‘Physically?’
‘You don’t approve?’ asked Mercator.
‘In normal circumstances, I might. But I don’t wish to sour things so early. We’ve a long way to go.’
‘Apparently he got married last year.’
‘You know him?’
‘Not well. Yorvah says he’s a decent soldier but …’
‘Bring him to me.’
As Mercator left, Simo poked his head out of the tent. ‘Sir, what would you like for dinner?’
‘Something cold. We’re not going to bother with a fire. And put as many layers as you can down for my bed — my backside is sore.’
When Mercator returned with Sajjin, the tall, handsome auxiliary was staring solemnly at the ground.
‘Speak, then.’
‘Sir?’
‘Did you give no thought to your situation earlier? Why now?’
Sajjin looked up. ‘I don’t know, sir.’
‘Your wife?’
‘She was the one who wanted me to come — for the money.’
‘And you?’
‘I’d just as soon stay in Bostra.’
‘By the gods, man, you have taken an oath to fight for the Emperor. Do you think you’re the only one who’d rather stay at home?’
Cassius was briefly tempted to go farther, to tell him he hadn’t seen a single member of his family in three long years, but he rarely spoke of that, even to Simo.
‘Can you go on?’
‘I don’t think so.’ Sajjin wiped at his eyes.
‘You bloody coward.’ Mercator grabbed his tunic and clenched a fist. ‘You’re a disgrace.’
Cassius held a hand up. Mercator pushed Sajjin away, breathing hard with frustration.
‘All right, calm down,’ Cassius said, conscious of the other soldiers looking on. ‘Any more like him?’
‘Not that I know of.’
Cassius considered his options, then pointed at Sajjin. ‘Go and get your gear. Leave your horse.’
The auxiliary sloped away.
Mercator frowned. ‘That’s it?’
‘Better he go now than disappear during the night.’
‘We have to punish him,’ insisted the optio, ‘set an example.’
‘Mercator, we are not at the fortress. This little group is going to be together for weeks. I’m not having a beating on the first night. Just see to it that he’s quick.’
‘As you wish.’
‘By the way, you seemed to have slipped back into Latin again. The men will do as you do. Am I going to have to remind you every day?’
Mercator marched away.
Indavara ducked out of the tent, already munching something. ‘Problem?’
‘Not for you.’
The bodyguard winced as he straightened up. ‘I’d forgotten how much I hate riding.’
‘I expect your horse does too after today. You’re still too tight on your reins and that poor beast’s got to last you hundreds of miles.’
‘You were going to help me, remember?’
‘Remind me tomorrow. And didn’t I tell you to speak Greek?’
‘My Latin’s better.’
‘Not much.’
‘You’re a moody bastard, you know that?’
Cassius was about to fire an insult back at him but he reckoned Indavara had a point. ‘Sorry. Do remind me about the riding.’
Cassius walked past the tents to where the soldiers were gathered. Most of them were watching Sajjin as he hauled a pack onto his back, head still down. Mercator was standing by a pile of food sacks with Andal and Yorvah. Cassius couldn’t decide whether their unblinking glares were for him or Sajjin.
He spoke to the auxiliary, loud enough for all to hear. ‘The moment you set foot in Bostra, report to headquarters. When I return I’ll see you at the next session of the military court. Go.’
Sajjin walked away towards the road. One man offered him a gourd as he passed. Sajjin went to take it.
‘Don’t you dare,’ ordered Cassius.
‘He has no water,’ said the helpful auxiliary.
‘He can find his own bloody water.’
Sajjin continued onto the road and was soon lost to the fading light.
Cassius turned to Mercator. ‘Two sentries. One facing the road, one watching the horses.’
‘Yes, sir,’ replied the optio, in Greek.
Despite his mattress of blankets, the endless howling of a fox and the combined snoring of Indavara and Simo, Cassius slept well. In the morning, Mercator and the men excelled once more and after the briefest of breakfasts they were away in time to miss the market traffic converging on Thugrat. There were no officials and no inspections at the gates and they continued on without delay for two hours.
The next town, however, Samra, was home to a legionary fort within sight of the road. Mercator had predicted a delay and they soon found themselves stuck behind a line of carts approaching an arched gate. Cassius — in his merchant’s outfit once again — raised himself high in his saddle and looked along the road. Progress was slow because cart-loads were being checked by legionaries and money handed to a tax collector.
‘This isn’t going to be quick,’ observed Mercator.
Cassius looked up at the cloudless, bright blue sky. The sun was already hot and he pulled up the hood of his riding cape. Ignoring a young lad offering date leaves full of something, he turned and looked back. The auxiliaries were lined up in orderly fashion — almost too orderly for a bunch of hired swords — and several were anxiously eyeing the gate. Thankfully the departure of Sajjin seemed to have been forgotten, and Cassius hadn’t heard the man’s name mentioned once. As he turned back, the cart in front trundled forward, but a few yards was the limit of their advance.
He sat there, nose assailed by flatulent horses and sweating men, growing increasingly hot and impatient, until finally — a good half-hour later — the senior legionary waved him and Mercator up to the arch.
‘Business on the road?’ asked the soldier in a bored monotone.
‘I am a merchant,’ Cassius announced, ‘journeying south to investigate the markets of Petra.’
‘Carrying trade goods?’
‘No. Just our belongings.’
The legionary looked at the tax collector, who was now sitting behind a little table.
He was an unappealing individual with an unruly beard and beady eyes. ‘Where are you from?’
‘Originally? Raetia.’
‘Your men aren’t Raetian.’
‘No. I hired them in Bostra.’
‘Check the bags on every third horse,’ ordered the tax collector. The legionary and his compatriots began with Mercator, who scowled as they unbuckled his saddlebags.
‘Is this really necessary?’ asked Cassius.
‘It is for you,’ replied the tax collector. ‘I’ve manned this post for six years and I’ve never seen you before.’
‘This is my first trip to Arabia.’
‘A merchant with nothing to sell?’
‘I told you. I’m here to buy. Samples of spice and perfume.’
‘You’re young for a merchant.’
‘You’re old for a clerk.’
‘Watch yourself,’ warned the legionary.
With a sour look at Cassius, the tax collector stood up and gazed along the line. ‘Twenty-eight horses?’
‘Yes,’ confirmed Cassius.
A sudden shout from behind them. He turned along with the others and watched the senior legionary shake hands with one of the auxiliaries. The pair continued to talk as the other soldiers checked the baggage. Cassius took care not to look too concerned. The tax collector observed studiously until the check was concluded.
‘Nothing,’ said the soldier.
‘You know that man?’
‘I was stationed with him at Azraq a couple of years ago.’
‘Doesn’t look like he’s done twenty-five years.’
‘Discharged — lost a toe so he can’t march.’
Cassius thought that rather inventive; it seemed at least one of the men was capable of maintaining their cover.
The tax collector walked back to his table and took a small counter from a pot. ‘Without this you’ll be charged again at every toll-stop along the road. Should be fifty-six but I’ll call it sixty because of the rude remark.’
Cassius was tempted to root out the spearhead, show it to this greedy worm, then smack him about the face with it, but he instead told Simo to pay him.