Almost as if reading his thoughts, Corvus spoke. 'Great Artemis, this is better than grubbing about at the beck and call of Flavius Damianus.'
'You do not like him?' Ballista's words were barely a question.
Corvus smiled in the gloom. 'I became eirenarch of Ephesus to chase savage bandits over wild hillsides, not to pursue Christians through slums.'
'I had the impression there was ill feeling between the two of you.'
Corvus smiled again. 'Oh, there is. Our beloved scribe to the Demos – how many times has he told you that he is the descendant of the famous sophist? – Flavius Damianus thinks I showed less than commendable zeal a few years ago during the persecution instituted by the emperor Decius.' Sensing Ballista's interest, he continued. 'Seven young men of respectable families were informed against. Of course, I arrested them. Put them in the prison off the civic agora, ordered them to have the best cell, by the door. They escaped. The jailor vanished. I assume they bribed him to disappear. The imperium is big enough. Anyway, Flavius Damianus considers I did not put enough manpower into searching for them.'
'Did you?'
'I detailed a couple of men to it. There were many things to do.'
Ballista thought for a moment. 'You do not approve of the persecution of Christians?'
'It was not why I became an eirenarch. Yes, I understand the logic of it. The open atheism of the Christians may well anger the gods. If the gods are angered they may well turn against us and, as everyone is now saying, the coming war with the Sassanids may end in disaster. But there is something inhuman about the persecution. Most of the Christians are merely foolish, like those young men. There is something disgusting about tearing families apart, torturing and killing the weak and misguided. Anyway, I incline to an Epicurean view – the gods are far away and take no notice of mere mortals.'
Ballista was surprised at the man's candour. 'I have imperial mandata to persecute the Christians. Should you be talking to me like this?'
Corvus opened a wineflask and drank. 'You will not inform on me. Your face in court yesterday was a picture. You hate it as much as I do or, if not yet, you soon will.'
'My feelings do not come into it.' Ballista took a deep breath. 'I have my mandata. I will do my duty.'
Corvus just smiled and passed down the wineflask. 'There is a ludicrous rumour that the young men who escaped went into one of the caves outside the city, lay down and went to sleep. The Christians say the sleepers will wake when the emperor is a Christian.'
Ballista grinned. 'They might have a long sleep.'
'And would the world be a better place when they woke up?' Corvus took the wineflask back. 'You two had better get ready. We are almost in position.'
The old fisherman brought the boat broadside to the island. He used the spritsail to shield the far side of the boat. Ballista and Maximus rose to their feet. They were blackened from head to toe with a dye they were assured would not wash off in the sea. Ballista had tied his long fair hair in a strip of black material. Maximus had daubed an extra dollup of the tarry mixture on to the white scar where the end of his nose was missing. Corvus and the soldier helped them strap the packs on their backs. Ballista clasped hands with Corvus and, as quietly as he could, lowered himself over the side.
The water was shockingly cold. Ballista bit his lip to stop himself gasping. But once you were in the water, it felt fine. With just his fingertips on the gunwale of the boat, Ballstsa looked round to find his bearings. On the mainland, in the far south-east of the bay, he could see one or two chinks of light from the village of Phygela. From there, the dark line of the hills ran round to the west. They ended in a large independent hill like an upturned bowl. He knew it was directly south of the island.
Maximus joined him in the water with a sharp intake of breath. The fisherman angled the spritsail to catch the faint offshore breeze, the boat pulled away and, there, to the west, was their target. Pigeon Island was a dark outline in the moonlight. It was steep, heavily wooded. It reminded Ballista of the boss of a shield or one of those fancy cakes the Greeks offer to the gods. Near the summit, the large campfire blazed. The smaller one flickered about halfway down. The island was about two hundred and fifty paces away. Aiming to the left of the fires, Ballista started to swim.
There was just the gentle offshore breeze and a faint swell; otherwise, it was a flat calm with a clear, moonlit sky above. Ballista and Maximus swam with slow, even strokes, not wanting to stir up phosphorescence in the very still waters. Pumped up with anticipation, in no time Ballista sensed the seabed shelving up. Hardly swimming now at all, just the occasional slow stroke, he drifted until there was sand beneath him. Maximus came to a halt a few paces to his left.
They lay full length, just their heads out, the water lapping up to their noses. The beach here was about twenty paces wide. At first Ballista could see nothing but the black tree line beyond. Then he made out the shape of the longboat, just off to the right, its stern sticking out from the trees. He lay motionless, searching for sentries.
Now and then, voices floated down from higher up the island. Ballista did not look up towards the campfires; he did not want to ruin his night vision. He scanned the trees around the longship until his sight blurred and his eyes ached. Nothing. When he had almost decided the ship was unguarded, he heard a voice, much nearer, to the right of the boat.
At night the trick is not to look directly at something. Look to the side or above it. After a time, Ballista made out the shapes of two men to the right of the longship. They were sitting with their backs to a tree.
Gently bringing his hand out of the water, Ballista indicated to Maximus that they should go up by the left side of the boat. Quietly pulling himself up, Ballista set off. The sand was very white in the moonlight, horribly exposed. Crouched over, Ballista moved up the beach. At every step he expected a shout from the sentries. None came. He reached the lee of the boat. Maximus dropped down next to him. The Hibernian was grinning. Thy shrugged off their packs and drew their swords.
Ballista touched Maximus on the shoulder and indicated that they should go up the left side of the boat and work their way round through the trees and come up to the guards from behind. Maximus gestured that he understood. Leaving the packs behind, they set off.
The trees gave good cover, the slope not too steep. They had sighted the guards and were creeping down on them, when one of the men stood up. Ballista froze. The sentry was about thirty paces away. He walked some distance into the trees. He stumbled slightly. Maybe he had been drinking. He stopped in front of a tree and began to fumble with his trousers. Ballista moved to get between him and the other man.
Ballista came up silently behind him. The man was swaying slightly, one hand braced against the tree as he urinated. Ballista's left hand covered his mouth and, in a flash, the sword in his right found the man's throat. There was a spray of blood, black in the moonlight. The man's body shook violently as Ballista held him close. There was an unpleasant stench as the dying man's bowels opened.
Ballista lowered the corpse to the ground and looked about him. Maximus was crouched in the shade of a tree. There was no sound from below. Working quickly but quietly, Ballista stripped the cloak from his victim. It was fouled. Ballista turned it inside out and drapped it round his own shoulders.
Walking with no attempt at concealment, deliberately finding the odd twig to step on, Ballista went down to the tree line.
'Feeling better?' The south German accent startled Ballista. The speaker was one of the Borani, the tribe who had a bloodfeud with Ballista. Wherever you go, old enemies will find you.
'Much better,' Ballista mumbled. The man looked up as Ballista walked round the trunk of the tree. His eyes widened, but he had no time to scream as the sword cut into his face. A horrible gurgling sound came from his smashed mouth and jaw. He doubled forward, hands to his face. Ballista chopped the edge of his blade into the back of the Borani warrior's neck. The man did not move any more.