‘How does that sound?’ asked Abascantius.
‘So I could leave after a year?’
‘If you wanted to.’
Abascantius reached into the cloth bag next to the lamp and pulled out two small items. The first was a miniature spearhead about three inches long with a pin on the back. ‘We use these when the full-size version is impractical. You walk into a room wearing this, you’ll get people’s attention. Solid silver.’
Indavara picked up the spearhead and turned it around, catching the light from the lamp. The intricate carving was remarkably detailed; he thought it rather beautiful. Then Abascantius showed him a small rectangular tablet. It was about the size of a thumb and composed of a duller metal.
‘Lead. I’ve already had it inscribed.’
Indavara was amazed to see his name etched into the metal in neat, precise lettering.
‘May I?’ said Corbulo, examining it. ‘Gods, they did a better job with this than mine.’
Indavara liked the tablet too, but he couldn’t help thinking of the brands slave-owners sometimes burned onto the skin of their slaves.
‘We need to know now,’ said Abascantius.
‘I’ll have to sign this contract, then?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll read it to you,’ said Corbulo. ‘Make sure it’s what you want.’
Indavara looked up at the ceiling. He had money. He could leave the next morning if he wanted to — just keep walking north. But what then? It would be just like the first day he left Pietas Julia.
And there was something else too. He didn’t much enjoy sitting around doing nothing. And as a bodyguard protecting someone else there’d been a lot of that. Well, standing around mostly.
The last time he’d really felt alive was when those auxiliaries had been after him. Scared, yes, but alive. Standing around wasn’t for him.
‘We want you with us,’ said Corbulo.
Abascantius nodded. ‘We do.’
The ceremony was carried out in the shrine. Night had come and the chilly room was lit by shifting splashes of candlelight. While he and Corbulo waited for Abascantius to return, Indavara looked down at the three bound sheets of paper lying on a writing block. He had understood only a little of the contract, but Corbulo had assured him it was in line with what they’d discussed.
Abascantius came back with two tribunes. They exchanged greetings with Corbulo then stood at the rear of the room.
Indavara listened carefully as the agent began. ‘He who joins the legions pledges himself to Rome. He who joins the legions honours Jupiter and Mars and all the great gods. He who joins the legions bows before the Emperor Lucius Domitius Aurelianus and offers his sword, his service and his life. Do you give your oath?’
‘I give my oath.’
Abascantius grinned.
‘Is that it?’
‘Not quite.’ The agent pointed at the bronze pen beside the writing block. ‘You must sign all three pages.’
For Indavara, this was the worst part; having to write his name with the four of them watching. When he was finished, he showed it to Corbulo. ‘Is that all right?’
‘It’s fine.’
Abascantius clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Congratulations, lad, you are now on the books of the Fourth Scythican Legion under Prefect Oppius Junius Venator.’
The two tribunes came forward and shook Indavara’s forearm.One examined his signature. ‘Just the one name, eh? Very mysterious.’
‘Congratulations,’ said the other man, ‘you must down plenty of wine tonight in celebration.’
Indavara noticed him wink at Abascantius.
The agent said, ‘Thank you, both.’
As the tribunes left, Abascantius handed over the identity tablet and the miniature spearhead. ‘Yours to keep, though I’m afraid you won’t be able to take them with you on this operation.’
‘Well then,’ said Cassius. ‘What about that drink?’
‘You two go ahead,’ said Abascantius. ‘I’ll call in tomorrow before I leave. If there’s anything else to discuss we’ll do so then.’
‘Come on,’ said Corbulo, leading the way out of the shrine. Indavara followed him, the spearhead in one hand, the tablet in the other.
‘I think the occasion merits a bit of that Surrentine.’
Cassius reached to the back of the cupboard and took out the flask, which had been left in the villa by Verecundus. He removed the stopper and looked inside. ‘Muranda, have you been drinking this?’
The housekeeper was sitting on one of the benches, polishing a candelabra between her legs. ‘No, sir.’
‘I’m sure there was more.’
‘You drank some when you came back from that dinner party last week.’
‘Oh. Right.’
Cassius took the wine over to the table and poured some for him and Indavara. The bodyguard was standing, staring thoughtfully down at the fire. At certain points in the evening, Cassius had felt the odd twinge of guilt about his and Abascantius’s scheming but such thoughts had now been subsumed by a warm flood of relief.
Indavara took the mug offered to him. ‘Corbulo, this doesn’t change anything between us. If I have something to say, I’ll say it.’
‘I would expect nothing else. Let’s drink. A busy day awaits tomorrow but that tribune was quite right — we must celebrate.’
Just as they sat down, the courtyard door rattled open. ‘That’ll be my sister’s girl,’ said Muranda. ‘Come to help me with the bronze.’
Something heavy thumped down on the floor then a large figure filled the doorway.
‘Simo!’ cried Indavara, spilling his wine as he jumped to his feet.
The big Gaul stepped over his saddlebags and walked wearily into the kitchen. His hair was in a tangle, his tunic coated with dust. He gave a brief nod to Indavara and staggered forward, eyes wide with nerves. ‘Master Cassius, a thousand apologies for this disgrace. I will make amends in whatever way you see fit.’
Simo seemed on the verge of tears but watched along with the others as his master calmly got up, walked around the table and stopped in front of him. Cassius looked him up and down and shook his head. But when he could contain himself no longer he smiled and gripped Simo’s heavy shoulders. ‘By the gods, you had me worried there, you big bastard. Welcome back.’
Simo’s head dropped.
‘Look at the state of you,’ added Cassius. ‘Some Surrentine will see you right.’
‘Sir, please, no. I deserve nothing.’
‘Nonsense.’
Indavara shook Simo’s hand and coaxed him onto a bench, even though he insisted he was too dirty. Muranda looked rather perplexed by this turn of events but welcomed Simo back and brought in his saddlebags.
Cassius turned away to pour the wine. He raised his eyes to the heavens. Thank you, Jupiter. Thank you.
IX
‘Time to wake up, sir.’
Cassius actually smiled as he heard those words spoken in Simo’s sunny, reassuring tones. He opened his eyes and saw him already at work, sorting through the clothes strewn across a chest of drawers.
‘Water’s there, sir. Nice and fresh.’
As he drank, Cassius was relieved to note he had no headache. ‘I’m glad we stopped after three mugs.’
‘Me too, sir. I imagine we have a busy day ahead.’
‘Extremely. Having concluded one unpleasant journey, Simo, you must now embark upon another. Damned bad luck with those two lame horses. I still think you could have sent a letter on but I appreciate it can be difficult to find someone reliable.’
Simo said nothing as he put the window shutters back on their hooks. The dawn light revealed the full extent of the mess.
‘You should probably start with some washing,’ suggested Cassius. ‘At least with this sun it’ll be dry by tomorrow. Then we need to think about our horses and, believe it or not, I’m going to have to outfit myself like a merchant. There’s a hundred and one things.’