The Imperial Banner (15 page)

Lollius sighed. ‘Very well. We’ll go out first thing tomorrow, grain man. I’ll bring the sentry along too. You should go and see the prefect now. He has a drink with the tribunes most evenings and he won’t want you around for that. Too many awkward questions.’

Cassius followed Lollius out into the courtyard. They were met by the bizarre sight of Simo and Indavara helping Legionary Faustus with his weeding. All three of them stopped when they saw they were being watched.

Lollius frowned. ‘Why are you helping him?’

‘Yes,’ added Cassius. ‘Why
are
you helping him?’

‘It’s a big job, sir,’ said Simo flatly.

‘I like to keep busy,’ said Indavara, shrugging.

Lollius shook his head, then marched away across the courtyard.

‘Don’t let that wine get too hot,’ ordered Venator.

An aged servant hurried over to the brazier and moved the pan to one side. Cassius was standing in a corner with his hands behind his back, waiting for the prefect to finish some paperwork. He watched as the servant returned to the prefect’s bed, and continued to dress it with freshly laundered cotton sheets. The bed was huge, with ornate wooden posts at each corner; and the tent was filled with other hefty items of furniture. Cassius wondered how many carts were needed to transport the prefect’s belongings.

Venator dropped his pen, leaned back and yawned. He stood up and walked over to three couches that had been arranged in a U. Cassius followed him there and waited as the prefect kicked off his sandals and lay down, propping a fine red cushion under his head.

‘Sit, Corbulo, sit.’

Cassius sat in the middle of a couch opposite the prefect and tried to look relaxed. Nothing was said while the servant moved two tables within easy reach and brought them each a cup of wine. The prefect took a long, slow sip.

‘Ah, yes. My one real pleasure of the day. Well, anything to report?’

‘I’ve started going through the legionary records, sir, but nothing stands out so far. Quartermaster Lollius has just shown me the temple. In the morning he’s going to take me out on the Antioch road with the sentry who last saw Gregorius and the legionaries.’

‘And any thoughts about what may have happened?’

Cassius had already decided to be honest and frank with Venator. Though the slim possibility remained that he or one or more of his men were somehow involved in the theft, his material help might prove crucial; and his experience and position made him a valuable source of advice.

‘The way I see it, sir, there are three possibilities. One: someone who knew about the flag and the treasure arranged for the cart to be ambushed. The motive might be simple monetary gain or political advantage – if they knew of the banner’s significance.’

Venator nodded. ‘Go on.’

‘Two: some other, unexpected fate befell them. They ran into Palmyrans, locals, who knows? Three: someone within the group is responsible.’

Cassius knew how Quartermaster Lollius would have responded to the last of the three alternatives but Venator was rather more circumspect. The prefect sat up a little higher and ran his fingers through his soft, white hair.

‘I’ve little time for Abascantius but he’s no fool. I can’t believe he would assign such a task to a man he didn’t absolutely trust. As for the legionaries, well, I’ve as many rogues in my ranks as any prefect – you yourself can attest to that – but the ten we gave Gregorius are not among them. Even if one or two found out what was inside those barrels and concocted some scheme, I don’t see how they could have overpowered the others. These men are veterans. Heroes.’

‘How dangerous are the lands between here and Antioch, sir?’

‘Safer than they’ve been in several years, but there are Palmyran irregulars still scattered around, not to mention the odd gang of brigands between towns. It’s possible Gregorius ran into trouble, but it would have taken a strong, well-organised force to get the better of them, I can tell you that much. Which leaves your first possibility.’

Cassius nodded and drank some wine.

‘Someone with prior knowledge of the operation,’ added the prefect. ‘Marcellinus and the members of his council. Plus myself, Lollius and Tarquinius of course.’

Cassius decided he could conclude little from the cool manner in which the prefect had unabashedly named himself as a suspect.

‘And the Service itself of course, sir. I’m not sure if Abascantius has involved anyone other than Gregorius and myself. And then there’s the imperial post. I wanted to ask: how secure is it?’

‘Well, code is usually used for important communiques.’

‘How exactly does that work?’

‘You really are new to all this, aren’t you. Amandio!’ The slave shuffled over to them. ‘Bring me the largest box from the top shelf.’ Venator turned back to Cassius. ‘There is a standard cipher book with about two hundred different codes in it.’

Cassius had heard of these books but never seen one.

Venator continued: ‘On one of the first occasions I met Abascantius, we agreed verbally which cipher we would use but made no written record of it. From then on, anything either of us deemed to be sensitive would be written in that code. Common practice.’

As Amandio returned with the wooden box, Venator directed him to Cassius. The servant placed the box on the floor and opened the lid. Inside was a single leather-bound book. Cassius picked it up and opened it. On each page was a different code: some used numbers assigned to letters, others used a formula or symbols.

‘These books are all the same?’

‘Yes. They’re issued from Rome.’

‘But anyone with a copy could simply go through all the codes – if they wanted to decipher a certain letter.’

‘Yes, but they’re very hard to get hold of. Plus the army and the Security Service vet and monitor the couriers very closely. There have been incidents in the past of course, but nothing in this province that I can recall.’

Cassius replaced the book in the box and the servant took it away.

‘Sir, there might be another angle to all this. Some of Zenobia’s people must have known about the contents of the crypt. If any of them are still at large, then they might be responsible.’

Venator thought about this for a moment.

‘The queen kept much of her wealth with her; a good deal of it was captured at Emesa. The fact that the banner and the rest of the treasure were left here might indicate she didn’t know about them.’

‘Or that she did and they were being kept secret and safe – some kind of bargaining tool for dealing with the Persians.’

‘Possibly.’

‘And what of her courtiers, sir? Ministers? They were all killed?’

‘Her most trusted aide was Cassius Longinus. I believe Zenobia tried to blame him and the others for instigating the revolt. They were all put on trial and executed.’

‘But someone who knew of the banner may have survived, or passed on that knowledge.’

‘If they already knew of it, why not recover the flag and the treasure earlier?’

Cassius shrugged. More questions. No answers.

‘Sir, is there anyone left in the city who might be able to help us with this?’

‘Some of those working with us now were fairly high up in the queen’s administration. I’ll make some enquiries tomorrow.’

The oil lamps flared and fizzled as someone entered the tent. Cassius and Venator turned to see Lollius lowering a flap of canvas. He looked hot and unhappy.

‘You have them?’ Venator asked.

Lollius nodded.

Venator stood and put on his sandals.

‘Amandio. My cape.’

Shaking his head impatiently as the old man struggled with a drawer, Venator hurried across and took the cape out himself. He threw it over his shoulders and finished off his wine.

‘Come, Corbulo.’

Venator stopped close to the entrance and selected a long leather riding crop from a cylindrical wooden case. Cassius had a good idea who might be outside. He felt sick. As he exited the tent behind the prefect and Lollius, six legionaries were just being dismissed by a tall centurion. Four soldiers remained, standing in a row behind three prisoners. The Celts were down on their knees, manacled at the wrists and ankles.

Estan looked up at Cassius. His pale eyes bored into Cassius’s with unalloyed rage. His chin was bruised and one side of his jaw seemed to be hanging at a strange angle.

‘I thought there were four,’ said Venator.

‘One of them fainted when we grabbed him out of bed,’ explained Lollius. ‘Apparently he caught a stool in the head from the bodyguard. He’s in the infirmary under guard.’

‘Sounds like you’ve got a good man there, Corbulo,’ said Venator. ‘Not that you should have needed protection from men drawing a wage from imperial coffers. This is definitely them?’

Cassius thought it unlikely that he would ever forget Estan’s face but he double-checked the other two to make sure.

‘Yes, sir.’

Venator turned back to the quartermaster. ‘And what about the others from the inn – the auxiliaries who stood by?’

‘Enquiries are being made, sir.’

Estan mumbled something.

Venator slashed the riding crop across his shoulder.

‘Not a word, you dog! Not a single bloody word.’

Spit from Venator’s mouth landed on Estan’s face and on Cassius’s arm. Estan bowed his head. The crop had torn straight through his tunic, leaving a livid welt on the skin.

Venator turned to Cassius. ‘They’ll face a proper tribunal later in the week. Flogging, I should think. But I didn’t want you to miss an opportunity for recompense.’

Cassius was nodding, but all he could think of was what exactly the prefect meant by recompense.

‘You men are Caledonians, I gather,’ said Venator, now pacing slowly in front of them. ‘Well, this man is an officer of the Roman Army. Which means he is worth ten of you. And which means that if you ever encounter him – or indeed any other officer – you should show nothing other than deference, obedience and loyalty. Clear?’

The other two Celts nodded. They had also been beaten about the face.

‘Speak.’

‘Yes, sir,’ the men answered in Latin.

Estan remained silent and still, staring blankly ahead.

‘By Mars, he’s a stubborn one, isn’t he, Lollius?’

‘Like a mule, sir. Like a stupid Caledonian mule.’

‘Well, we need to hear him say it too. Let’s see if he can be persuaded.’

Venator handed Cassius the riding crop. The handle was warm.

Cassius took it, but he had his excuses ready. ‘Sir, I would prefer to allow military justice to take its course. I thank you for taking this action on my behalf, but I—’

‘On your behalf? No, Corbulo, you misunderstand. This is about discipline. Or rather indiscipline. They must be made to understand the error of their ways. They must be made examples of.’

Venator waved a hand towards the Celts. ‘Go ahead. They tried to murder you, man.’

Cassius looked over at Lollius. There was a faint smile as he wiped at his weeping eye. The tall centurion was watching keenly too. Cassius approached Estan.

‘Leave him until last,’ ordered Venator.

Cassius moved on to one of the other Celts. The auxiliary bowed his head. Cassius tried to think of the inn, what they’d done to him, the pain. He tried to channel all the anger and frustration of the day, and suddenly he was lashing out, striking the man about the head and the shoulders.

‘Come on!’ yelled Lollius. ‘I bet you hit your horse twice as hard.’

Cassius’s next blow hit the man on the arm.

‘Draw blood at least,’ snapped Venator.

Cassius unleashed a final blow across the man’s head. The Celt cried out.

‘Better, better,’ said Venator.

Cassius lowered the crop to his side. He couldn’t bear to look at the man.

‘Finished already?’ Venator asked as Cassius moved past Estan.

‘It’s enough, sir.’

Venator bent over in front of the first Celt. ‘Let’s have an apology to the officer then.’

‘Sorry, sir,’ said the auxiliary.

This time Cassius made sure he put enough into the attack to keep it quick. He hit the second man hard three times; once across the head, twice across the shoulder. At the third blow, the Celt fell on to his side with a whimper. The centurion righted him by pulling him up by his hair. Cassius felt a thick bile rising up his throat. He coughed to clear it. The centurion laughed.

‘I do believe he’s going green.’

Lollius chuckled, as did a couple of the legionaries.

Venator held up a finger, quietening them all in an instant. He peered down at the auxiliary.

‘Well, that’s a quarter of what I’d give him but I suppose it will have to do.’ He slapped the Celt across the nose and pointed to Cassius. ‘Your turn.’

‘Sorry, sir.’

‘Good. You can take these two to the stockade now. Leave this fellow with us.’

The centurion ordered his men to get the prisoners on their feet, then the seven of them walked away along the avenue.

‘Now, Corbulo,’ said Venator. ‘You are not to stop until we get an apology from this one too.’

From what he’d seen of Estan, Cassius dreaded to think what might be required to get him to cooperate.

‘Sir, please. I’m not sure what purpose this serves.’

Venator frowned. ‘You should be thanking me for this, Corbulo. You have caused us considerable inconvenience today.’

Cassius bowed. ‘I do thank you, sir, I do.’

‘I know you’re not a real army officer but I think you need to face some harsh realities. The field is no place for half-measures. This man tried to kill you. What did you think we would do?’

‘I don’t know, sir.’

‘We will get that apology. There are other methods we can use. Isn’t that right, Quartermaster?’

‘Tried and tested methods, sir,’ said Lollius, tapping a thumb against the hilt of his dagger.

‘You seem to prefer talking to doing, Corbulo,’ continued Venator. ‘Why don’t you try to persuade him?’

Cassius could still not quite believe how the prefect had been considered and urbane one moment, thuggish and cruel the next. He took a breath, and locked eyes with Estan.

‘Just say it, man. Save yourself the pain. Just apologise.’