The Imperial Banner (49 page)

Abascantius spent the next half an hour doling out orders at a prodigious rate. Shostra was instructed to send messages to three operatives telling them to arm themselves and meet Abascantius at an inn close to the mint within the hour. A fourth man was tasked with following Silus. He was to observe any contacts he made and apprehend him at once if he seemed to be leaving the city. Indavara was told to fetch his sword and wait by the front door.

‘And me, sir?’ Cassius asked. ‘Shall I fetch my sword, too?’

Abascantius placed a hand on his shoulder.

‘That’s probably a good idea, but you shan’t be coming with us. I need you to go after our two-fingered friend. Start with this address.’

Cassius couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘But we’ve found it, sir. We’ve found the silver and gold, probably the banner too.’

‘Until I have that accursed thing in my hands, I’m taking nothing for granted. If the gods are with us you might be right, but if something goes wrong I don’t want all our eggs in one basket. Two Fingers didn’t go with them last time, so he probably won’t this time either. If he gets word that we’re on to them, he’ll make his escape. Don’t tell me you’re happy with the idea of him getting away?’

‘Of course not. But I want to see this through to the end, sir. I’ve chased those damned barrels across half this province. I want to be there.’

Shostra had by now returned with Abascantius’s sword and belt. The blade was an expensive piece, the hilt studded with blue gems.

‘I understand, lad,’ said the agent as Shostra slipped the belt over his shoulder. ‘But there’s no time for debate. Take Major, and if you do find him, get a message to Shostra here.’

‘But, sir, that address is four years old.’

‘If he’s not there, do what you’ve been doing so well: track him down. He’s in the city somewhere.’

Cassius could think of nothing else to say. He was still struggling with the notion that Abascantius had been right all along. He wondered now why he’d been so determined to ignore the signs of Octobrianus’s involvement that he himself had uncovered.

Abascantius ran his sword in and out of the scabbard a couple of times then picked up his cape.

‘Don’t think I’m not grateful, Corbulo. We wouldn’t have got to this point without you.’

Cassius nodded vacantly, then followed him back into the villa.

Abascantius hurried over to Major, then pointed towards the door. ‘Go and organise a carriage.’

‘Covered?’ asked the bodyguard in his deep, gruff voice.

‘No. Something quick.’

Abascantius turned to Cassius and grinned. ‘It’s getting dark but you’ve no need to hide yourself now anyway. The hunter has become the hunted.’

He gripped Cassius’s shoulder again. ‘I’ll meet you here later. Good luck, Corbulo.’

Shostra had reappeared holding his master’s spear-head. It was identical to Cassius’s apart from some extra strands of gold thread hanging from the top. Abascantius took it and strode towards the front door. Indavara waited for him to pass, then, after a brief glance back at Cassius, followed him outside.

The apartment block was a quarter of a mile from the Daphne Gate. They had to leave the carriage three streets away. It was the Festival of Apollo and thousands had turned out to celebrate. By tradition, hawks and other birds were sacrificed, and many Antiochenes were carrying them around impaled on the end of sharpened sticks. As if this wasn’t dangerous enough, the bow was the weapon most associated with Apollo and the addition of errant arrows fired by drunken revellers made it one of the most perilous days of the year.

Cassius had stopped off at the villa to fetch his sword. He had also left his helmet and the spear-head there and changed into a plain tunic.

The apartment block was a little more respectable than Nabor’s: the recently painted interior was lit by oil lamps and smelled only of cooking. They were looking for number one hundred and three; and they found it on the third floor, close to the stairs.

Major stood in front of the door, Cassius and Simo to the right. Cassius flexed his fingers, and reminded himself to act quickly if the need arose. Major slipped the cudgel from his belt.

‘Now,’ whispered Cassius.

The big bodyguard raised his left hand. Before he could knock, another door opened further down the corridor. Out stepped a young woman. She was rather lovely – wearing only a simple tunic and sandals, but with an hourglass figure and a lustrous head of dark brown hair. She gazed curiously at the trio as she neared the stairs. Cassius raised a finger to his mouth. She smiled as she passed him.

Reproaching himself for being even momentarily distracted, Cassius turned back and nodded again. Major knocked on the door. They heard slow, careful footsteps. Cassius brought up his sword. He waved Simo out of the way to give himself space.

‘Who’s there?’

The voice of a woman; an old woman.

Cassius put a hand up before Major could reply.

‘We’re from the magistrate’s office. Just a few questions.’

He doubted the woman would have heard of the Service; but almost everyone in the city would know of Quarto and his men. The latch came up and the door opened. Cassius saw white hair, a leathery face and a curious green eye.

‘Where are your clubs then?’

Major tapped the cudgel against the door close to the woman’s face. ‘Will this do?’

‘Open up please,’ Cassius said. ‘Like I said – just a few questions.’

The door opened another inch. Major slammed his hand into it, knocking it open. He stepped inside and neatly caught the door as it swung back towards him. The old woman – who had retreated with impressive speed – swore at him. Major ignored her and looked around.

‘Just her, sir.’

Cassius and Simo followed him inside. The Gaul shut the door behind them and went to speak to the old woman.

The apartment was quite large but packed full of furniture, barrels and sacks. Opposite the door was a grilled window; and barely a few feet away were the walls of another apartment block. To the left was a doorway covered by a tatty curtain. Major hurried over to check the second room.

Simo had by now worked his magic, and the old woman had already lowered her voice. She tapped Cassius on the arm.

‘This is about my wretched son, I suppose?’

‘If his name is Justius Pythion, yes.’

Major reappeared. ‘No one.’

The old woman sighed and sat down. ‘Been up to no good again, has he?’

‘You could say that,’ answered Cassius as he sheathed his sword. ‘Do you know where he is?’

‘Hah! He never tells me a thing.’

Cassius stepped closer and leaned over the woman. ‘Magistrate Quarto takes a very dim view of those who obstruct our investigations.’

‘He went out a couple of hours ago – took his big bag with him – who knows when he’ll be back?’

‘You have no idea where he might be? What are his usual haunts?’

The old woman placed a finger against the side of her nose and cleared one nostril.

‘He eats, he sleeps, he goes! I tell you I don’t know. Never held down a job since he left the army but somehow he’s always got a few coins. Only the gods know where he gets them. I hope you catch him – a good stiff lashing might whip some sense into him.’

Cassius wondered what Pythion’s mother might have said had she known the real consequences her son faced. Even putting aside his other crimes, by attempting to kill an officer of the Roman Army he had assured his own death if caught. Cassius’s testimony alone would be enough to see him executed.

He pointed at the curtain. ‘That’s his room?’

‘It is.’

‘I’d like to search it.’

The old woman cleared the other nostril and shrugged.

Cassius gestured for Simo to join him, then caught Major’s eye. ‘You watch the door.’

Cassius pushed aside the curtain, and stepped into the cramped room beyond. Again the walls were lined with all manner of objects; there was army gear: packs, belts, boots, even a saddle; and boxes of cheap washing lotions and mass-produced religious figurines. Lying below the single window was a low bed.

‘We shall have to go through all this,’ Cassius said morosely. It was hard not to think of Abascantius striding into the mint, clapping Octobrianus in chains and reclaiming the banner. What annoyed him most was that Indavara and Abascantius’s other men would be part of it. What exactly had they contributed?

‘Are we looking for something specific, sir?’ asked Simo.

Cassius shrugged, then wandered over to the window. A group of men not far away were singing a song about the Whites; apparently they’d been victorious at the hippodrome that day. Cassius looked at the wall above the head of the bed. Nails had been hammered into the plaster; and hanging from them was a variety of weapons and tools. There were several daggers, two little axes, spikes, rods and a saw. Two of the nails had nothing on them. Sunlight had faded the paint to form tell-tale shapes where the missing objects had been. One was a long, narrow blade; perhaps Pythion’s old cavalry sword. The other was shaped like a spear; except it was too small to be of any practical use – it was only about eight inches long.

‘Woman. Come here!’

Cassius pointed at the outline as soon as she came through the curtain. ‘What do you know of the little spear he keeps there?’

‘Oh, he’s taken that, has he? Must have one of his meetings. Perhaps he’ll be back after all.’

‘What meetings?’

‘I don’t know – some kind of club, I think. Usually on a Wednesday.’

Cassius looked back at the outline. Wednesday. Yesterday.

He hurried back into the main room. Major was standing in the doorway, watching the corridor.

‘You know the quickest route down to the river from here?’

The bodyguard nodded.

‘Come, Simo, there’s no time to waste.’

Ignoring the old woman’s entreaties not to do too much harm to her son, Cassius set off towards the stairs at a run.

Full grey clouds rolled in over the darkened city; and scattered drops of rain soon became a light drizzle. Indavara pushed himself off the uneven stone wall and brushed his wet hair away from his eyes.

He was standing in an alcove, just behind the others. They had waited at the inn for the last of Abascantius’s operatives to arrive, then marched through the streets to the rear of the mint. Indavara only recognised one of the men – from the agent’s house when he’d eaten the soup. He was almost as fat as Abascantius and his name was Salvian.

The mint was a large, red brick building with several high chimneys, surrounded by a substantial wall. Opposite the alcove was a narrow iron gate. With a tap on the shoulder from Abascantius, one of the men scurried across the street and hunched over the lock. Abascantius shouldered his way between the others and came close to Indavara.

‘He won’t be long. You come in last and keep an eye out behind us. Draw your sword.’

The agent returned to the side of the street. Indavara eased his sword from the scabbard, then went and stood beside him, idly tapping the tip of the blade against his leg.

He reckoned tomorrow would be his last day in Antioch. He wasn’t exactly sure what was going on but matters were clearly coming to a head. He was glad, because once he’d been paid, he could decide what to do next.

It seemed best to keep moving: partly because when he stayed in one place too long things took a turn for the worse; partly because he wanted to see more of the world. Travelling east, the lands seemed only to become hotter, drier and more bleak. Of all the terrain he’d seen since leaving Pietas Julia, it was green fields, rivers and hills that most appealed to him – they seemed so peaceful, so permanent. He would go north, or return west.

But before leaving he would spend some money on that girl. Galla was her name and he’d thought of her often since their time together. He would ask her to go for a walk with him; that’s what men and women who liked each other seemed to do. And if she didn’t want to, he could at least ask her where she thought he should go next.

Or he could ask Simo when he went to fetch his things from the villa. He liked Simo. He seemed kind, and he didn’t ask questions all the time. Indavara thought he might even miss him a bit.

Simo’s master, on the other hand, he wouldn’t miss at all. Indavara knew he’d made a bad mistake at the baths, and it was no surprise that Corbulo was angry about it. Fair enough. It wasn’t this that annoyed him, more the character of the man. Indavara found it difficult to respect someone who couldn’t fight, couldn’t stand on his own two feet.

And Corbulo was arrogant too. Indavara could see he was intelligent; he knew a lot about the world, he spoke well, and he would sometimes argue with Abascantius, even though the older man gave the orders. But he seemed to have little time for anyone else. He did listen to Simo sometimes but Indavara thought that was just because they’d been together so long.

Corbulo had probably had an easy life: a family to look after him, money for an education and all those expensive clothes. He knew nothing of what Indavara had been through; what he’d endured simply to win his freedom – to walk free of chains, and walls and the whims of a man like Capito.