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‘I assume those are bath oils?’ Cassius asked, nodding at a row of clay pots on a shelf. ‘Bring one over. Something strong.’

As Addra complied, Cassius spoke to Simo over his shoulder. ‘Gods, that smell. I believe it’s still on me.’

‘It may be me, sir,’ answered Simo.

‘Oh. Yes. Perhaps you can jump in after me, Simo.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

Cassius held out his hands and the Syrian poured yellow oil from a narrow hole in the pot. Cassius nodded when he had enough and rubbed it across his chest.

‘Where would I find this officer?’

‘Further along this street. They’ve taken over another inn.’

‘Good. Now tell me, what do you know about copper mining?’

Addra wiped sweat from his forehead as he leaned back against the bathhouse wall.

‘I am an innkeeper, sir.’

‘But copper
is
mined in this area.’

‘Chalcis rather than here – to the north.’

‘Who in Androna might know about such things? Traders? Smiths? Anyone from that area?’

While Addra thought about this, Simo took more of the perfumed oil and rubbed it into Cassius’s hair.

‘There is Karacha – supplies some of my fittings. Old iron-worker. He’d probably be able to tell you more. He’s out on the eastern edge of town.’

‘That’s a start. You can give us directions tomorrow.’

Cassius closed his eyes as Simo rinsed off his hair.

‘Is that all?’ asked Addra.

‘Yes. Goodnight.’

‘Put the fires out before you come up,’ Addra told Simo.

As he left, Cassius stood, then climbed out using the steps cut into one side of the bath. The roof was low; and he had to bow his head as Simo dried him with a towel.

‘Another nightmare of a day. I was beginning to wonder if we would ever get here.’

‘I’m not sure I shall ever forget what we saw outside that village, sir.’

‘I feared from the beginning that those poor legionaries would not be found alive. At least I have something to report to Abascantius now.’

Simo lowered Cassius’s sleeveless sleeping tunic on over his head, then slid a pair of light sandals on to his feet.

‘There you are, sir. All ready.’

‘I hope our room’s well aired. How a man can take himself off to bed in such a state I shall never know. Tomorrow imperial business shall have to take its place behind a matter of greater urgency. First order of the day: a bath for Indavara.’

‘Now tell me that doesn’t feel better,’ Cassius said as the bodyguard joined them in the courtyard for breakfast the next morning.

Indavara nodded, flicking water from his hair on to the table, before attacking a plate of bread rolls.

‘Next thing we need to work on are table manners.’

By way of response, Indavara ignored the cutlery in front of him and grabbed a handful of soft white cheese.

‘Gods, we should have put you in with the horses. It’s lucky most of the other guests have already finished.’

Cassius had decided that a lie-in was well deserved, and there was only one other occupied table: a middle-aged merchant and his wife. The morning sun had warmed the courtyard nicely; and Addra’s guard dog – a sandy, shaggy-haired beast – lay on his side at Simo’s feet. The innkeeper had done a good job of avoiding Cassius but Simo had managed to get directions to the metal-worker’s yard.

Indavara drank straight from the water jug and belched. Cassius shook his head.

‘I don’t think I can take any more of this. Grab what you want, bodyguard, we’re leaving.’

Cassius extricated himself from the bench and table. As Simo would have to carry his cape and helmet, he put the spear-head into the satchel and swung it over his shoulder. Indavara grabbed two more rolls before following the others out of the rear gate and on to a side street.They turned right, then left on to the main road.

Considering recent events, Androna and its inhabitants seemed to be doing rather well. The road and pavement were in good condition, and walking or riding along them was a healthy mix of slaves, artisans and the rich. Although there were several ramshackle wood and mud-brick dwellings, most of the buildings facing on to the street were constructed of solid basalt blocks. A few even had colonnaded doorways and coloured glass windows. In a walled enclosure between two of the more impressive villas was a fine sandstone statue of a lion.

Cassius waited for a shepherd and his flock to pass, then led the others across the road. Outside the inn Addra had mentioned was a legionary. He was standing to attention by the time Cassius reached him.

‘At ease. My name’s Corbulo, Governor’s Office.’

‘Legionary Getha, sir. First Century, Second Cohort, Sixteenth Legion.’

Cassius knew that while Venator’s Fourth Legion were in charge of securing Palmyra and the eastern frontier, three cohorts of the Sixteenth had been divided up and sent out to major settlements in central Syria. Their job was two-fold: first to gain information about the situation at each locale; second to re-establish Roman rule.

‘Who is your commanding officer?’

‘Optio Surex, sir. We have a clerk from the Governor’s Office here too. Master Lucan.’

‘Are either of them here now?’

‘Optio Surex took a squad out on patrol at dawn, sir. I’m not sure when he’ll be back.’

‘And this Lucan?’

‘Well, he is here, sir.’

‘Good, take me to him.’

Cassius stepped towards the door but Getha didn’t move.

‘What’s the problem?’

‘Well, sir . . .’

‘Is he still in bed? Drunk? With a woman?’

Getha nodded.

‘Which is it, man?’

‘All three actually, sir.’

‘By Mars, what a state of affairs. You tell this Lucan character that I’ll be back here to talk to him before midday. And he better be up – or his seniors will hear of this. Understood?’

‘Certainly, sir.’

‘By the way, you don’t know anything about copper mining, do you?’

‘No, sir.’

The iron-worker’s abode was at the end of a dusty track; and beyond it lay only desert. In the middle of the fenced rectangle of land was a small house with a roofed workshop attached to one side. Hanging askew from a post next to the gate was a painted sign:
Iron.

Just as Cassius put his hand on the gate, two dogs burst out of the house and raced across the sand. Cassius stepped back as they skidded to a stop. They were mongrel beasts, big-jawed and ugly. One barked, the other growled.

A bearded man of about sixty came out of the workshop. He shaded his eyes with his hand to peruse the strangers, then hurried over as fast as his bandy legs would carry him. He was wearing a thick leather apron over his tunic, and, as he came closer, Cassius noted his blackened, sinewy arms. The Syrian kicked one of the dogs up the backside. Surprisingly, this was enough to calm them both down.

‘Karacha?’

The iron-worker nodded.

‘You speak Greek?’

‘I do.’

‘Officer Corbulo, I’m with the Governor’s Office.’

Cassius was getting used to the expression of fear and distaste that invariably greeted this statement.

‘Don’t worry – you’re not in trouble. I just need information. I was told you might know something about copper mines in this area.’

The Syrian mulled this over for a moment.

‘Will I—’

‘Get paid? Yes, yes, will a couple of pieces of brass do you?’

Karacha undid the gate and gestured for them to enter. With wary glances at the dogs, they followed him to the workshop.

‘I must just douse a fire,’ Karacha said, hurrying to the rear of the building.

Cassius nodded at a high wooden table.

‘Clear one end of that off.’

Indavara pushed the mass of crudely cast nails, handles, hinges and belt-buckles to one end, then Simo wiped away the worst of the dirt. Cassius reached into his satchel, pulled out the map, and stretched it out on the table. He pointed to Androna, then Chalcis.

‘About forty miles north-east of here.’

Karacha arrived with his hand outstretched.

Cassius gave him one sesterce. ‘Another when I’ve finished with you. First question. Quicklime is used in mining, yes?’

Karacha tucked his thumbs into the wide pocket on the front of his apron. ‘It is. You push it into cracks, then wet it. It expands – opens fissures in the rock.’

‘It’s employed in iron and copper mining especially?’

‘Usually.’

‘Neither of which is done here.’

‘Correct. In fact I’ve not heard of an iron mine in all of Syria. All you see here came from outside the province.’

‘But there are copper mines – close to Chalcis, yes? Whereabouts?’

The Syrian jabbed a grimy finger towards the map. Cassius swiped it away.

‘Don’t touch it, man. Do you know how much one of these costs? So to the south of the city?’

‘And to the west.’

‘Are any of them close to the Antioch road?’

‘Some. There’s a track runs west off it about ten miles before Chalcis. Twisty turny old road, had to go past all the mines you see.’

‘For transport.’

Karacha nodded.

‘It’s still usable, this road?’

‘Trade pretty much died off during the war but I’d think so, yes.’

‘So some of the mines might have been abandoned?’

‘Oh, certainly. There are shafts up there older than me. Haven’t been touched in decades.’

Cassius looked up from the map. ‘Perfect: remote, quiet, but not far from the main road.’

He took a second coin from his money bag and handed it over. ‘Thank you, Karacha. You’ve been most helpful.’

They found Lucan sitting at a long table in the parlour of the inn. He offered only a cursory nod as Cassius took up a chair at the opposite end of the table and stared at him. The clerk couldn’t have been more than eighteen. His face was clammy and pale and he stank of wine. Before Cassius could say anything, a young girl came down the stairs and stuck her head through the doorway.

‘Goodbye,’ she said, before hurrying away.

Lucan looked sheepishly at Cassius, then at the spear-head he had just placed on the table.

‘Good night?’ Cassius asked.

‘I wish I could remember.’

‘Ah, the delights of life in the provinces. Simo, perhaps some water for young Master Lucan.’

Simo went over to a table in one corner of the parlour. He filled a cup and gave it to the clerk.

‘Wine for me,’ Cassius said.

Lucan flinched at the very mention of the word. Cassius smothered a grin.

‘So apart from drinking and whoring, what exactly do you do here, young sir?’

Lucan took a breath and leaned back in his chair. ‘Counting. I spend my whole time counting. How many people, how many trades, how many miles of good road, how much timber, how much grain. You name it, I count it.’

‘Then you might be of some use to me. I’m looking for a group of men who may have passed through here. About twenty of them, with a big cart laden with barrels.’

Lucan shrugged. ‘There’s not been a lot of traffic.’

‘But if someone had come here and traded some silver or gold, or—’

The heavy wooden door at the front of the inn smashed open. A legionary lurched into the parlour with his sword in his hand. He took a quick look at the other three men in the room, then grabbed Lucan by the shoulder.