The Imperial Banner (11 page)

Cassius laughed; and wondered how many times a day Telesinus trotted that one out.

‘What are you drinking, sir?’

‘Well, I don’t really have the time but I suppose I must follow the rules of the house. Half and half. Something decent. Hot.’

‘Coming up.’

Telesinus wiped his hands on his apron and selected a wine bottle from a long shelf, then tipped some into a wooden mug. Finding the hatch untended, he reached inside and topped the wine up with hot water.

‘There you go, sir – a light Galician. Some sausage? Goes well.’

Cassius investigated the plate Telesinus had retrieved from behind the bar. The meat looked edible but his policy was always to let Simo make or choose his food.

‘No thank you. Listen, I’m supposed to be meeting someone here. Any strangers been in?’

‘Just you,’ said the owner with a grin, moving off.

Though he didn’t want to leave Simo alone outside for long, Cassius took a moment to enjoy being still. He sampled the wine. Bitter but passable. He glanced over at the auxiliaries and saw a legend engraved on one of their mugs:
Fill it up again!
Judging by their inability to form coherent sentences, Telesinus had obliged. Cassius felt a light touch on his shoulder, and turned to find one of the serving girls beside him.

‘Hello,’ she said in Greek. Her voice was soft, her accent hard.

‘Hello.’

Cassius looked her up and down. She was about his age: slim and pretty, and wearing a tunic short enough to reveal a shapely pair of legs and tight enough to outline a fine pair of breasts. If not for her dirty fingernails and the faint whiff of sweat, Cassius might have found her rather attractive. She ran a finger along his forearm.

‘I’m Sabina. What’s your name?’

‘Cassius.’

Thanks to one of his more free-spirited uncles, Cassius had a little experience of such hostelries; and the girls who worked there. He was certain she would offer more than table service if the price was right. Sabina brushed her left breast against him.

‘You smell nice, Cassius. And I like your hair.’

‘I’m sure I look a complete mess. I’ve been on the move since breakfast.’

‘You look fine to me.’

Despite a pang of guilt about what his mother would say if she could see him, Cassius admitted to himself that it was rather nice to have a little female company.

‘How tall are you?’ asked Sabina.

He shrugged. ‘Tall.’

Over her shoulder, Cassius noted one of the auxiliaries nudge his friend. The second man looked annoyed.

‘Hey!’ he yelled. ‘I gave you a good tip. Now you run off and leave me.’

Sabina rolled her eyes and spoke without turning round. ‘That was an hour ago!’

‘Get back here, you cheeky cow, or you’ll not get another!’

Cassius moved his head forward so that the Celt couldn’t see him speak. ‘And people say northerners are coarse . . .’

Sabina giggled and ran a hand across his knee.

‘What’s that?’ demanded the auxiliary.

Cassius leaned back and kept a straight face as he took another sip of wine.

‘Not bad this,’ he said, holding up the glass to Telesinus.

‘You’d best hurry, girl!’ shouted the Celt.

Cassius removed Sabina’s hand from his leg and nodded towards the auxiliaries. ‘Perhaps you better—’

‘I’m staying here!’ she yelled, spinning round and placing a defiant hand on her hip. ‘Where I can talk to this nice
Roman
!’

The Celt, whose chiselled features were surrounded by an unruly tangle of sandy hair, glared at her.

Cassius caught his eye, then shrugged.

‘Pah!’ With a dismissive wave, the Celt turned back to the table and refilled his mug.

Sabina smiled gleefully. ‘Good. Now we can talk. Will you buy me a lemon water?’

‘Very well.’

Sabina leaned over the bar and ordered it. ‘Honey too, please.’

Telesinus reached for a clean glass.

Cassius nodded towards the Celts again. ‘Looks like he’s given up. You know these bowmen have remarkably strong wrists. I suppose if he can’t find any pleasure with you, one of his friends can oblige.’

Sabina’s throaty laugh was so obviously tinged with mockery that Cassius knew instantly he had made a mistake.

Stool legs screeched as the Celt sprang to his feet.

‘What was that?’ he demanded, striding towards the bar. ‘What did you say, Roman?’

‘Calm down, Estan,’ said Telesinus.

Cassius turned to the Celt, who had stopped a yard away. He really was quite large: as tall as Cassius, with a remarkably sturdy chest and a thick neck. Intricate, dark green tattoos snaked up his forearms.

‘You said something about me. Admit it.’

‘Not I,’ Cassius said, with what he hoped was an appeasing grin. ‘Please, let me buy you a drink.’

Estan hunched forward, eyes locked on Cassius. ‘Tell me what you said.’

‘Just a common joke: there’s a Greek, a Carthaginian and a—’

The Celt poked Sabina in the shoulder. ‘You tell me.’

‘Why should I?’

Estan plucked a silver denarius from a bag attached to his belt and held it up to the girl’s face. The other Celts and the serving girls had gathered behind him. Even the six drunks had quietened down. Sabina looked at the coin, then back at Cassius.

‘Don’t,’ he said.

‘Keep your mouth shut, girl,’ warned Telesinus, walking around the end of the bar.

Sabina shrugged and took the coin. Then she told the Celt what Cassius had said.

The dark auxiliaries erupted into a fit of hysterics.

‘You silly little bitch,’ Cassius snapped.

Estan breathed in sharply through his nostrils and raised himself to his full height. One of his fellows spat on the floor by Cassius’s feet.

‘Now wait a moment,’ Cassius said. Before he could move, Estan swung a boot at the high stool. As it flew away, Cassius dropped like a stone, catching his head on the bar and landing heavily on the floor. Rubbing his head, he got to his feet and backed towards the other auxiliaries.

‘You men, I am an officer of the Roman Army. You must help me.’

One of the soldiers stood and saluted. ‘At once, sir!’

Cassius was all set to move behind him when the man sat down again and bellowed with laughter. The others joined in.

Cassius pointed to his tunic. ‘I am an officer. It is your duty to assist me.’

One of the men tilted his mug towards the Celts. ‘We know them. We don’t know you. We’re not Roman.’

‘I command you to help me.’

‘Somebody hear something?’ replied one of the men.

‘Not me,’ said another.

‘You haven’t heard the last of this,’ Cassius told them.

‘You won’t be in a state to tell anyone anything,’ said one of the Celts.

Telesinus moved in front of Cassius. Sabina was now crying. Her employer pushed her over to where the other girls stood.

‘That’s enough, Estan,’ he said. ‘You—’

Telesinus never finished the sentence.

Estan barged him aside, stomped forward and drove both hands into Cassius’s chest, propelling him across the room. Cassius’s legs buckled as he hit a table, flew over the top of it and landed in a heap next to the wall. Though his shoulder now blazed with pain, he forced himself up straight away. He had to stay on his feet; if they got him on the ground he was finished. He reached instinctively for his dagger, then remembered it wasn’t there.

Why had he said that stupid quip? Why?

He glanced across at the door.

‘No you don’t.’

One of the Celts blocked his way.

Cassius held up his hands. ‘I apologise unreservedly. It was a harmless joke.’

‘How you Romans love to mock us,’ said Estan. ‘We’re good enough to kill for you and die for you but not good enough to earn your respect.’

Telesinus intervened once more. ‘That’ll do, Estan. You’ve had your fun.’

‘Skinny here seems very interested in how strong we are. I think it’s time for a little demonstration.’

Cassius decided to make a dash for the door anyway. He had barely taken a step before Estan grabbed his left arm and swung him back against the wall. The Celt gave an order in his own language and two of the others darted forward and took hold of Cassius. With a sly smile, Estan bent down and picked up Cassius’s cape from where it had fallen to the floor. He stretched it out, doubled it over, then began twisting the ends. Cassius tried to shake himself free but now both his arms were pinned to the wall.

‘I have money,’ he said, nodding down at his belt.

‘So have I,’ said Estan. ‘I don’t want your money. What I want is for you to understand the consequences of insulting the men of Caledonia. When this is done, I think you will.’

Estan had finished twisting the cape and he now looped it over Cassius’s head, crossing the ends in front of his neck. The other men took an end each and kept one hand on Cassius’s shoulders.

Cassius knew he had to call for help while he still could.

‘Simo! Simo!’

Estan nodded. The men pulled tighter and the cotton cut into Cassius’s neck. He tried to draw breath but no air came. He reached for the cape but Estan sent a knuckled punch straight down on to his right wrist. Cassius would have cried out had he been able.

Estan spoke again. The pressure eased.

‘Now listen. There is something I want you to say: “My name is Skinny. I am a Roman and I am nothing.”’

Through the fear and pain, Cassius was surprised to hear his reaction.

‘By Mars you’ll pay for this. I am an officer of the Imperial Army and I am here to—’

With a nod from Estan the two men pulled again.

‘No, no, no,’ replied the Celt. ‘That’s not what I said. You must repeat it exactly: My name is Skinny. I am a Roman and I am nothing.’

The cape slackened again.

‘I am here to see—’

Estan slapped him. ‘I might have to change your name to Stupid.’

Cassius coughed. Spit ran down his chin. Tears ran down his cheeks.

The Celts laughed, even as Telesinus again implored them to stop. Estan told the others to pull harder.

Cassius could feel the cape cutting into his skin. His windpipe felt like a stone being pushed into his throat. He was choking.

Why had he come in here alone?

Now he was going to die here. The cape bit at his neck. Black mist edged across his vision. He was choking.

‘Do you have my money?’

Cassius didn’t understand.
They didn’t want money, did they?

‘Are you Corbulo? Do you have my money?’

It was a different voice; a new voice.
Who here knew his name?
Cassius wanted to speak but he couldn’t.

‘You Corbulo?’

The black mist was now a cloud. All the light had gone. He nodded.

‘Do you have my money?’

Cassius nodded again. The pressure on his neck eased. Light flooded back into his eyes.

Behind Estan was a well-built young man with what looked like half an ear.

The fourth Celt realised quickly that the interloper was to be considered an enemy and attacked right away.

He lined up his foe and swung a boot.

Pivoting to his left, Indavara waited until the boot was sailing harmlessly past him then gripped the heel and wrenched it forward, pulling the Celt off his standing foot. The auxiliary slipped easily on the smooth stone floor and fell on his backside. Indavara stamped down hard on his groin, twisting his boot in for good measure.

The ensuing high-pitched scream was enough to bring Telesinus’s wife and the doorman running in. Telesinus warned them to stay clear as Estan turned to face Indavara. The other two let go of Cassius and fanned out behind their leader.

The folds of the cape were still stuck to Cassius’s neck. He was too busy pulling it off and sucking in air to notice much of what happened next.

Indavara had hated having to leave his weapons by the door but he was not slow to improvise. As the three men closed, he retreated and picked up a small but sturdy stool and held it in his right hand.

Estan muttered something; the three Celts advanced.

Wielding the stool above his shoulder, as if preparing to defend himself with it, Indavara swung it back then launched it at the man to Estan’s right. It caught him high on the forehead with a sharp crack. The Celt staggered for a moment, mouth wide, then toppled like a felled tree, bringing down several shelves.

With a quick look at his injured comrades, Estan picked up a hefty chair and launched it across the room.

Indavara stuck two hands up and caught it.

To his credit, Estan didn’t let this feat put him off. He charged.

Indavara flung the chair back – at the Celt’s ankles. Estan tripped and stumbled, doubling over as he careened forward. Indavara took a single step and drove his knee straight up into the Celt’s face, catching him full on the chin. Estan’s head crunched to one side and he crashed to the floor, his body limp.

The fourth Celt looked down at his three fallen fellows, then fled.

The serving girls were all crying, hands on their faces. Telesinus, his wife and the doorman stood in a line, watching Indavara. The woman looked down at Estan.

‘Gods, he’s killed him, hasn’t he?’

With a wary glance at Indavara, Telesinus knelt down by Estan. He put a hand to his chest.

‘He’s breathing.’

Cassius pushed himself off the wall just as Indavara’s second victim dragged himself back against it. The man looked blankly up at him, then at the hand he had just placed on his head. It was wet with blood.

Indavara walked past his first victim. The man was writhing around on the floor, clasping his groin and moaning.

Indavara glanced at Cassius and gestured towards the door.

Cassius nodded; and they left.

Cassius walked towards the encampment with his head down, ignoring the legionaries and locals they passed, wholly occupied with trying to ascertain exactly how much damage had been done to his neck. It still felt horribly constricted and there was a rasping pain when he talked. Despite the presence of this bodyguard (who at least seemed well qualified to do the job), Cassius wouldn’t feel safe until he was inside the camp. He couldn’t believe such a thing was possible so close to a legion base. He felt angry and stupid; and his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.