Calgacus coughed. 'They are here.'
'Good, let him sweat a bit.'
Ballista walked up and down the terrace for a while. On the other side of the Euphrates a man on a donkey was heading for the river. Ballista wondered if he would get there before the rain came. He turned to Mamurra and Demetrius. 'Bring him in. We might as well get on with it.'
'First Centurion.'
'Dominus.' Turpio looked at the end of his tether. His shoulders were rounded and his head stuck forward. There were blue-black pouches under his eyes.
Ballista leant on his fingertips on the table. He looked down at the papers for some time, then suddenly looked up. 'How long have you and Gaius Scribonius Mucianus been defrauding the military treasury?'
Turpio did not flinch. 'I have no idea what you mean, Dominus.'
'It is the oldest trick in the book.' Ballista tried to suppress the jet of anger that rose in him. 'The first centurion and the unit commander conspire together.' Turpio looked away. Ballista continued remorselessly. 'When a man dies or is transferred he is kept on the books. When recruits are called for, invented names are entered. The imaginary recruits and the dead are sent on "detached duty". Their pay is still drawn. It is kept by the commander and the first centurion.' Ballista paused. 'You would have me believe that this unit has eighty-five men hunting lions. Several of the places you would have me believe large detachments of this unit are stationed – Castellum Arabum, Chafer Avira, Magdala – do not exist in the official itineraries of this area.' At the first name Turpio looked up, then looked down again. 'It worked well for a time. Now it is over. Gaius Scribonius Mucianus and you were quite thorough, but not thorough enough. You failed to create savings for the imaginary soldiers.' Ballista leant further towards Turpio.
'It is over. Scribonius has run away. He is leaving you to shoulder the blame. If you remain silent, the best you can hope for is being broken to the ranks. If you tell me everything, things might go better for you. Was it Scribonius's idea?'
Turpio set his shoulders. 'He is my commanding officer. I will not inform against him.'
'Your loyalty does you some credit. But he deserves no loyalty. Like a coward, he has run.' Ballista paused again. His headache was making him nauseous. 'You will tell me everything. One way or another.' The last words needed no emphasis. 'If you tell me everything you have a chance of redemption, a chance of regaining your self-respect and the respect of your men. I will leave you to think.'
Ballista turned and, followed by everyone except Turpio and Maximus, walked back through to the terrace. He went to lean on the rail. His head was splitting. The man on the donkey had disappeared.
The first fat drops of rain landed. By the time they had got back under the portico the air was full of water. Turpio hadn't needed long to think.
'Gaius Scribonius Mucianus told me what we were going to do last year after the fighting to expel the Persians from Arete,' Turpio said as soon as Ballista entered. 'The cohors had taken casualties. He said it was a good moment to start the scheme.' The centurion stopped to think. 'It is as you say. Most of the men registered as on detached duty do not exist. Magdala and Chafer Avira do not exist. Or not any more. Becchufrayn is miles down the Euphrates. It is in Sassanid hands. There has not been a Roman soldier there for years. Castellum Arabum is real. Perhaps it is too new to feature on the official itineraries.' He stopped.
'What percentage did you take?'
'Ten,' Turpio answered promptly. 'I deposited it, all of it, with a man in the town. I have not spent any of it. I can pay it all back.'
Thunder crashed overhead. They were silent in the room.
At last Ballista spoke. 'What did he have over you that you had to join him?'
Turpio did not speak.
'Was it gambling debts? A woman? A boy?'
'Does it matter?' A flash of lightning lit the room. Turpio's face looked whiter than ever.
'Yes, if it could happen again.'
'It cannot happen again,' said Turpio.
'I should have you beheaded in the middle of the campus martius.' Ballista let his words hang in the air for a long time. 'Instead, I appoint you acting commander of the cohors.' Turpio looked stunned. 'Now you must prove that you are a good officer. It is too late to get new recruits but, by next spring, I want you to have that cohors ready to fight. I want you to train them until they drop. Oh, and you can pay the money back to Demetrius. It can go towards replacement equipment.'
Turpio began to thank Ballista, who cut him short. 'This conversation need go no further than these walls. Just do not betray my trust.'
They could hear the rain beating on the flat roof. Ballista's headache had almost gone.
VIII
It had rained all night, then all day. Demetrius was beginning to wonder if it would ever stop. The previously unnoticed gutters on the terrace of the palace threw strong jets of water away from the side of the cliff. By late afternoon, in the bed of the northern ravine, there was a torrent capable of moving small rocks. At the mouth of the ravine the waters of the Euphrates had turned a muddy dun colour.
The primeval flood must have started like this. Zeus, disgusted by the crimes of mankind, had sent a flood to put a stop to the killings, the human sacrifices and cannibalism. One man, Deucalion, warned by his immortal father the Titan Prometheus, had built an ark. Nine days later, guided by a dove, the ark had deposited Deucalion and his wife, Pyrrha, on Mount Parnassus – or, as others said, Mounts Aetna, Athos or Othrys. Others escaped to high ground, warned by the screaming of cranes or the howling of wolves. Sometimes Demetrius was unsure if Zeus had been right to relent.
As soon as Iarhai's invitation to dinner had arrived, Demetrius knew that it spelt trouble. Ballista had accepted instantly despite knowing that his acceptance was impolitic: it would further alienate Ogelos and Anamu. Demetrius was sure it was Bathshiba that made Ballista ignore such considerations.
It was almost dark when the ten-strong party set out. The guests, Ballista and Mamurra, were accompanied by Demetrius, Bagoas, Maximus and five troopers of the equites singulares. The torches went out straight away in the torrential rain and within moments Demetrius knew that he was lost. He envied Ballista and Maximus their ability always to find their way.
A porter ushered the party inside in response to their knock and Demetrius and Bagoas were swept along as Ballista and Mamurra were led deeper into the house.
The dining room was a mixture of east and west. Underfoot was a typical Greek or Roman mosaic depicting the remains of a meaclass="underline" fish and animal bones, nut shells, olive stones, discarded cherries. Persian rugs hung from the walls. Elaborate metal lamps cast a soft light. Braziers warmed and perfumed the room with cinnamon, balsam, myrrh.
There was just one sigma couch, a semicircle with settings for seven, with one table in the middle. Four men stood drinking conditum, warm, spiced wine. One was the host, two Demetrius did not recognize, and one was Acilius Glabrio.
'Welcome to my house, Ballista and Mamurra.' Iarhai held out his hand.
'Thank you for inviting us.' They smiled and shook his hand.
Ballista turned to Acilius Glabrio. 'Tribunus Laticlavius.'
'Dux.' Neither smiled.
Iarhai offered the new arrivals a drink, which both accepted, and introduced the other two men. Demetrius marked them down as umbrae, shadows, clients of the host. 'My daughter said that we were not to wait for her, that she would join us soon.'
Both Ballista and Acilius Glabrio brightened visibly. Demetrius's spirits sank.
'Tell me, Dux, how do you find our weather?' Iarhai smiled.