The Black Stone (18 page)

Mercator called in later as agreed. With Indavara busy cleaning his weaponry and Muranda out fetching firewood, Cassius spoke to him in the courtyard. The trusty charcoal and paper were already on the table. With time so short, almost everything had to be organised by the end of the day. He checked his notes.

‘So what about your horses?’

Mercator rolled his eyes. ‘Officer Abascantius insisted we not use army animals so Andal and Yorvah are with the men at the horse market right now. Lot of buying to do.’

‘Legion mounts are branded. They might give us away.’

‘Ah, of course,’ said Mercator. ‘Sorry, all this cloak-and-dagger stuff is new to me.’

Cassius didn’t think it politic to confess just how new it still was to him.

Mercator crossed his bulky, vein-ridged arms. ‘The prices will be high what with the army manoeuvres but I was thinking twenty-five horses and eight mules. We can travel fairly light but if we find ourselves down in the Hejaz there aren’t many settlements or much grassland. We’ll need to carry plenty of water and fodder.’

‘Sounds about right,’ replied Cassius. ‘I’ll be sorting out our mounts this afternoon. Do you think we’ll manage it in five days?’

‘As long as we keep up the pace.’

Cassius consulted his list again. ‘What about accommodation?’

‘Way-stations are out of the question, I suppose.’

‘Correct. We must keep contact with soldiers to an absolute minimum. Someone will recognise someone and it’ll get awkward. No, taverns would be better.’

‘But twenty-four of us, with all that gear? What about tents?’

‘Certainly more authentic,’ said Cassius.

‘Quite a bit more weight to carry.’

‘Worth it, I think.’

‘We will use the traditional type,’ said Mercator. ‘The men and I can have them up in half an hour. By the way, some of them were asking about identification. Leaving our tablets and papers behind is all very well but what if we have a problem with the army or some other official?’

‘I will have my spearhead with me, my papers too – well hidden, of course. If there’s no other alternative, that should be enough to get us out of trouble.’ Cassius leaned forward. ‘Leave your auxiliaries in no doubt. They are to bring
nothing
that can identify them as soldiers. I notice a few have tattoos – tell them to cover them up. No letters from wives, no mementos from home. Nothing.’

‘What about sacred items: figurines and suchlike?’

‘Which gods do your men worship?’

‘The great gods, of course.’

Cassius knew he shouldn’t have been surprised; it was often auxiliaries and provincials who showed most dedication to the Roman pantheon.

‘All of you?’

‘Most.’

‘What about the desert people, the tribesmen?’

‘A mix. Some worship local deities. Or Greek, or Egyptian, or one of the sun gods.’

‘Then such items will also have to be left behind.’

Mercator scratched his chin. ‘To ask them to forgo worship when they may be facing battle—’

‘They can still pray.’

‘It could be a problem.’

Cassius had seen this before too. Though generally tolerant of differing beliefs, the army encouraged joint worship – especially of Mars and Jupiter and especially amongst auxiliaries. The unifying benefits were manifest but the relentless routine of devotion sometimes made soldiers prone to superstition and – worse – more concerned with the gods than their immediate superiors.

‘I trust you to ensure that it won’t be, Mercator.’

The optio hesitated before replying. ‘Yes, sir.’

Cassius checked the list once more. ‘Now, where shall we depart from tomorrow morning?’

‘Just east of the hippodrome is a piece of waste ground between two old temples. We can gather there out of sight and set off without drawing attention.’

‘Sounds perfect. Let us say the third hour.’ Cassius stood up. ‘I must sort out these horses then get myself along to an outfitter who can dress me like a merchant. Anything else?’

‘Just one thing.’ Mercator stood too and adjusted his sword belt. ‘Officer Abascantius didn’t tell me much more than he told the men. I don’t suppose you can give me any more details?’

‘Not right now. When you need to know, you will. Let’s just concentrate on getting to Petra.’

Organising the horses turned out to be a lot quicker than organising the clothing. As soon as Simo returned with two lads helping him carry the supplies, Cassius took him back along the Via Cappadocia. The attendant knew of a reliable Spaniard with a large stables from whom they secured three healthy-looking horses and a mule for a month; they would be brought to the villa first thing.

From the stables they hurried into the centre of Bostra and got the name of a Greek outfitter’s just off the cloth market.

‘Caesar’s length,’ moaned Cassius as they squeezed past a loud crowd of locals bidding for some colourful offcuts. ‘I don’t mind playing a role now and again but keeping this merchant act up for days and weeks will be a nightmare.’

‘Sir, forgive me for saying so, but you also don’t really have the colouring for a travelling man.’

‘That had occurred to me. Well, I shall get plenty of sun on the way down to Petra.’

‘You must be careful, though, sir, you know how you burn. Remember when we took that river trip in Cyzicus? Your knees were bright pink.’

‘Yes, yes.’ Cassius looked up at a sign above one of the wider storefronts. ‘Here it is – Apri’s.’

As they walked under an awning and into the store, a young lad scrubbing the floor got to his feet and retreated to the back. Standing there was a middle-aged couple examining a square of cloth laid out on a counter. The man hurried forward.

‘Good day, sir, how may I be of assistance?’

Cassius blew out his cheeks. ‘First of all, this needs to remain between us.’

‘Of course, sir. Discretion is always guaranteed at Apri’s.’

‘Basically, I need to look like a merchant. A bit of colour, some patterning. You know how they are.’

‘I see, I see. What exactly would you need?’

Cassius turned to Simo.

‘Three tunics,’ suggested the Gaul, ‘a cloak, and some riding trousers.’

‘That should do it.’

Apri’s smile had broadened. ‘Shall I measure you up first, sir, or would you like to look at some material?’

‘Er, measure me.’

Cassius handed his sword belt to Simo. While Apri’s wife brought in some rolls of material, the clothier took a knotted piece of twine from behind the counter and began. ‘I’m wondering how much you would like to spend, sir. We have some excellent linens and cottons, then of course there’s silk.’

‘No silk,’ said Cassius. ‘I shall be on the move.’

Apri finished up, then gestured towards the cloth. ‘Let’s start with colour. We have some lovely spring shades here.’

Cassius looked over his shoulder and noticed a few locals peering into the store. Worse was to follow; two well-dressed young women strolled in and one looked vaguely familiar. As they examined hoods draped over wooden models, Apri’s wife went to assist them.

‘Well, sir,’ said Apri. ‘Which colour catches your eye?’

‘I am an army officer,’ stated Cassius loudly, ‘fashion is not my strong point.’

‘These yellows really are lovely.’

‘No yellow. Yellow is for ladies.’

‘Might be passable with some embroidery, sir,’ suggested Simo.

‘Green and blue suit me best.’

Apri replied: ‘For the tunics perhaps a dark blue, a light blue and a light green.’

‘That sounds fine.’

Apri lowered his voice. ‘You will definitely need some patterning to convince as a merchant, sir.’

Cassius kept his voice low too. ‘Very well. But no vertical stripes – they make me look skinny.’

It wasn’t until the evening that Cassius found time to fit in some sword practice. He had no idea when there would be another opportunity and certainly didn’t intend practising in front of the auxiliaries. He stepped out into the shadowy courtyard and looked up at a sky streaked with orange and pink. Indavara was knocking their two wooden swords together while he gazed at the wall.

‘Still not spoken to her, eh?’

‘Not so loud,’ replied Indavara irritably.

Cassius started the stretches the bodyguard had showed him. ‘Why not buy her some flowers or—’

‘You want to practise, let’s practise.’

Cassius eyed the swords. ‘Back to
them
?’

‘We haven’t done anything for a week or two. Let’s keep it simple.’

‘I need to prepare for the real thing; we could be coming up against anyone.’

‘If you think you know better, why not practise yourself?’

‘All right, don’t get touchy.’

‘Finish your warm-up.’

Indavara did the same, then they moved onto a section of paving he’d cleared of all weeds and obstructions, giving them a square area four yards wide to practise in.

‘Sweeps first,’ he said, brushing his hair away from his eyes. ‘What are the three things?’

‘Speed, disguise, recovery.’

‘Focus on speed to start with. Head and flank.’

Cassius began; and was soon enjoying taking out the frustrations of the day on the lengths of wood. Convinced he’d made progress, he assumed that eventually – in amongst all the thousands of traded blows – he might catch Indavara out or the bodyguard might make a mistake. But he was still waiting; and he wondered whether this was because Indavara didn’t want to show even the slightest sign of vulnerability or because the gap between them was still so wide. He suspected a bit of both.

After a couple of minutes, Cassius was panting and wiping his forehead. Indavara insisted that he practise with a long, heavy sword to replicate his real blade and – even now – a few dozen sweeps and contacts sapped a lot of energy.

‘You must get more into your swing,’ instructed Indavara when they took a break. ‘Use your height and those monkey arms.’

‘What about disguise? A big swing means they see it coming.’

‘I told you to focus on blade-speed. And you don’t have to swing a long way to get power.’

‘What was that thing you said about catching the shoulder?’

‘With a sweep, most of the time you’ll be going for the head, so the defender will keep his blade up high. With a bit of disguise, you can drop it low and into the shoulder. With a heavy blade like yours, you might even go through armour.’

‘Really?’

‘How many times have I told you? Until you get a bit of technique, if it comes to a scrap – just give it all you’ve got. You’ve put a bit of bulk on, and you have a long reach. If you’re lucky you’ll hit them before they can hit you.’

‘So now what?’

‘Recovery. Swing, then get your blade straight and central.’

Before Cassius could raise the sword, Simo stepped out of the kitchen. ‘Sir, a note from Governor Calvinus. He wants to see you.’

‘Now?’

‘It says immediately.’

Cassius stood alone in the Table Room, helmet under his arm, waiting. Given the speed at which events had developed, he’d hoped to get away without seeing Calvinus, though he’d planned to leave an appropriately regretful note. He wished he was back at the villa. The governor would be angry, he was sure of it.

He heard footsteps and voices. The men came closer, then stopped in the corridor, just out of sight.