‘Not so loud,’ replied Indavara irritably.
Cassius started the stretches the bodyguard had showed him. ‘Why not buy her some flowers or-’
‘You want to practise, let’s practise.’
Cassius eyed the swords. ‘Back to them?’
‘We haven’t done anything for a week or two. Let’s keep it simple.’
‘I need to prepare for the real thing; we could be coming up against anyone.’
‘If you think you know better, why not practise yourself?’
‘All right, don’t get touchy.’
‘Finish your warm-up.’
Indavara did the same, then they moved onto a section of paving he’d cleared of all weeds and obstructions, giving them a square area four yards wide to practise in.
‘Sweeps first,’ he said, brushing his hair away from his eyes. ‘What are the three things?’
‘Speed, disguise, recovery.’
‘Focus on speed to start with. Head and flank.’
Cassius began; and was soon enjoying taking out the frustrations of the day on the lengths of wood. Convinced he’d made progress, he assumed that eventually — in amongst all the thousands of traded blows — he might catch Indavara out or the bodyguard might make a mistake. But he was still waiting; and he wondered whether this was because Indavara didn’t want to show even the slightest sign of vulnerability or because the gap between them was still so wide. He suspected a bit of both.
After a couple of minutes, Cassius was panting and wiping his forehead. Indavara insisted that he practise with a long, heavy sword to replicate his real blade and — even now — a few dozen sweeps and contacts sapped a lot of energy.
‘You must get more into your swing,’ instructed Indavara when they took a break. ‘Use your height and those monkey arms.’
‘What about disguise? A big swing means they see it coming.’
‘I told you to focus on blade-speed. And you don’t have to swing a long way to get power.’
‘What was that thing you said about catching the shoulder?’
‘With a sweep, most of the time you’ll be going for the head, so the defender will keep his blade up high. With a bit of disguise, you can drop it low and into the shoulder. With a heavy blade like yours, you might even go through armour.’
‘Really?’
‘How many times have I told you? Until you get a bit of technique, if it comes to a scrap — just give it all you’ve got. You’ve put a bit of bulk on, and you have a long reach. If you’re lucky you’ll hit them before they can hit you.’
‘So now what?’
‘Recovery. Swing, then get your blade straight and central.’
Before Cassius could raise the sword, Simo stepped out of the kitchen. ‘Sir, a note from Governor Calvinus. He wants to see you.’
‘Now?’
‘It says immediately.’
Cassius stood alone in the Table Room, helmet under his arm, waiting. Given the speed at which events had developed, he’d hoped to get away without seeing Calvinus, though he’d planned to leave an appropriately regretful note. He wished he was back at the villa. The governor would be angry, he was sure of it.
He heard footsteps and voices. The men came closer, then stopped in the corridor, just out of sight.
‘Yes, sir.’ A tribune strode away past the door.
Calvinus walked in. He was wearing an immaculate white toga edged with purple. ‘Corbulo.’
‘Good evening, Governor.’
Calvinus turned and pushed the door to. ‘I wanted to see you before you leave.’
‘Yes, sir. I really am sorry that I won’t be able to fulfil my duties here in Bostra.’
‘Not your fault. And I think you still have an opportunity to assist me.’
‘Sir?’
‘It seems you will be journeying through the very lands we discussed here yesterday, perhaps beyond Ruwaffa. I will be most interested to hear what you find there.’
‘Yes, sir. I will report to you as soon as I return.’
‘Sooner, if you don’t mind. The minute you’re within reach of the imperial post.’
‘Very well.’
Calvinus sat against the edge of the table. ‘So, Pitface gives you barely two days to prepare, sends you off into the unknown, then promptly disappears again.’
‘It seems time is of the essence, sir.’
‘For Abascantius? Oh, I’m sure of it.’
Cassius thought it prudent to press Calvinus on this cryptic reply. ‘I’m given to understand that the Emperor will shortly be arriving in Syria, sir. He wishes to see the stone recovered as soon as possible.’
‘Perhaps. Unlike Abascantius, I wouldn’t claim to know the mind of a man I’d never met.’
Cassius wasn’t sure how to proceed, only that he needed to know what the governor was driving at. ‘Sir?’
‘The Emesan stone was being guarded by a unit of the Sixteenth Legion, yes?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘So surely its recovery is the responsibility of Prefect Sanctus, not Imperial Security.’
‘I suppose so, sir.’
Cassius wondered whether the governor knew about Ulixes. He certainly wasn’t going to tell him. ‘Sir, I think Abascantius believes a small, covert team has more chance of locating and recovering the stone.’
Calvinus examined the well-manicured fingernails of his right hand. ‘I know Sanctus well. As young tribunes we fought together against the Persians. He is intelligent and resourceful. You think such an operation beyond him, with five thousand men under his command?’
‘No, sir. But I was under the impression that the bulk of his forces are occupied to the north.’
‘They are. Regardless, isn’t it also possible that the army might not think it wise to cobble together a team of unproven auxiliaries for an operation in an area where an entire century was recently wiped out?’
‘Indeed, sir. I see your point.’ Cassius felt rather sick; he’d been foolish to get caught up even for a moment with Abascantius’s enthusiasm. The chances of success were minuscule: more likely they’d all end up like those poor bastards at Ruwaffa.
‘He told me what you did in Cyrenaica,’ said Calvinus. ‘And at that Syrian fort. Perhaps you do have a chance.’ The governor stood up straight. ‘But I repeat: why the Service?’
‘Glory for Abascantius and Chief Pulcher? Getting one over the army? Currency with the Emperor?’
‘Ah, almost there.’ Calvinus smiled genially. He seemed to be enjoying this game.
Cassius continued thinking aloud. ‘Or to atone for something. Some error or failing.’
‘Remember Pontius berating you for failing to anticipate the attack on Ruwaffa? The army, and the Emperor, expects the Service to provide intelligence — prior warning.’
So that was it. ‘Palmyra. The second revolt surprised everyone. It was Abascantius’s job to see it coming.’
‘His position and reputation are at stake. He wants you to help him restore it.’
Cassius wondered why he’d not considered it before; perhaps simply too much else occupying his mind?
Calvinus continued: ‘That’s not to say the Emperor won’t be extremely grateful if the stone is recovered; we can’t be seen to be outwitted by a bunch of thieves, after all. I mention this because I want you to realise it may not be simply the noble mission Abascantius made it seem.’
‘I understand, sir. Thank you.’
‘I’m sure you would have got there yourself in the end. And my motives are not entirely altruistic.’
The governor waited for Cassius to respond.
‘You would prefer that I not focus solely on the stone.’
‘You’re a bright lad. Find out what’s going on down there. I’ve spent the best part of my life protecting this province and its people; and for the first time in years we seem to have an emperor who knows what he’s doing. I’m not about to let it all fall apart now. Get word to me as soon as you can.’
‘Yes, Governor.’
Calvinus walked towards the door. ‘Come, you need a good night’s sleep and I’ve some dictation to attend to.’
‘Sir, I wonder if I could ask for something — I don’t have a portable map of the province.’
‘I shall have one of my clerks send one over first thing in the morning.’