‘You mean …’
‘I don’t think we need to spell it out.’
Indavara reached for his groin.
‘By the gods, at least let me get out of the room, man.’
‘I was just going to scratch it.’
Cassius walked out. ‘Have fun.’
‘Corbulo, I was just going to scratch it. Corbulo!’
Cassius was so keen to leave that he actually helped Simo pack and by the third hour of night they were just about ready. The morose attendant then departed to arrange the hire of the cart. Before he left, Cassius asked him to light a lamp in every room; despite the four sentries outside, he didn’t want to be jumping at shadows all night.
Standing in the kitchen doorway, he stared down at the rectangle of light where he and Indavara had fought for their lives just hours ago. Simo had scrubbed the tiles for over an hour but a few obstinate smears of blood remained.
Despite all the horrors Cassius had endured in the last three years, this was a different kind of fear. Someone out there wanted to capture him, almost certainly to do him harm. Even though he was leaving this place behind, Cassius knew he would not be able escape the two questions he had discussed with Leddicus in this very spot. Who? And why?
Thoughts of the legionary sent him back into the kitchen. The least he could do for the soldiers who would spend their night guarding him was take them some (well-watered) wine. He grabbed a jug and two mugs and made his way out to the rear door. The two men seemed appreciative though he could tell they didn’t think much of their duty. To the average legionary, guarding a ‘grain man’ was not a particularly glorious task. As a long-standing rival of the regular army, the Service did not enjoy an enviable reputation among the ranks.
The legionaries stationed at the front of the villa were more talkative. They and Cassius were discussing the possible booty to be had from the Palmyran and Egyptian campaigns when a large, familiar figure ambled out of the fortress, closely followed by another large, familiar figure.
Knowing there was no escape, Cassius invited Abascantius in. Shostra – his thuggish and virtually mute Syrian attendant – was carrying a sack over one shoulder. Cassius led the way into the atrium, where he turned and faced his superior officer.
‘I owe you an apology, sir.’
‘Yes, but you wouldn’t mean it. You are fortunate that I have bigger fish to fry, Corbulo, or I might be devoting more energy to being annoyed with you or giving you the smack you deserve.’
Cassius did not reply. From Indavara’s room came the sound of snoring.
‘I will, however, remind you of something. If Marshal Marcellinus was to learn of your two-year “holiday” in Cyzicus, he might not be quite so convinced that the sun shines out of your arsehole.’
‘Point taken, sir.’
‘I have seen Governor Calvinus. He wishes you well and agrees it’s best you should go. He is also of the opinion that you’ve not been yourself since returning from the south. Apparently you have kept up appearances but neglected your duties. Other sources tell me you have been drinking too much and whoring too much.’
Cassius accepted all this with as much dignity as he could muster, though he wished the agent had dismissed his servant before discussing such a thing. ‘Galanaq, sir.’
‘You killed a man. I know. Not in battle. Not in a glorious charge or a heroic defence. But to save yourself. And if you hadn’t, what state would the province be in now? You did what you had to.’
Cassius was looking at the darkened window beyond the agent.
Abascantius reached up and gripped his arm. The gesture was one of kindness; and so utterly out of character that Cassius didn’t know how to respond.
‘This work of ours takes us to some nasty places, lad.’ Abascantius nodded over his shoulder at Shostra. ‘He and I know them well. Sometimes there’s just no way around them. Only through. You’ve got through; and you’re stronger for it.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘All things considered, this counterfeit job might be a good fit at the moment. And knowing you, you just might crack it. But be under no illusions that you will be in for an easy ride. The treasury are only a little more well inclined towards us than the army and you will face the usual problems getting the locals to cooperate. I want you to remember one thing more. You belong to me and Chief Pulcher the way that Gaul of yours belongs to you. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I expect to hear from you every ten days. Address your letters to the governor’s office in Alexandria – they will be forwarded to me from there. Whether you receive replies or not, continue to write. If and when the investigation is concluded, either I or Chief Pulcher will notify you of your next assignment.’
Abascantius clicked his fingers. Shostra reached into the sack and pulled out three bulging bags of coins. He then retrieved a thin stick of charcoal and a small paper receipt. He offered them to Cassius, who signed for the money.
‘Pay for the next two quarters,’ said Abascantius. ‘The two big bags are yours, the smaller is Indavara’s. Believe it or not I’ve given you a raise.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Don’t thank me, thank the Palmyrans. I doubt there’s a single pound of gold or silver left in the place.’
Cassius shook the hefty forearm offered to him.
‘Marcellinus was right about being careful,’ added the agent. ‘Chances are you’ll be safe once you’re away from here but keep that one-man army of yours close.’
‘Best of luck in Egypt, sir.’
Abascantius prodded him in the chest. ‘Every ten days. Without fail.’
‘Yes, sir.’
II
Alexon liked the villa but he liked the location even more. There wasn’t another property within half a mile and the grounds were enclosed by stone walls and rows of closely packed conifers. Much of the surrounding forest was cedar; a favourite of his, with its refreshing aroma and sprawling, luxuriant foliage. And thanks to the hill on which the villa had been built, there was an excellent view down to the vineyards, the city and the coast beyond.
It was peaceful here. They had privacy, they had time and Alexon had done his best to ensure they were safe; he hoped they could stay for a while.
He alternated three different routes for his morning walk: today’s took him alongside a lovely stream then past a farmhouse and oil press where the entire family were working hard. Alexon now made a habit of greeting them and often gave a few coins to the children. It was important to make a good impression. Once past the farmhouse, he met a shepherd driving a small flock up the hill. The white-bearded old man doffed his cloth cap and remarked that it was another fine day. Alexon agreed. He leaped nimbly over a stile and cut across the meadow towards the villa.
The owner had told them that it was exactly a hundred feet wide and fifty deep, a two-storey building bookended by modest but elegant towers with a fine terrace overlooking the drive. Ivy covered much of the brickwork, providing a home for dozens of pretty little birds. Above the front door was an old carving of some local god; a female figure reaching for the heavens.
His sister was already on the terrace, awaiting their visitor. Alexon glanced down at the main gate. Kallikres had just tethered his horse. He shut the gate behind him and started up the sloping drive, head bowed.
‘A pleasant walk, brother?’ asked Amathea.
‘Very, thank you.’
Alexon sat next to her, under a parasol.
Skiron, their steward, looked on silently from the side of the terrace. He was fifty-something but had the upright stance and muscled physique of a man half that age. He had no hair upon his head and a pair of bulging, piercing, bright blue eyes. He had been with them for years.
‘Oh, you’ve almost finished it,’ said Alexon, looking at the sewing draped across Amathea’s lap. She had been working on the tablecloth for some time and he was pleased she had persisted; it seemed to help her relax. She smiled and pushed the needle into the cotton once more.