‘So you got what you wanted?’ asked Indavara, still leaning against the column.
‘What I wanted? This wasn’t about what I wanted. When is any bloody thing about what I want?’
‘Only asked.’
Cassius took a light cloak from Simo to cover his tunic. ‘Diadromes got what he wanted, yes. I’ve delivered – now it’s his turn. This house had better be worth it.’
It wasn’t a house; Cassius reckoned it would take him a while to decide whether it was worth it. The street was located in a quiet area of Berytus mostly occupied by townhouses, workshops and bakeries.
Indavara sniffed the air. ‘I love the smell of bread.’
Simo dropped to the ground and gazed in dismay at the wall, though as there were more bricks on the ground than actually on top of each other, Cassius wondered if you could really call it a wall.
‘Oh no,’ said the Gaul. ‘It’s in a terrible state.’
‘I like it,’ said Indavara.
The tower looked rather like those Cassius had seen in the deserts of Arabia and Syria, except it was circular. As Diadromes’s clerk tied off his horse and walked towards it, Cassius used him for scale, estimating that the tower was no less than forty feet high and about fifteen wide. There seemed to be only one door; a reassuringly solid lump of wood banded with iron. There were many windows; all small, grilled and round. At the top, newer stone had been used to construct an open area beneath a pointed, tiled roof supported by three columns.
‘Well, what do you think?’ Having just arrived, Diadromes reined in beside Cassius. Once again, he could easily have passed for a mid-ranking citizen, though today he was wearing a chain of office around his neck. Hanging from it was a miniature silver club.
‘Certainly looks secure,’ said Cassius as he dismounted.
‘Might need a bit of a tidy-up but I doubt there’s a safer residence in all of Berytus.’ Once on the ground, Diadromes called his clerk over and threw him his reins. He then retrieved a heavy ring of iron keys from a saddlebag and led the way towards the door.
Cassius followed him, inspecting the dusty, weed-strewn ground that surrounded the tower. ‘Was there ever a path? Or a gate?’
‘Not really,’ said the Syrian cheerfully. ‘I was never too bothered about the exterior, to be honest.’
He grinned as Indavara and Simo joined them by the door. ‘Between you and me, this is where I used to play dice with my friends; brought the odd girl here too. Until my wife made an honest man out of me, that is. I was going to sell but I just couldn’t do it. Must have had it fifteen years or so now.’
‘It looks like a guard tower,’ said Indavara as Diadromes brushed dirt off the rusty lock and slotted in the key.
‘That’s exactly what it was. Years ago this spot was beyond the city walls. There are a few inscriptions scratched inside by soldiers. The oldest one mentions Marcus Aurelius, would you believe?’
The key was refusing to turn. ‘Always was a bit stiff. Ah, there you go.’
Hinges groaning, the big door opened. Diadromes pushed it all the way back and jerked out the key.
Cassius waved dust away from his face as he followed him inside.
‘A tad smelly but that can be sorted out easily enough.’
‘A tad dark, too,’ said Cassius.
Diadromes pointed at the wooden stairway constructed against the wall opposite the door. ‘That runs up to the bedroom, then there’s another one up to the roof. I believe I left the table and chairs. Excellent view too.’
Indavara and Simo wandered around, peering into the shadows.
Diadromes grabbed Cassius’s arm. ‘Sorry, I forgot to thank you – must be the excitement. You can imagine what a happy house I left behind. My son and my wife are thrilled.’
‘I told Sallustius that you knew nothing of my visit. I doubt he’ll give you any more trouble.’
‘I am in your debt, Officer Crispian. If this place isn’t suitable I’m sure we can find something else. I suppose it all depends on which is more important: comfort or security.’
Cassius noted some furniture stacked up below the stairs; a bed, a cupboard, some small tables. Simo seemed more interested in the state of the floor, which was covered in patchy reed matting and hundreds of rodent droppings.
Indavara was already heading up the stairs. ‘I like it. I really like it.’
Cassius turned to Diadromes. ‘Security it is. Thank you.’
The Syrian gave him the keys. ‘Have your man make a list of anything you need and give it to my clerk. I believe there’s still a stables just over the road so that’s the horses taken care of.’
‘Latrine?’ said Cassius.
‘Good deep hole over there,’ said Diadromes, pointing into the shadows. ‘Ventilation bricks too.’
‘You will put up a curtain, Simo.’
‘Yes, sir. Master Diadromes, might I enquire – water?’
‘There’s a well at the back, covered with a big slab of granite. As long as you can get that off it should be fine. I’m afraid I have to be going. Tell you what, Crispian, I’ll come over later with Cosmas around sundown. Oh, and thank you again, you have no idea how much easier you’ve made my life. I don’t recall the last time I saw my wife with a smile upon her face.’
Diadromes marched out of the tower and back to his horse, already barking orders at his clerk.
Simo had located a broom. He started sweeping then stopped, as if there were no point even beginning such a huge task.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll give you a hand,’ said Cassius. ‘And you heard what he said about the list.’
‘Chuck me the keys,’ yelled Indavara from the stairs. ‘This door’s locked too. I want to go up top.’
Cassius threw them to him then glanced around once more.
‘Happy, sir?’
‘Happier, Simo. Gods willing, I may even sleep tonight.’
XIV
For once, Cassius actually fulfilled his promise of helping out. Though there was seldom any need for him to involve himself in practical labours, he was not unused to them. He had grown up surrounded by servants but his father had always insisted he learn every skill associated with looking after his various horses and, as a boy, he’d spent countless hours helping the gardener in the villa grounds. Cassius had also dirtied his hands during training. He had cleaned and repaired kit, mucked out stables, cooked meals and heaved amphoras around; the legions made few concessions to status or prospective rank during the first few weeks of instruction. Generally, he found such work grindingly tedious, but he recognised that a few hours here and there was probably good for him. So while Indavara and Simo tidied the ground floor, he filled a bucket with water, grabbed a rag and climbed to the top of the tower.
He had already been up to check the view but resolved not to do so again until he’d finished his work. The timber floor was filthy; Simo could attend to that. The stone surround and the underside of the roof would also need attention – whichever birds had been occupying the place seemed to have discharged shit at every conceivable angle on to every surface.
Cassius decided to focus on the table and chairs. The birds hadn’t done too much damage here but all the wood was covered in a thick layer of grime. Barefoot and clad in his oldest tunic, he soaked the rag and got started. Once the table was done, he decided he in fact deserved a break after all; he walked over to the surround and looked out at the city.
Like Tripolis, Berytus was built upon an angular promontory, the western corner of which pointed directly at Cyprus, some hundred miles across the Great Green Sea. To the north was the harbour and the two long breakwaters that protected it. Dozens of high masts could be seen there, and Cassius counted thirteen large vessels at sea. Sails billowing, the ships seemed to be sliding effortlessly across the calm water. The sailing season was now in full flow; cargoes and passengers would be heading south towards Egypt and west towards the rest of the Empire.