Does he live in Rome?’ asked Amarante.
‘No.’
‘Then how can he be emperor? The emperors have lived in Rome since the time of Romulus and Remus.’
Amarante could understand why Ioanna might fear war; most people did. But she also knew that a war could change everything. For her, war could be an opportunity.
Ioanna frowned. ‘Ama, do you want Aurelian to win?’
‘I want Volosus to lose.’
It would not have been hard to follow the cavalry. The one hundred and twenty riders under Decurion Umbrius had ridden along the Lavona road and continued west. Though the road was paved, the column had also used the ground on either side and they had clearly been moving at speed. Certain that the enemy forces would by now be aware of the incursion, Cassius was glad when Enca led them off the exposed road and into dense woodland.
There was only space to ride single file and the scout led the way with Cassius behind him, then Simo, then Indavara. Though narrow, the path was clearly well used and they made good progress towards the village of Divaro. Other than the odd bird, the wood was quiet, yet Cassius found himself constantly looking for signs of movement. There was no telling where enemy units or scouts might be located and every mile took them farther from help. Though the territory could not have been more different, he thought of their perilous journey into Arabia, in search of the Black Stone of Emesa, a lengthy trip that had taken them far beyond the empire’s reach.
They had reduced their baggage; leaving the spearhead, Cassius’s helmet, Indavara’s stave and some other extraneous bits with Nazerius. The centurion had promised to send the bags back to Tribune Plinius.
At what Cassius guessed to be around the ninth hour, they reached a small hamlet in a clearing – no more than a dozen houses built around a well. With their water supplies running low, Enca asked the first villager he saw if they could use the well and the man agreed. The quartet dismounted and Simo soon had the three horses, one pony and one donkey slurping down water. They had left the spare horses with Nazerius. Though they had been useful during the speedy journey from Axima, stealth was now more important.
