Cassius let go of the pole again and hurried over. One side of Simo’s tunic was dirty and he was holding up his hand to cover his face.
‘Show me that,’ said Indavara, pushing his arm down. The attendant’s right cheek was discoloured and he had a cut just above his left eye. Dark blood had dried beneath it.
‘Simo, what happened?’ repeated Indavara.
‘I – I-’
‘Corbulo, get a stool for him.’
Cassius did so.
Simo slumped down on it then looked at his master. ‘I am so sorry, sir. They wanted me to stay but I knew I needed to get back.’
‘Gods, man, you’re shaking. What happened?’
Indavara placed a hand on his cheek. ‘Don’t worry. Just checking.’ He pressed against it with his fingers. ‘That hurt?’
‘Only a little.’
‘Shape looks all right. I’ll clean that eye up.’
Indavara grabbed a mug and filled it from an amphora of water, then went to look for a cloth.
Cassius’s first thought was that it might have been his enemies, trying to get information out of the attendant. His second was that they might have followed him. He ran to the door and bolted it.
‘Who attacked you, Simo?’
‘I believe they are followers of a local cult opposed to the Faith. We were handing out bread to the poor in an area not far from their temple. The men said that we were trying to convert them but it is not true. We wished only to help.’
Cassius shook his head. ‘Of course you did.’
Indavara brought the wet rag over and began cleaning the wound. ‘They attacked you because of that?’
‘We had women with us – they struck them too. One man has a broken finger, another a cut like me. And they took the bread. All of it.’
Cassius was still standing over him, any vestige of sympathy long gone. ‘Four days we’ve been here. And off you go into a strange part of the city with people you’ve just met to make trouble.’
‘Sounds to me like these cultists were the ones making trouble,’ said Indavara.
Cassius pointed at Simo. ‘You know full well that I cannot afford to draw attention to myself yet you get yourself mixed up in this. You lose all sense and judgement when it comes to your “faith”. Well, it ends here and now. You will not visit this church-house or any other congregation while we are here in Berytus.’
‘Sir, please, I-’
‘Do not interrupt me. Did you hear what I said?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Cassius looked over at the table; he was in dire need of some wine. But as Indavara took the bloodied rag away from Simo’s cheek, he paused.
‘Is it bad?’
‘Nothing broken. I’d say he was wearing a ring. An inch lower and it would have been a lot worse.’
Cassius glared at his attendant. ‘Idiotic. Absolutely idiotic.’
Simo and Indavara eventually decided that the cut needed stitches. Cassius told them to do it upstairs; he didn’t want Cosmas asking any awkward questions about what had happened. The sergeant arrived half an hour later.
‘Good evening, sir.’
‘Evening,’ said Cassius, securing the door behind him. ‘You look rather tired.’
‘Lot of walking today.’
‘Come, have a seat.’
Cassius now realised that Cosmas was one of those men whose face and figure didn’t quite fit together. Despite his compelling features, he was exceptionally short and slight for a city sergeant. He had of course forgone his club, and was dressed in an anonymous tunic.
They sat by the table, which was covered with the various foodstuffs and kitchen equipment Simo had acquired.
‘Some progress, then?’
Cosmas ran a finger and a thumb down his beard. ‘What we in the trade might call a definite possibility.’
‘Ah, well, that’s a start.’
‘I’ve been around most of my tale-tellers now, though a couple are always hard to locate. Lot of talk as usual, much of it invented for the sake of a coin, much of it of no use. Nothing on Florens. Not a thing.’
‘I expected as much. We don’t even have an alias.’
‘As far as counterfeiting goes, not a lot on that either. I’ve been down to the docks – nothing on illicit metals. I’ve been around the factories – nothing on new outfits needing premises with ovens and the rest of it. I’ve been round the cart drivers and the shipping agents – nothing on secret deliveries around the province.’
‘That’s a lot of nothing. What about this “definite possibility”?’
Cosmas leaned forward. ‘A pair of brothers named Gorgos. One of my tale-tellers reckons they’ve been seen around town with some well-dressed fellow, possibly an Egyptian. Apparently they’ve been helping him out: buying a couple of small properties, introducing him to locals. One of those locals is a character named Hagnon – who owns two freighters and a cart-hire concern. Barely a year passes when the municipal court doesn’t receive some accusation about him but so far none of the shit has stuck. Excuse the expression, sir.’
‘Excused. All very interesting but please tell me you have something more.’
‘The brothers. One is the muscle, the other an educated man – quite the scribe, in fact. Three years ago, he was charged with forgery. For a price he’d draw up false wills or other documents. I looked up the records at the basilica – he even tried his hand at creating false wax seals.’
‘And the trial?’
‘There were three witnesses. All retracted their testimony and refused to appear. The judicial prefect had to let it go.’
‘I see. Well, taken together, that all sounds quite promising. What do you suggest?’
‘If you don’t mind, sir, give me another day. I’ll watch these brothers, see what I can for myself. If I get no farther we can bring them in for questioning.’
‘And this Egyptian?’
‘Eyes and ears open for anything on him too, of course.’
‘Good.’
‘Can I …’
‘Yes, of course. I expect you’d like to get home.’
Cassius led the way over to the door and opened it. Cosmas had one foot outside when he stopped. ‘Ah, sorry, sir, I forgot. Magistrate Diadromes wanted me to pass this on: the procurator’s office have found one of the fake coins right here in the city. Apparently a clerk was going through his change from the market and spotted it.’
‘Oh.’
‘Goodnight, sir.’
Cassius quickly shut the door and bolted it. He stood there for a moment, gazing up at the windows facing west, where the last red rays of the sun speared the darkness.
It was all so damned tenuous; and once again he was basing the investigation on hunches and a few disparate threads that might add up to very little. Still, he was grateful for the help offered by Diadromes and Cosmas; staying off the streets was a definite advantage at the moment.
Indavara and Simo’s beds had arrived the previous day. There seemed to be no end to Diadromes’s generosity and the mattresses were well made and stuffed with straw. They had also been given two cushions each, and Indavara still wasn’t quite used to such soft support for his head. He twisted and turned for a while, unable to get comfortable.
‘Are you still awake?’ asked Simo.
‘Yes, unfortunately.’
‘Do you think Master Cassius meant what he said?’
‘Probably.’
Indavara adjusted the light blanket he used in the summer months. The tower was dark and silent. Outside, he could hear a cart bumping along the street.
‘Simo, who were these people you were giving bread to?’
‘Some were Palmyran refugees. Some were ill. Some were just poor. They gather near the docks, living off scraps. We’d only given out a few loaves when the men came. It has nothing to do with belief; just common thievery. They took the bread right out of the hands of the old and the young and the sick.’
Simo whispered a prayer to himself.
‘What about the city sergeants – they’re supposed to deal with crime, aren’t they?’
‘Not if it means helping Christians.’
‘None of your lot will fight back, I suppose?’