‘What about the journey?’ asked Simo. ‘Do you remember any of that, or where you started?’
‘Sometimes I think I can, but then I realise the memories are from other journeys since. I had taken a very bad blow to the head. Capito – he was the organiser of games – once told me I was drifting in and out and that he only took me because he got a good price and I looked strong. He gave the surgeon a week to revive me, which he did.’
‘How?’
‘Not sure exactly but I know he cleaned out the wound and restitched it. Waking with him looking down at me is the first thing I remember. His name was Asellio. He was the one who told me my name. The slavers had been given it by another man who’d been in the same cart but he was dead by the time I woke.’
‘Asellio – was he kind?’
‘No, but he knew his work. Two weeks later I was training; and Capito decided he would keep me.’
‘Did you have any friends?’
‘A fighter cannot have friends. I realised that soon enough.’
‘Because you might have to face them.’
Indavara nodded. ‘I suppose I had one.’ He took out the figurine from behind his belt.
‘Did you say a woman threw it to you?’
‘After my tenth fight. Mostly they threw coins but I was too tired to pick them up and I couldn’t spend them anyway.’ Indavara examined the figurine, the tiny features of the face. ‘I had to ask one of the trainers which goddess it was. When he told me I knew it had come to me for a reason.’
He looked across at Simo, noting the string around his neck; Corbulo made him keep the cross hidden.
‘You’ve only known the Faith, I suppose? Because of your father.’
‘Yes.’
Indavara glanced out of the window. ‘We’d better change the subject.’
‘Why?’
‘He’s coming.’
Corbulo was being escorted across the square by Cosmas, who came inside and thanked Indavara for his help with the interrogation before departing.
‘Let me guess,’ said Indavara as Corbulo sat beside Simo. ‘Gorgos told you about something, but not the counterfeiting.’
‘Precisely. How did you know?’
‘Because Cosmas was smiling and you’re not.’
‘Well, your persuasive approach certainly worked. He did tell us everything: about the smuggling operation he, his brother and this Egyptian are running. You name it, they’re bringing it in – best fortified wine hidden in cheap amphoras, luxury soap hidden in jars of fat. The list went on and on and on.’
‘But nothing about fake coins?’
‘Not a word.’
‘And you believe him?’
‘I do. Apart from the fact that you gave him the fright of his life, he is not bright enough to lie that convincingly. Cosmas is going to inform Diadromes now – at least we’ve done another favour for the magistrate.’
Corbulo took Simo’s mug and drank from it.
Indavara turned to him. ‘If I didn’t say so before, thank you. For what you did at the aqueduct.’
‘Think nothing of it. Just remember what I said about benefit versus risk. Girl!’ Corbulo grabbed the maid’s sleeve as she bustled past. ‘Bring a jug of wine and a mug for me.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Indavara could tell Corbulo was preoccupied: he didn’t give a second look at the maid, who was young and pretty. He dropped a fist on the table. ‘This damned investigation. Nothing but guesswork and dead ends. And I thought it was going to be easy.’
‘There’s time yet, sir.’
‘Not a lot, Simo. Not a lot.’
Back at the tower, a sheet of paper had been slipped under the door and its contents raised Cassius’s spirits a little. It was a list, at the bottom of which was a note from Diadromes. No one at the basilica had a reason to keep records on which concerns made use of bronze, but he knew a retired metal-smith who was able to compile the list from memory. The deputy magistrate couldn’t guarantee that it was completely up to date, but to Cassius it seemed fairly comprehensive.
He could have done with a trip to the baths but didn’t want to go out again, so he stripped down to his loincloth, lay on his bed and perused the list. The variety of industries and other outfits that dealt in bronze was remarkable: blacksmiths, metal-smiths, shipbuilders, cart-builders, window-makers, furniture-makers, lamp-makers, vessel-makers, statue-makers; and so it went on.
Cassius wiped sweat off his chin. Though the tower was comparatively cool, it was another hot day. He drank some water and forced himself to think about other avenues to explore; other ways to find the gang. A minute later he fell asleep.
When he awoke, the only light was the orange glow coming from beyond the windows. He heard feet on the stairs and the door opened.
‘All right?’ said Indavara, his face invisible in the gloom.
‘Gods, it’s dark. How long have I slept?’
‘Didn’t know you were sleeping – we thought you were up here working on some brilliant new plan.’
‘I was, but I …’
‘Listen, Patch isn’t very well. Simo and I are going to take him out for a walk, see if a trot through a stream will rouse him. You’ll be all right here, won’t you?’
‘Alone?’
‘Just lock the door – no one can get to you in here.’
‘I suppose you’re right. Can’t keep you with me every hour of the day.’
‘Simo says he’ll prepare some supper when we get back.’
‘Very well.’ Cassius got up and followed Indavara back down the stairs to the door.
‘There are fresh jugs of wine and water, sir,’ said Simo as the two of them walked out into the darkness.
‘Yes, yes, as long as your bloody mule’s all right – that’s the important thing.’
Cassius pushed the heavy door shut then secured the bolts at the top and bottom. The tower suddenly seemed very quiet. He walked over to the table and poured himself a large mug of wine.
The structure ahead was almost unrecognisable as a building. Only half of one wall remained, a lonely stack of blocks that looked as if it might topple at any moment. The makeshift dwellings were alarmingly close: low, narrow shelters of reused brick with roofs of driftwood and branches. Outside one was a small fire, a beacon of warmth among all the emptiness and ruined stone.
Indavara and Simo followed Elder Cobon through the rubble. Faces turned from the fire. Two men stood, each holding iron spears. Cobon – who was carrying a torch – held up his other hand in greeting and spoke to one of the men, who swiftly lowered his weapon. Indavara listened and realised they were speaking in Aramaic (Simo knew a little but he did not). After a time, Cobon gestured to the sacks he and Simo were carrying. Indavara had only his stave.
The leader called out to his people. Men, women and children began to appear; some from the shelters, some from the shadows. By the time they were all gathered around the fire, Indavara had counted twenty-eight. Cobon and Simo handed over the sacks, then watched as the leader distributed the bread. He was scrupulously fair, giving larger loaves to adults, smaller ones to the children. His compatriot took the last few and began dividing them.
One of the women came forward. Indavara was surprised to see she was clad in a fine cloak, though it had clearly seen better days. She knelt in front of Elder Cobon and offered her hand. He took it and helped her back up. As she returned to her family, Indavara saw that she was weeping.
While Cobon continued speaking to the men, another family sent forth a child; a little girl of no more than three or four with some ribbons in her hair and a sweet smile. In her hand was a bracelet; colourful beads strung on thread. She offered it to Cobon, who put a kind hand on her head but refused the gift. Simo smiled to her and spoke to her in Aramaic but he wouldn’t take the bracelet either.
Indavara thought the little girl would be scared of him but she offered it to him too. He didn’t know what to do. The girl turned back towards her family; they seemed to be encouraging her to hand it over. Her face began to tremble. Indavara didn’t want to upset her so he took it. The girl ran back to her parents.