He stood up and walked out of the kitchen.
‘Indavara …’
As Cassius flicked the rest of his wine into the fire, he heard the front door slam.
The theatre was only a quarter full, which still amounted to over a thousand people. The steeply angled tiers of seating were arranged in a semicircle facing the stage. Most of the bowl-like structure was composed of the local black basalt but the colonnaded front was pale limestone, which helped the stage stand out in the gloomy dusk. There had been a brief, light rainshower earlier in the day but that was unusual for the season and unlikely to be repeated. Dozens of torches and lanterns were alight, shrouding the place in a greasy glow.
‘How about here?’ said Lepida as they walked down the central aisle. She was pointing at some empty seats to the right, about ten rows back. They would be close enough to hear the performance but also able to talk if they wished.
‘Fine with me,’ said Cassius. ‘Miss?’
Helena gave a polite nod. She had said little on the walk over and Cassius guessed he would have to play the gentleman to make any progress. But — after what had been a fairly taxing day — he wasn’t actually sure he could be bothered. It was all very well messing around with tavern girls but relationships of any kind with young ladies were fraught with difficulty. It was hard to get your hands on them without at least hinting at the prospect of marriage and that was the last thing on Cassius’s mind. A bit of kissing and groping was usually as far as it would go, unless you got very lucky.
He waited for his companions to sit down, then did so himself, careful to ruffle his cloak up under him. The ladies, of course, both had cushions with them, once again reminding Cassius how much he needed Simo. No one would bat an eyelid at a servant carrying a cushion for his master but an army officer simply couldn’t be seen with one, so he would have to contend with a cold backside for the evening. He had, however, remembered to wear an under-tunic, and the thick, woollen cloak would help too. The ladies were both in hooded capes and long stola that reached down to their ankles.
‘Lucky me,’ he said, ‘a thorn between two flowers.’
Lepida moved in immediately, her left breast against his arm, the haze of perfume engulfing him. Cassius was glad she was sitting to the right — he wouldn’t have to look at that ghastly mole. During their last trip to the theatre, her hand had wandered up his tunic and he’d had to be quite forceful to fight her off. But tonight, with the fading light to cover them, he fancied he might not resist. The theatre had one notable advantage over other forms of entertainment; it was one of the few places where men and women were permitted to sit together.
‘Ah, I do love that scent,’ he said.
Down on the stage, a lad was sprinkling saffron water: a long-standing theatrical tradition that could have unfortunate consequences — few actors managed to get through their career without an embarrassing fall or two.
Lepida leaned forward to address her cousin. ‘Officer Corbulo did some acting as a youth.’
‘Really?’
‘An ignoble profession, of course,’ said Cassius. ‘But I must admit I did enjoy it at times.’
He stifled a grin — the main source of enjoyment had been the dressing up and spying on girls getting changed.
Lepida continued: ‘He also has a remarkable memory for poetry.’
‘Please, Mistress,’ said Cassius, ‘you’re embarrassing me.’
Fortunately, the play was about to begin and a corpulent actor in a green tunic had just appeared on the stage. Behind him was the first set; several screens decorated to resemble a forest. The actor held both hands high.
‘Pray, silence!’
The hum of muted conversation died away.
‘Thank you and welcome. Hail to the gods who watch over us!’
‘Hail!’ replied the locals, Lepida included. Cassius refrained; he could never quite bring himself to shout along with a crowd.
‘Hail to the governor, who has ensured that tonight’s performance goes ahead!’
‘Hail!’
‘Hail to the Emperor, Lucius Domitius Aurelianus!’
‘Hail! Hail! Hail!’
Cassius felt obliged to at least mutter this.
‘And now,’ added the actor in his most portentous tone, ‘best of order, please. The Bostra Players proudly present Brutus, a tragedy, by Accius of Pisaurum.’
He withdrew and was swiftly replaced by three of his compatriots, all dressed in luxurious robes and carrying wooden swords. Before even the first word was spoken, Cassius felt warm fingers upon his right knee.
Indavara hunched forward on the stone bench, chin propped up with his hand, gazing at the statue. Simo had told him about the sanctuary a few weeks ago and he’d already visited it twice. Because of the darkness he couldn’t see much more than the silhouette of the crowned head but that didn’t matter; he just hoped Fortuna might help him make up his mind.
To begin with, it had seemed as if life in Bostra might be good. He liked the idea of living in the house with the other two; having his own room, settling down in one place for a while. And parts of it were good; he would often help Simo with his work and in return the attendant would help him with his numbers and letters. But Simo had been away a while now and he’d been stuck in the house with Muranda most of the time. She was a nice woman but she talked too much and asked far too many questions, so whenever he could, Indavara escaped to practise his archery.
As for Corbulo, they shared the odd laugh when they were training but he was always busy, asleep or at the baths. And now that he knew him better, Indavara realised he was too tied up with himself to ever worry about anyone else. It was true he treated Indavara better than when they’d first met and — underneath the arrogance and vanity — he was a good man. But he was also a rich Roman; and Indavara reckoned Corbulo would always think of him as an employee, as his inferior.
The best thing about the last few weeks had been meeting Sanari. She didn’t seem to mind about his disfigured ear and all his scars, or that he knew so little of the world; they just seemed to get along. They’d been together when he saw the advertisement for the archery contest. Sanari couldn’t read but Indavara knew enough Greek to work out the basics and he’d later asked Simo to confirm the details. How he wished he’d never bothered now.
He stamped down on the ground, sending some birds fluttering away. That sly bastard Eclectis; he’d knock him down again if he could.
Indavara tried hard not to think of the arena but he suspected Corbulo was right — he usually was about that sort of thing. He could remember almost nothing before waking up there so it was no surprise that such thoughts were never far away. Little things reminded him: the clang of an iron door or that first breath of fresh air. Or the noise of a crowd.
Even so, he knew he’d have got through the contest if not for Eclectis. Indavara toyed with the idea of hunting him down. Facing his cronies wasn’t a concern; he would knock plenty of them over too before they stopped him.
He thought of the mob at the door. He had to admit Corbulo had done his best for him there. And perhaps things would be better when Simo came back. But he didn’t know how he could face Sanari now. What he had done must have seemed so cowardly, so weak. And how could he ever explain? Not without telling her it all.
Indavara heard shouting from somewhere. Nabatean? Aramaic? He could never tell the difference. He didn’t like this city much, or the province. It was too dry and too hot. He’d always preferred green lands with hills and rivers and forests. If he knew one thing about his origins it was that he came from one of the northern provinces, somewhere far, far from here.
He was also sure that Corbulo had offered to investigate his past only to make up for forgetting the contest. Indavara doubted there was anything to be discovered and he certainly didn’t want to return to Pietas Julia; not after what had happened in that inn.