The Imperial Banner (36 page)

‘Go!’ Cassius shouted, dropping his satchel. ‘Go!’

Acrid fumes filled his nose as he sprinted after Indavara. Once past the glass-blowers, they came to a wooden partition. Indavara already had his sword in his hand. Cassius drew his own blade, then followed him through the wide doorway.

On one side of the second section were boxes full of glass beads, on the other stalls full of sand. Another worker had just entered, dragging an empty hand cart. He darted out of the way as Cassius and Indavara hurried past, swords held aloft.

The last section of the factory was filled with long, high shelves laden with glassware. Beyond the narrow central aisle was open ground and, in the distance, the dye-works. Light bounced around the room, half blinding them as they charged on. There was no sign of Nabor.

Cassius glimpsed movement to his right; and suddenly one of the shelves was toppling towards them. Indavara stopped and tried to turn but Cassius ran straight into him. Before they could take another step, glass objects rained down on them. Both men got their hands up to cover their heads, but then the shelf struck, knocking them to the ground. It wasn’t heavy enough to do much damage but they landed on a floor already strewn with broken glass.

Cassius cried out. He lifted his left arm to find a triangular shard of glass protruding an inch below the veins at his wrist. He looked up and saw a lean, dark-haired man already outside and running.

Indavara grabbed the shelf with both hands and pushed it off them. He picked up his sword and darted out of the workshop after Nabor.

Cassius got to his feet and pulled out the glass, releasing a rivulet of blood. There were other, smaller fragments embedded all over his hands, arms and legs. Trying to ignore the pain, he loped outside. Nabor was already fifty yards away: he had jumped the ditch and was heading for the dye-works.

Indavara stopped at the ditch. He reached over his shoulder and pulled the bow from his back. Eyes still fixed on the fleeing figure, he plucked an arrow from the quiver.

‘Indavara! No!’

Belatedly realising he’d lost his sword, Cassius ran for the ditch.

Indavara held the bow out in front of him and fitted the arrow against the string.

Cassius splashed through a puddle.

‘Indavara! Don’t!’

The bodyguard cocked his head to one side and pulled back the string.

Nabor had reached the dye-works. He was running between two lines of women who had stopped work to stare at him.

Cassius struck Indavara’s elbow with his hand just as he released the string. With a loud twang, the arrow shot high into the sky over the road. Indavara spun round.

‘What are you doing?’ he bellowed, eyes blazing.

‘What in Hades are
you
doing?’

‘He tried to kill us!’ Indavara jabbed the bow towards the dye-works.

Nabor had just untied a horse and swung up into the saddle.

‘We need him alive.’

‘I was going for his legs.’

‘From here? You might have hit one of those women.’

‘No chance.’

They watched as Nabor kicked out at a man trying to stop him, then whipped at the horse with the reins, driving it towards the main road. Once there, he turned right in the direction of the city and within moments, both rider and horse had disappeared.

Cassius noticed a piece of green glass sticking out of Indavara’s neck just below his ear. It was moving up and down with each breath. He pointed at it.

‘Er, you have a—’

Indavara reached up and wrenched out the glass, along with a substantial chunk of skin. The wound began to bleed.

Cassius looked back at the factory. Juba and several others had gathered in the storeroom.

‘I guarantee the foreman knows where Nabor lives. If we can get an address out of him and commandeer a couple of horses, we might get to his place before he can lose us for good.’

Indavara nodded and marched back towards the workshop, holding the bow in one hand.

‘Just remember – nothing too excessive,’ Cassius said as he hurried after him.

There were eight workers with Juba. They all watched Indavara approach. Without breaking stride, he whipped one end of the bow against Juba’s arm. The foreman cried out as he fell to the ground. The workers scattered. All except one man: a broad fellow still holding his iron pipe.

‘Juba’s my brother,’ he said as he moved in front of Indavara. ‘You’ll have to go through me.’

With a casual second swing of the bow, Indavara lashed it against the side of the man’s head, striking him full on the ear. The Syrian dropped to his knees. The look on his face suggested disbelief at the level of pain he was experiencing.

‘My ear!’ he screeched. ‘Why did you hit me in the ear, you barbarous piece of shit?’

‘Because it hurts,’ replied Indavara, before delivering a kick to the man’s chest. He fell on to his back and was dragged away by the others.

Cassius recovered his sword from the floor and took up a position between the workers and Indavara. The bodyguard grabbed Juba by his tunic, dragged him to his feet and shoved him outside. The foreman stumbled on the uneven ground, then fell again. Indavara dropped the bow over his head and twisted it until the string was tight against the Syrian’s neck.

Cassius came after them, but kept one eye on the workers. ‘We need that address, Juba.’

The foreman took a look back at his brother and set his teeth. ‘Go to Hades.’

Indavara twisted the bow tighter.

The foreman’s face turned from pink to red. He clawed at the string.

‘Address!’ yelled Indavara, bending over him, turning the bow with one hand.

The foreman’s eyes widened. His jaw began to shake, then his whole head.

Cassius thought of Estan, that night in Palmyra.

‘All right, that’ll do,’ he said, grabbing Indavara’s arm.

The bodyguard reluctantly untwisted the bow. Cassius loosened the string and pulled it off over Juba’s head.

‘Talk fast or I’ll let him go to work on you again.’

The foreman cast a hateful look at them both, then spoke: ‘Jewish Quarter. Apartment block next to the Fountain of Tiberius. Number twenty-four, I think.’

Cassius helped the foreman to his feet.

‘That’s more like it. And as you’re now in a more cooperative frame of mind, I’m sure you won’t object if we borrow a couple of your horses for the afternoon.’

With one hand still at his throat, Juba waved the other in surrender.

‘Good man.’

The Jewish Quarter was just north of the Daphne Gate, an enclave about half a mile across. They found the fountain and left the mounts at a nearby stable. The apartment block was only four storeys high, but with the ramshackle balconies built on to the front, it seemed almost to bend over the streets below. Many of the ground-floor rooms were store-fronts.

‘The people here look like any other people,’ observed Indavara as they searched for the entrance. ‘What are Jews anyway?’

‘I’ve never been entirely sure. There are a lot of them here because we’re not that far from Jerusalem. They’re a bit like Christians – though they don’t seem to get on with them very well. One god and all that. Maybe I should consider converting.’

Indavara frowned. ‘Why?’

‘Despite the fact that they’re good at making weapons, their religion forbids them to work on one day of the week, so they’re exempt from military service.’

‘Ah.’

‘I could avoid things like being strangled by my own cape, or sharing underground pits with dead bodies, or having people throw shelves full of glass at me.’

Cassius looked down at his arms. The skin was dotted with multicoloured specks of glass. There’d been no time to get it all out.

‘I think we’re here,’ Indavara said as they arrived at a narrow staircase that ran up to the first floor. Outside sat an old woman presiding over an impressive stock of kitchen utensils.

‘Can we get to number twenty-four through here?’ Cassius asked her.

‘Turn right at the top of the stairs.’

Indavara reached for his sword.

‘Perhaps your stave this time,’ suggested Cassius. ‘I’d like to avoid any fatalities if possible.’

He followed Indavara up the dank, dark staircase. It stank of urine.

‘Gods, what a hole.’

Just as they reached the top, a dog hurtled past them, closely followed by two young boys. Indavara leaned against the wall, peered round the corner, then stepped into the corridor. Cassius followed him. It was a narrow space, perhaps only five feet across, and the roof was only an inch or two above his head. A couple in one of the rooms were firing colourful insults at each other in Greek, providing some useful cover noise. The flimsy wooden doors were incredibly close to one another. Some had numbers illustrated with paint or bronze numerals; many had figurines nailed to the wall above them.

Twenty-four was close to the far end of the corridor. There was no number on the door. Indavara, who hadn’t – or couldn’t – keep track, was all set to walk past it when Cassius grabbed his tunic. The bodyguard stopped and turned round.

‘This one,’ Cassius mouthed, before pointing down at the bottom of the door. There was an inch between it and the floor. If Nabor was inside and watching, he would see their shadows.

Cassius didn’t want the satchel and spear-head getting in his way, so he took the bag off and laid it carefully against the wall. Indavara took the stave from his shoulder. It was a five-foot length of timber with leather wrapped around the middle section and both ends.

The door was equipped with a solid-looking bronze lock, but the frame looked weak. Cassius pointed at the stave, then at a spot midway between the hinges. Indavara stood well back from the door, holding the stave in both hands. He lined the weapon up, then drove it forward.

The blow knocked the door clean off the hinges and into the middle of the room. Indavara leapt in after it. Cassius came in behind him, hand on his sword hilt.

The apartment was empty. It was a single room, only seven or eight yards wide, with one window facing the street. Under the window was a narrow, unmade bed. Next to the bed were a chest and a bedpan. To the left of the door was a set of shelves containing some clothes and a few glass items.

Cassius investigated the chest. The lid was open but there was nothing inside.

‘Looks like he’s gone. Let’s see if we can find anything.’

There was little else to search. Once they’d checked the shelves and every corner of the bed, they stood there, staring blankly at each other.

The noise came suddenly: shouted orders in Greek, then the heavy footfalls of a group of men coming down the corridor.

‘Draw your sword,’ said Indavara, picking up his stave.

Cassius had only just done so when three city sergeants burst into the apartment. They were wearing mail-shirts and bronze helmets and wielding their clubs.

‘Drop your weapons,’ ordered the shortest and oldest of the three. Two more men arrived and pressed into the room behind them.

‘You first,’ Indavara replied. One of the sergeants had already advanced far enough for his liking so he swung lightly at the man’s club with his stave. The weapons barely touched but the men spread out and advanced.

‘Get out of my face,’ Indavara snarled.

Cassius sheathed his sword and held up his hands.

‘All right, that’s enough. Let’s
all
put our weapons down.’

The older man turned to Cassius. ‘Who are you to order us around, son?’

‘Corbulo, Imperial Security.’

‘Prove it,’ said the man sourly.

‘My spear-head is just outside the door there. May I?’

‘Stay there.’

The sergeant ordered one of his men to fetch the satchel. He took it from him and inspected the contents for himself. Then he returned the bag to Cassius.

‘All right, men. At ease.’

They reluctantly lowered their clubs.

‘I’m Master of Sergeants Congrio. My men and I work for the magistrate.’

‘I know who you work for.’

‘What are you doing in here?’

‘Looking for a man named Nabor. He lived here.’

‘Well, you need look no longer. He’s just been found. Dead.’

Cassius and Congrio marched along the street, with Indavara and two of the sergeants behind them. The other men had been left behind to search the apartment, then stand guard.