‘I need a drink.’ Cassius leaned against the wall outside the interrogation room. Opposite him, Cosmas looked thoughtfully at the black and white floor tiles.
They had been questioning the younger Gorgos brother for an hour. Whatever he was mixed up in, the Syrian was giving nothing away. He claimed that he and his brother did odd jobs for various people: labouring, construction, deliveries. Nothing outside the law, of course – he and his brother had turned over a new leaf. As for why Greyboy had fled? He was terrified of captivity. Their connection with Hagnon – the suspect character with all the ships and carts? Just did a bit of day work for him. And the mysterious Egyptian? Knuckles had no idea who they were talking about.
‘There’s no way of hurrying up the process?’ asked Cassius. For striking Cantaber, Knuckles could be charged with assault of an officer of the law; an offence which would earn him some form of physical punishment or another term of hard labour.
‘It will be several weeks before he attends court.’
‘What about a special arrangement? In return for information we can put in a good word. Such things are done.’
‘Yes, sir, they are. But again that will take time. Deputy Diadromes would have to consult the judicial prefect. And he will still be busy with those arrested during the protests.’
Cassius had seen some of these men; they were being kept in the building’s holding cell.
‘This man is a known criminal,’ added Cosmas. ‘A few friends in the city but no one who would care enough to trouble the courts. Might be time to apply a little more pressure.’
‘You mean of the non-verbal variety?’
‘He already has some bruises. No one will notice a few more.’
Cassius felt rather disturbed by the prospect of ordering such a thing but he doubted his conscience would trouble him for long; the Gorgos brothers had done plenty of damage themselves.
Cosmas said, ‘You wouldn’t have to be anywhere near it.’ He gave a sheepish half-grin. ‘I am rather small for such work but Arius and Cantaber can be quite effective when they need to be.’
Cassius wasn’t convinced the sergeants would be quite ‘effective’ enough to worry the hulking Knuckles. He pushed himself off the wall. ‘I think I know someone even better suited to such a role.’
With his fingers now bandaged, Indavara listened carefully as Cassius explained what he needed. They were walking back to the interrogation room having left Simo in the aid post, assisting the surgeon as he stitched Cantaber’s cut.
‘Cosmas and the other sergeants are in there now. They haven’t touched him yet. It’s important to make a big entrance: I suggest a couple of smacks then see what you can get out of him. The initial shock won’t last long so make sure you ask the right questions. Remember, we are focusing on-’
‘Leave it to me,’ said Indavara as they reached the room.
Cassius watched him flex his shoulders and suck in some deep breaths. ‘Building yourself up, I suppose? Making yourself angry?’
‘Why would I need to make myself angry? The bastard’s brother tried to kill me.’ Indavara wrenched the door open and stalked inside.
Cassius hurried after him and shut it. Cosmas and the sergeants were standing opposite Knuckles. The seated captive had his bound hands resting on the table. His dismissive sneer vanished when he saw the new arrival.
‘Out the way,’ muttered Indavara, pushing Cosmas aside. With scant regard for his injured hand, he gripped the table (which was not small) and flung it sideways. Knuckles only just got out of the way as the table spun through the air and clattered into the wall. Indavara darted forward and swung his right boot.
As the stool flew away, Knuckles fell on to his side, heavy body slapping against the tiles. Eyes bulging, he watched as Indavara plucked Cosmas’s dagger from its sheath.
‘This won’t take long.’
Cassius wasn’t entirely sure what he was watching: reality or performance.
Knuckles tried to roll away but Indavara had already grabbed his tunic.
‘Don’t worry,’ he hissed into the larger man’s ear. ‘The blade’s for the rope. There’s no fun in beating a fellow with his hands bound. I’ll give you a chance.’
‘No, no, please. Leave them bound.’
‘What?’ Indavara squatted in front of him, knife inches from his face.
‘I – I – I’ll tell you everything.’
Indavara kept the knife where it was. ‘Everything?’
Knuckles nodded frantically, eyes almost crossing as they stared at the triangular tip of the blade. Indavara handed the dagger to a hesitant Cosmas, then helped the Syrian to his feet.
He had to reach up to tap his shoulder. ‘Knuckles, you disappoint me. Now, you’re going to have a nice long talk with these gentlemen and I’m going to get some grub. After chasing your bloody brother I’ve worked up quite an appetite so if I’m disturbed I’m going to take it out on you. So you answer all their questions, I’ll have a quiet lunch and everyone’s happy. Got it?’
The Syrian nodded, bottom lip quivering.
While the two sergeants retrieved the table, Indavara righted the stool and coaxed Knuckles down on to it. Cassius and Cosmas turned away from the captive and exchanged a grin.
The bodyguard was already through the door. ‘All yours.’
The eatery was almost full but the maid recognised Indavara and found them a good seat.
‘Nice, eh?’ he said, doing his best to ignore the rather unpleasant smell drifting out of the sewers on the edge of the forum.
Simo was looking out of a diamond-shaped window at the basilica. ‘Yes.’
‘I told him I was taking you with me. Relax.’
Indavara often thought his friend didn’t really know the meaning of the word. When he was with his master he was desperate to please; when he was away from him he seemed unable to just be himself for an hour or two.
The Gaul wiped away crumbs left by a previous customer. ‘I should not have stopped for those children.’
‘He’s all talk,’ said Indavara. ‘He’d never get rid of you. He needs you as much as he needs me. More, probably.’
‘I don’t think so.’
The maid brought them two mugs of the ‘half and half’ Indavara had ordered. ‘What are we eating, then, gentlemen?’
‘What’s fresh?’ asked Indavara.
‘Oysters and mussels have just come in.’
‘That sounds fine.’
‘Both?’
‘Yes, and some bread – bring that first, please.’ Indavara inspected Simo’s brow. ‘How’s the eye?’
‘Sore. Though I must again compliment you on the quality of your stitching.’ He peered at Indavara’s bandaged hand. ‘And that?’
‘It’s nothing. Lucky for me that the nastiest of the two Gorgos brothers is also the lightest.’
‘I think you enjoy it. All this running and jumping, chasing and fighting.’
‘Perhaps. Falling – not so much.’
‘Quick thinking from Master Cassius – with the net.’
‘He has his moments. The whole thing was my own stupid fault. Like Corbulo says, sometimes it’s better to just stop and think.’
The bread arrived; four small rolls in a wicker basket. Indavara had the first one in his mouth before the maid had let go. ‘Mmm. That is good. Crispy on the outside, soft in the middle.’
Simo was frowning, listening to something.
‘What is it?’
‘The music. Can you hear it?’
Somewhere within the hubbub outside was the noise of a flute.
‘It’s not-’
‘No,’ said Indavara. ‘Different tune.’
Simo listened for a while longer then agreed he was right. He took a roll for himself, eating one modest mouthful at a time. ‘Do you think Master Cassius will get anywhere with that letter to Pietas Julia?’
‘I don’t think so. I was told nobody knew anything about who I was or where I’d come from.’
Indavara didn’t usually like speaking about his previous life, and while Corbulo occasionally pressed him for details, Simo had learned not to ask. But today, he found he wanted to go on. ‘Someone said that I arrived at the arena in a caged cart with a load of others. Carts like that came in all the time. All slaves or condemned men.’