‘About a mile.’
‘There’s Simo,’ said Indavara.
The Gaul had waited for the sergeants to rush out. He entered the headquarters clutching a folded blanket.
‘In there,’ ordered Cassius.
The aid post was empty. Simo dumped the blanket on the table, then unwrapped it. ‘Anybody hurt?’
‘No,’ said Indavara.
‘Speak for yourself.’ Cassius’s shoulder ached so badly that he was convinced the arrow had stuck him, even though he could see the undershirt remained intact. He also had countless bruises and cuts from all that rolling around in the tunnels.
Inside the blanket were one spare tunic for Indavara, a choice of two for Cassius, plus his helmet and the spearhead.
‘Simo, some help here.’
Between the two of them they removed the mail shirt, undershirt and mud-encrusted tunic.
Cassius suddenly thought of something. ‘Kallikres, how many staff at the villa?’
‘At least three maids. Several other male servants and some lads.’
‘They have horses, of course.’
‘I saw a stables, yes.’
Cassius selected the red tunic; his hunch that he might again need to exploit his authority to get the help he needed had proved correct. Once that was on, Simo again assisted him with the armour. He then pulled on his sword belt, which was still filthy.
‘Can’t believe I lost it.’ Indavara was staring glumly down at Skiron’s blade, which to Cassius looked a lot more expensive than the bodyguard’s old weapon. ‘That was a bloody good sword.’
Simo unbuckled the satchel and turned it upside down, emptying muddy water on to the floor.
Cassius stuffed the spearhead inside the bag. ‘Simo, you bring my helmet.’
Indavara had also changed and was still tightening his belt as they hurried out of the building. Four guards had been stationed at the gate and dozens of cityfolk – mostly young men – had gathered outside. For now they were simply looking on.
‘These your horses?’ A sergeant walked over and pointed at the six mounts tied up in the courtyard.
‘Some of them,’ said Cassius.
When the sergeant noted the colour of his tunic, his manner changed.
‘Oh, sorry, sir – are you leaving?’
‘We are.’
‘It’s just that we need to get organised – I think we’re in for a long day.’
Cassius was already past him. He, Indavara, Simo and Kallikres untied their horses and mounted up. With the other three men watching the cityfolk, the sergeant opened the gate and waved them through.
Cassius summoned Kallikres to the front. ‘The barracks – as fast as you can.’
It was immediately obvious that the sergeant’s prediction of a ‘long day’ wasn’t far off the mark. Kallikres did his best to avoid the major avenues but whenever they neared one, it was clear to all that something was wrong. During the first hour it was no surprise to see the city busy, but no one seemed to be working. The men were in groups, either on the move or gathered at temples and statues and other meeting points. And though none seemed to be holding weapons, the anger and determination in their faces was clear. That was, the faces that could be seen; even though the sun was already warming the streets, many were wearing hoods. One group even shouted abuse in Aramaic as Cassius and the others rode past, having spied his red tunic and the crested helmet. There were few women or children around, nor any trace of either sergeants or soldiers – presumably they were all at the forum or the magistrate’s residence.
Fortunately, the barracks was some distance from the centre. As he reined in outside the entrance, Cassius offered another prayer to Jupiter. His self-imposed deadline of reaching the villa within the second hour was already looking unlikely.
The sense of unease was not helped by what he saw at the barracks. There was a man in each of the four corner towers and the pair of sentries at the gate were – unusually – inside. Now wearing his helmet, Cassius held up the spearhead.
‘Officer Crispian, Imperial Security. I need to commandeer some men. Open up, legionary.’
The nearest soldier came forward. ‘Good day, sir. I’m afraid standing orders are to only-’
‘Not for an officer with one of those,’ said the second sentry, nodding at the spearhead. An older man, he retrieved a large key from a bag hanging from his belt and opened the gate.
Two sides of the parade ground were taken up by barrack blocks – accommodation for the two centuries under Nemetorius’ command. Cassius could see only a handful of men; some at the stables and a trio cleaning a stack of shields.
‘Who’s the duty officer?’
The older legionary steadied Cassius’s horse, which didn’t seem keen on its new surroundings. ‘Guard Officer Papinian, he … ah.’
Papinian – identifiable by the single red stripe on his tunic sleeve – was coming down the ladder of the nearest guard tower. He leapt the last three rungs and hurried over. ‘Sir?’
‘Guard officer, I need some men. How many can you spare?’
Papinian eyed the spearhead. ‘Does Chief Centurion Nemetorius know about this, sir?’
‘No, but he knows I’m here in Berytus and he will expect you to cooperate. I am on an assignment for Marshal Marcellinus himself.’
Papinian chewed his lip and looked across his parade ground. ‘You need them on mounts, sir?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ve got six here that can ride but only four fit horses.’
Cassius muttered a curse. Could the gods really be on the Emperor’s side? They didn’t seem to be offering much help when it came to capturing these counterfeiters.
‘Four will have to do, then. I want them assembled here, armed and ready to leave in five minutes.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Pampinian jogged away across the parade ground, his old-fashioned segmented armour jangling.
Cassius turned around. Kallikres was staring out at the street.
‘What’s the best route? We should try to avoid the centre.’
‘We can follow the canal then cut across to the east gate.’
‘And about five miles to the villa, you think?’
‘Yes.’
Cassius shook his head – probably an hour or more until they got there. At least he’d have enough men to mount some kind of search if the ringleaders had escaped.
‘So you don’t even know their names, these two?’
‘No.’ Kallikres looked morosely down at the ground. ‘It was always just “Master” or “Mistress”.’
He had told Cassius about the fate of the caster Florens and the way they had used both the unfortunate maid and the slave boy to manipulate him.
‘What are they like?’
‘Clever,’ said Kallikres. ‘And beautiful, I suppose.’
Cassius raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m intrigued.’
XXXV
Though Cassius and the others had not been at the barracks long, Berytus now seemed almost deserted. They had seen only a few gangs of youths, a handful of messenger boys and a mounted squad of sergeants. Kallikres’ idea of following the street beside the canal was clearly a good one: with so little trade going on, both it and the waterway were quiet. Away to the left were the high buildings of the centre, from where they could hear the chants of a substantial crowd.
Kallikres was riding alongside Cassius at the front. ‘We must cross up here, then turn right.’
The bridge was a squat, single-arch structure. As they approached it, Cassius realised there was a group of men standing in the middle. Then he saw the barrier they had erected; a dense lattice of wooden poles roped between two carts.
‘Will they let us through?’ he asked as they slowed their horses.
‘Who knows?’ The sergeant pointed along the canal. ‘The next bridge isn’t far away but it’ll probably be busier.’
Cassius counted eleven men. ‘Let’s see what they do.’
He was still wearing his helmet. Affecting his most confident manner, he trotted ahead of the others and guided his horse on to the bridge, reining in only a few yards from the protesters. Some of them had quickly raised their hoods, others had pulled on actors’ masks just like Ravilla and his men. A few didn’t seem concerned about hiding their faces.