The Imperial Banner (27 page)

Cassius was curious about how deep the shaft was, so he slid one of the burning branches out of the torch and dropped it. It fell so far that he couldn’t tell whether it had hit the bottom or the flame had simply gone out.

‘Indavara, watch yourself. They’re very deep.’

‘This one’s not. I think there’s something down here.’

Cassius hurried over to him. ‘What do you mean?’

‘The smell. Like before.’

Cassius knelt down next to him. The bodyguard was right. The smell of rotting flesh. Horribly, unmistakably human.

Cassius drew out another burning stick from his torch and threw it into the middle of the shaft. It landed about five yards down, on what looked like solid ground. They saw only soil before the flames went out. Cassius then took out a clump of branches and he made sure the whole bundle was well alight before dropping it. The bundle seemed to bounce off something before hitting the ground.

‘Oh, gods. Look there – you see it?’

‘A foot,’ answered Indavara.

They were even able to make out toes before the flame died. Cassius sat down on his backside.

‘By Mars. Another horror. I tell you, I’m not cut out for this job.’

‘What now?’

‘One of us will have to go down there. We’ll need that rope from the cavern.’

‘Not me. If the spirits are anywhere, there’ll be down there.’

‘What happened to “there’s nothing to fear from a dead man”? That’s what you said at the water channel.’

Indavara jabbed his torch towards the roof. ‘That was up there. In the light.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ll not do it.’

‘For a hired man, you seem very definite about what you will or won’t do. Isn’t it the case that you should do whatever I tell you?’

‘I’m not your manservant, or your slave. I get paid to protect you. No one said anything about this.’

Cassius looked down into the darkness. They had come so far. He couldn’t falter now.

‘All right then, will you at least fetch the rope?’

Cassius would have preferred to anchor the line to something solid but Indavara was confident he could take the weight. The bodyguard tested the rope, tied one end around his waist and dropped the rest into the shaft. He then dug out two holes with his boot, wedged his feet into them and sat down.

‘Ready,’ he said, both hands on the rope. ‘You’ll have to leave that here,’ he added, nodding at Cassius’s torch. ‘I’ll throw it to you once you’re down.’

Cassius rubbed his brow. ‘Gods, I need a drink.’

Indavara had stuck his torch into the ground by the side of the tunnel. Cassius did the same. He got down on his knees, legs astride the rope, feet hanging over the lip of the shaft. Gripping the rope with both hands, he lowered one leg. The wall of the shaft was compacted soil, but yielded enough for him to get a hold. He let his arms take his weight. The rope slipped a couple of inches.

‘What are you doing?’ he yelled.

‘Just changing my grip. Go. You’re fine.’

‘Oh. Am I? Thanks.’

Making sure his feet were secure every time he moved his hands, Cassius slowly descended. Indavara kept the rope remarkably steady, and didn’t even seem to be labouring. By the time Cassius’s head was below the lip of the shaft, there was smooth rock under his boots.

As he continued downward, the combination of complete darkness and the ever worsening smell became almost overpowering. Thoughts flashed into his head of his fingers slipping and him falling into a pile of stinking, welcoming corpses. Gripping the rope hard, he stopped.

‘You all right?’ shouted Indavara.

‘Just about.’

‘You can’t be far away now.’

Cassius’s left foot was flat against the rock wall. He dangled his right foot and it brushed against something. He lowered himself further and the foot landed on solid ground.

‘Made it.’

Cassius brought his left foot down. It landed on something soft. The something crunched. Had he been in a state to care, Cassius would have been embarrassed by the noise he made then: a curious combination of whimper and scream.

‘What is it?’ yelled Indavara.

Cassius said nothing. He pressed up against the cold wall, not daring to move.

‘Throw down the torch.’

‘Where are you?’

‘Just throw it, damn you!’

‘I don’t want to hit you.’

‘Throw it, you dolt! I’m by the wall.’

The torch landed in the middle of the shaft by a bloated, blackened face streaked with livid veins. The mouth was horribly swollen, the lips like dark slugs. Thankfully, the eyes were shut. The dead man’s hair began to smoke. The torch had set him alight.

Wincing, Cassius edged around the body until he was close enough to grab the torch; but by the time he removed it, the hair was burning. He had to scrape his boot against the head to put out the flames.

Cassius clamped a hand over his nose. He lowered the torch and forced himself to look at the body. There were no clothes to help with identification. The dead man was naked, and his belly and thighs had turned green. There were lacerations all over his throat. The unsinged hair was pale, colourless; there was no way of knowing if it had been black. Cassius couldn’t even think about going anywhere near the eyes.

‘Well?’ asked Indavara.

‘Wait.’

Cassius held the torch higher over the body, trying to guess the man’s height. Five foot seven? Possibly. What about the scar? It was supposed to be on the back of his knee. Cassius knelt by the legs. The flickering light caught the black, polished shells of moving insects. They had burrowed into the body. Cassius retched, then felt his stomach burn.

Straightening up, he spied red marks on the rock wall where he’d just been standing. At first he thought he might have made them himself and he checked his hands for blood. There was none.

He walked back around the body and held the torch close to the wall. The marks had been made with a finger, a finger soaked with blood; and they were not just marks, they were words.

A. Mallius Gregorius.

This man killed me.

Under the last phrase was a crude drawing of a hand. The thumb and two of the fingers were missing.

Cassius couldn’t bring himself to touch the body, but he checked every other inch of the pit and found nothing more. Once back up the rope, he decided they could at least give the dead agent some kind of burial. Using their daggers to dig out sections of the compacted earth, they threw down enough to cover him.

After putting out the torches in the cavern, they hurried back towards the entrance; and once they were past the shaft that had so nearly done for Cassius, Indavara ran the rest of the way. Cassius maintained just enough self-control to resist joining him, but once outside he sucked in deep, long breaths – fresh air had never tasted so good. He took his canteen off his belt and drank while Indavara told Simo what they’d found.

Standing there, he realised he was developing a genuine hatred of the mysterious band of men they had followed across the Syrian desert. It was their treatment of the legionaries, and Gregorius in particular, that enraged him. The man had simply been doing his duty, acting on the orders of the Emperor; but he had been captured, dragged around like a dog, then left to die, naked and mutilated. Cassius shuddered as he thought of him passing his last hours alone there. Had he been a family man? Was there some poor wife – children even – awaiting his return?

Cassius felt guilt too. He’d questioned the man’s loyalty yet it seemed that Abascantius’s unswerving faith had been justified. Even as he lay dying, Gregorius had recorded a crucial detail that might yet see his murderers caught. In a province where every other man was a sword-hand, two-fingered men were hardly unheard of, but it was something distinctive – something that might be remembered. A. Mallius Gregorius hadn’t died entirely in vain.

They left the mine road a few miles south of Chalcis, aiming to pick up the Antioch road heading west. The desert was behind them now, and the landscape was changing. Ahead were the limestone hills and rich, fertile land of north-western Syria. With the raised road visible in the distance, they passed through untended fields now overgrown by sprawling bushes.

Between two of these fields, they came across a rectangular area cut into the ground: fifty feet long, twenty wide. The horses seemed unnerved as they stepped down on to the shale surface of the cut. To the left, at the far end, was a dark, curiously shaped boulder. Strewn around it were animal remains and decaying flowers.

‘A sanctuary,’ said Simo, as they dismounted.

‘The rock has a face,’ said Indavara, walking towards the boulder.

‘Oh yes,’ replied the Gaul. ‘I’ve heard of these. Look – there’s the nose.’

Cassius knew there were very few such sanctuaries without a supply of water and he wasn’t disappointed. Behind the boulder was a wide stone basin full almost to the top.

‘Thank the gods. This one in particular.’

He had been desperate to clean himself properly since exiting the mine but they had only enough in their canteens to wash his hands. Discarding his sword belt, he knelt beside the basin. He was about to splash water on his face when Simo arrived with two empty canteens.

‘Please, sir. This place is sacred to whoever uses it. I don’t think you should wash here. We might take some water out though.’

Cassius paused. There was no sense in angering any gods – even local ones – if it could be avoided.

‘You’re right. Do so.’

Cassius took his satchel and sat down on the fringe of the sanctuary, which formed a convenient bench. The horses had been let free to graze. Indavara lay close by, dozing.

Once Simo had washed his hands, arms and face, Cassius took out the map and spread it across his knees. Theoretically, the cart and its precious cargo could have been taken anywhere from the mine, but Abascantius had seemed sure someone in Antioch had facilitated the theft; and for anyone wanting to ship, sell or deliver the treasure or the flag, it was the obvious destination. In any case, he needed to tell the agent what he’d found. Using his finger for scale, he estimated the remaining distance to the capital. About sixty miles.

They covered twenty-five of those that day. The going was slow to begin with – the River Chalos ran south from Chalcis, and two hours were wasted finding a circuitous route through a marsh – but by midday they were on the Antioch road, heading straight for the capital. They ate lunch at an inn, and Cassius paid one of the proprietor’s men to ride into Chalcis with Surex’s letter. He hoped the optio would get the help he needed.