The Imperial Banner (20 page)

Cassius was used to being looked at. He was taller and more handsome than most men; and his skin was at least three shades lighter than most people east of Rome. He was also often required to wear an officer’s helmet with a scarlet crest and – now – carry a three-foot ceremonial spear-head. Though neither was in evidence today, he was still being stared at long after the meeting had started.

On some occasions, the trappings of authority could be extremely useful. Rich, colourful clothing caught the eye and impressed the lower classes; and provincials in particular were often awed by anything that resembled a staff or rod, associating it as they did with the divine. But today Cassius wanted to seem as approachable as possible, and he was working hard to maintain a friendly, open expression on his face.

He’d hoped Dacien would speak right away but the village elders – a greying quartet who seemed to make their considered utterances at half speed – had insisted on waiting for a few latecomers. An argument had then ensued about the issues to be discussed; and this was only coming to an end now because everyone had been allowed their say.

At least fifty people – mostly men – had crowded into the courtyard of a house two along from Dacien’s. The elders sat on chairs facing the rest of the villagers. Cassius and Dacien stood to their left, waiting their turn. Simo, Indavara and the guide were leaning against the wall at the back.

At last, Dacien was permitted to speak. He stepped forward and began.

Cassius made no attempt to understand the Aramaic; he simply observed the reaction of the locals. There were a lot of frowns, more interrogative stares for him and a good many hushed conversations. When Dacien finished a few of the men shook their heads or shrugged. No one raised a hand or said anything. The ex-legionary waited a while longer then walked back to Cassius.

‘It may be that no one wants to speak
here
. They might come to us later.’

‘Or it may be that nobody saw anything,’ Cassius replied dourly.

‘Are you sure you don’t want me to take you out to the north – search for the trail?’

Cassius nodded at a large puddle in the corner of the courtyard.‘After that much rain? It lasted most of the night. The ground will be sodden for miles around.’

‘Let’s go back to the house. It’ll take a little time for you to pack up. You never know, someone might come along.’

‘The men I’m after were trying not to be seen,’ replied Cassius. ‘It shouldn’t surprise me that they weren’t.’

He and Dacien passed the rows of seated villagers. Indavara, Simo and the old Syrian followed them out under an archway to a paved area next to the house. Four teenage lads were sitting there, spinning coins to see whose would last longest. As Cassius passed them, two of the coins struck each other. One spun away and was caught. The other came to a stop by Cassius’s boot. It took him moment to register the fact that he’d seen two crossed swords. He took another pace before stopping.

The others halted as he picked up the coin. It was thin, brass and very familiar-looking.

‘Give me those others,’ he told the boys.

Dacien translated, then took the coins and showed them to Cassius. None featured the crossed swords. Cassius delved into the little cloth money bag he kept tied to his belt. It took him a while to find the coin from the crypt floor; it was buried under the larger and heavier denarii. He compared it to the boy’s coin. They were roughly the same size; but then again so were most sesterces.

The obverse of the new coin was again extremely worn, with only a trace of the Emperor’s neck and chin visible. But above the swords on the reverse, part of a word could be seen. The crossed swords clearly symbolised a victorious battle but this design was common on many denominations from many periods. He needed to know which battle it commemorated.

He held it up to the light. Much of the lettering was worn but both the first and last letters were A. The fifth letter was an X.

‘Artaxata – capital of Armenia. There were several battles there. But which?’

He looked again at the coin from the crypt. In the bright midday sun, he could just make out the last two letters of the Emperor’s name.

‘U – S.’

He showed it to Simo. ‘You agree?’

‘Yes, sir. U – S.’

‘Are you trying to work out the Emperor?’ asked Dacien.

Cassius didn’t answer. He was searching his memory; remembering his history lessons, and a papyrus sheet covered with nothing but dates and emperors’ names.

‘That coin’s at least fifty years old,’ continued Dacien. ‘Perhaps Macrinus? Pupenius? Balbinus? Could be any of them.’

‘It could,’ said Cassius. ‘But I think I know which it is.’

He held up the coin again.

‘See how small the U and the S are, how far they are around the side of the coin. A long name. Marcus Aurelius.’

Then he held up both coins.

‘These are actually over a hundred years old. They commemorate the capture of Artaxata under Marcus Aurelius. And when they were minted, they looked exactly the same.’

‘So what?’ said Indavara. ‘I thought we were hunting men, not coins.’

‘They had some of these with them,’ replied Cassius. ‘A lot actually. Dacien, ask the boys where they got this.’

The youngest lad spoke up.

‘He says the river,’ Dacien explained moments later. ‘But he means the old water channel.’

‘Where is it?’

‘North-west of the village.’

‘And when did he find it?’

‘This morning. Says the rain must have washed it down.’

‘How far away is this channel?’

‘Two or three miles.’

Cassius clinked the coins together, then looked at Indavara and grinned. ‘I’m glad I listened to you.’

With the young lad running ahead, Cassius and his four companions rode over a low ridge and down towards level ground. They had packed up quickly and were only momentarily delayed by the boy’s father, who’d demanded payment for his son’s help. Only some harsh words from Dacien had stopped the rest of the local youngsters from trailing the party out of Ethusa. Cassius dropped back a little so he could watch Indavara. He had given him a few pointers that morning, and although the bodyguard had grumbled at almost every instruction, he was already sitting higher in the saddle and making better use of his reins.

The water channel was easy to see. It cut a line north to south across the plain in front of them. Two miles to the north was a small bridge; to the south the channel ran for a similar distance before disappearing under a large structure with half its walls missing. According to Dacien, this had once been a minor legionary fortress, abandoned over a century ago. As they reached the bottom of the slope, the boy spoke up and pointed at the channel.

Dacien called back to Cassius. ‘Somewhere there. He’s not exactly sure where.’

‘You can send him home now,’ said Cassius.

The lad looked disappointed when he was told; and he trudged back past them, head down.

Cassius brought up his horse a few yards from the channel. It was about six feet wide and four deep, lined by pale clay bricks. There was little more than a trickle of water running.

‘It’s upstream we’re interested in,’ he told the others. ‘Towards the bridge. We are looking for any clue, however small – might even be another coin. Simo, you and Indavara take this side. Tell the old boy too. Dacien and I will cover the other side.’

Indavara frowned. ‘How will you get your—’

‘What a keen student you are,’ interrupted Cassius. ‘Already eager to see lesson number two. Observe!’

With a roar, Cassius kicked hard against the horse’s flanks. As it charged away, he whipped the reins across the back of its head, feeling the wind in his ears. Despite the wet ground, he was confident the animal was strong and sure-footed enough. He yanked the reins left.

‘Yah!’

They took off two yards short of the channel’s edge but cleared it with ease. The horse landed solidly and cantered on before slowing.

‘Good girl.’

Cassius patted the animal’s neck as he guided it back to the channel; then let it settle into a walk while he kept his eyes fixed downward.

They had covered at least a mile before he saw something worthy of investigation. He dismounted and clambered down into the channel. There was perhaps half an inch of water flowing here; and floating on the surface were tiny pieces of something black. Cassius placed his hand in front of one and it stuck to his finger. He was still examining it when the others caught up.

‘Cloth or some other material – burned to a crisp.’ He waited a while but nothing more floated down. ‘Probably nothing. Take my horse, Dacien.’

Cassius set off up the channel on foot, which not only gave him a better view of the water, but also provided a much needed break from riding.

Another half-mile, and he’d seen nothing but a few more of the black flakes. It was Indavara who saw the coin.

‘There!’

The bodyguard jumped down, then picked it up and threw it to Cassius. Both sides were relatively unscathed. It was a different design, issued under the Emperor Septimus Severus. The obverse showed the Emperor himself, the reverse the prow of a ship.

‘Not as old, but it could easily have come from the same haul.’ Cassius put the coin in his money bag as he walked past Indavara. ‘Well spotted.’

Cassius increased his pace. He spied more of the black flakes before eventually reaching an obstacle. Someone – probably the village children – had filled a section of the channel with branches. Cassius hauled himself out and waited for the others, who were now twenty yards behind. He looked north. The bridge was only half a mile away now and he saw there was something else in the channel just in front of it. The branches had obscured it before.

Shielding his eyes from what was now a bright sun, Cassius walked on, staring at the shape. It was dark and uneven, and big enough to fill the entire channel. Sunlight glinted off something metallic.

Cassius ran back to Dacien and took the reins of his horse without a word. He swung up into the saddle and swiftly pressed the horse into a gallop. As they sped north, his eyes never left the shape. Despite the wind generated by his speed, a sweet, sickly odour grew stronger with every step. By the time he neared the bridge and dismounted, he was no longer looking at one shape, but many.

The burned and badly decomposing bodies of at least ten men had been dumped into the channel. They lay on top of each other, bloated limbs obscenely intertwined. Underneath lay a stack of wood, only half of which had burned away: an unsuccessful attempt to incinerate the corpses. The briefest glance at the close-cropped hair and muscular physiques of the men was all the confirmation Cassius needed.

‘Gods, the smell,’ said Dacien when he arrived.

Simo and Indavara stared at the pile of bodies. The old Syrian backed away.

‘Where’s he going?’ Cassius asked.

The goat-herder mumbled something.

‘He’s scared. Wants to leave,’ said Dacien.

‘We may need him yet.’

‘I know this area better than he does,’ said the ex-legionary. ‘Why not let him go?’

The Syrian was still retreating, taking his pony with him. Judging by the muddy state of the ground, Cassius could see that the rain had been just as strong in this area. The chances of them picking up the trail again were negligible.

‘Very well. Tell him to take his mount for the rest of his payment.’

Once told, the guide nodded to Cassius, then set off.

‘Dacien, if you’re willing, I’ll need your help here. Some grisly work, I’m afraid.’

‘I’ve seen enough to know you’re a man who rewards those who lend assistance. Whatever you need.’

Cassius squeezed his nostrils between finger and thumb, as if this might somehow reduce the smell. He waved Simo and Indavara forward.

‘I’ve already told you these men were escorting a precious cargo. They were legionaries. And there was one Service man with them. The coins were used to cover the cargo which was carried in barrels on the cart. Evidently they were attacked. We must try to work out how and by whom. Understood?’

The three men nodded.

‘Let’s get to it then. Simo, tether the horses together, then find the notes I took at Palmyra.’

Cassius pulled out his handkerchief and tied it around his neck to cover his nose and mouth. He led Indavara and Dacien back to the bodies.

‘By Jupiter,’ said Dacien. ‘They could at least have burned them properly. This is barbaric.’

‘Actually, it’s most fortunate that they didn’t,’ said Cassius. ‘We must take each body out and lay them up here. I must examine each one.’

The uppermost bodies were almost level with the top of the channel. Indavara took off his sword belt, placed it carefully on the ground and reached for the blackened ankle of the nearest corpse.

‘Somebody help me.’

Cassius was relieved when Dacien stepped forward but he reminded himself that he’d seen plenty of dead men before. He had picked them up and loaded them on to carts and buried them. He could handle this.

With Indavara holding one leg, Dacien the other, they heaved the corpse towards them. It slid over another, opening a wide rent in the dead legionary’s side. The flesh peeled open, releasing a seething mass of white maggots.

Cassius staggered away and threw up. Two years suddenly seemed like a long time.

Simo approached the channel slowly, carrying Cassius’s satchel. When he saw the full horror of what lay there, he covered his mouth with his hand and looked away. Cassius – drinking from his canteen – heard him recite a quiet prayer.

‘Little late for that,’ he said. ‘Put my satchel down there. Then you’ll have to help, I’m afraid.’

‘Sir, I’m not sure I can.’

‘The sooner it’s done the sooner we can get out of here.’

With help from Dacien, Indavara hauled the corpse off the pile and on to the ground.

‘Nothing to fear from a dead man,’ he said evenly.

‘Come on,’ Cassius told Simo. He reached down and gripped the legionary’s tunic at the shoulder. ‘You take the other side.’

They dragged the body out of the way and laid it out flat. Indavara and Dacien were already on to the next one.