‘Nice stuff, this, sir. A local concoction — I believe there’s myrrh in it.’
Cassius took a long sip.
Simo examined his face. ‘Are you all right, sir?’
‘No, Simo, I’m not. I trust my bed’s ready?’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘Prepare my writing materials. Best ink and paper.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Simo hurried away.
‘Need me?’ asked Indavara.
‘No, go ahead.’
The bodyguard took his wine with him.
‘Well, sir?’ asked Clemens as he returned to the parlour.
Cassius gestured to the bench in front of the hearth. They sat down and he described what had occurred in Amyndios. Clemens looked aghast when he heard the grisly details and seemed stunned that such a thing could occur on the island.
Cassius instructed him to send a message to the magistrate, enquiring about what action he had taken so far and suggesting that he prevent any seagoing ships from leaving the port. Clemens was also to gather every available soldier and bring them to the way station. As was his right, Cassius intended to requisition the troops for as long as he needed them. All this was to be carried out within the first hour of the day.
‘How many legionaries will you be able to get?’ Cassius asked.
‘Only my century — the Fifth — is permanently stationed in the city, sir. The barracks are close to the citadel but most of them are away rebuilding a bridge down in Camiros. Perhaps a dozen or so.’
‘And the magistrate? How many sergeants does he have?’
‘Quite a few, but I wouldn’t rely on too much cooperation from that quarter.’
‘Why not?’
‘The magistrate is elected by the people; a sop to the Rhodian Assembly. His name is Nariad. Well connected but rather ineffectual, and he’s not known for considering demands from the army a priority.’
‘We’re talking about the murder of the Service’s second in command. He is bound by imperial law to assist me.’
‘Fair enough, sir. It’s just that the locals think a little differently here. They’re very fond of reminding us that Rhodes was a naval power before we knew one end of a ship from the other. I’ve had half a dozen different postings in my time and, believe me, it’s not your typical province.’
‘Well, as long as I can depend on you and your men. I shall give detailed instructions in the morning.’
‘Sir.’ Clemens laid his hands across his ample gut and stared into the burning coals of the fire. ‘Beheaded. By Mars.’
‘You’ve not heard of any disputes involving Memor?’
‘Not one. As I said, we hardly ever saw him unless he was leaving or returning. He used to send one of his men to collect the post. He always seemed a decent enough sort to me.’
‘Even for a “grain man”?’
Clemens glanced anxiously at his superior.
Cassius continued: ‘How were relations between Memor and the other officers here?’
‘I don’t know if Master Memor ever even visited the barracks. He certainly didn’t advertise his presence. I think he said to me once that’s why he liked it here — he was left alone to get on with his job.’
‘Yes. I think he’d come to feel very safe here. Too safe, in fact.’
Cassius stood up, took a last swig of wine and left the mug on the table. ‘Get some sleep, Clemens. I want you up before the sun.’
He walked out of the parlour and turned left. There were four small bedrooms in the way station. Indavara was sleeping in the one closest to the parlour, Cassius and Simo in the second. There was only one bed, so — not for the first time — Simo would have to make do with a pile of blankets on the floor.
The Gaul was sitting on the bed with a wooden writing board on his lap, mixing some ink. Beside him were two sheets of paper and Cassius’s best silver pen — a gift from his father for his sixteenth birthday. Cassius undid the clasp that held his cloak together, took it off and threw it on to a chair — the only other piece of furniture in the room. To this he added his sword belt, then his main belt.
He slumped down next to Simo. Stretching out his legs he tried to lie back on the bed but it was too narrow to get comfortable. Simo placed a pillow under his master’s head.
‘Indavara told me what happened, sir. That poor family. It’s beyond belief.’
‘Quite horrible. But applying a little cold logic to the situation, the event itself is actually not that incredible. Can you imagine the number of people someone in Memor’s position might have accused, imprisoned, exiled or had killed over the years?’
The Gaul looked shocked.
‘Come on, Simo. I think you’ve heard enough from me to know that the Service rarely attracts the most wholesome of characters. No, what’s beyond belief is that I should arrive here on Rhodes the day after the murder is committed, thereby ensuring I have to deal with the whole ghastly mess.’
Cassius blew out his cheeks and stared at the ceiling.
‘Perhaps this letter can wait until morning, sir.’
‘Letters, actually. No. I shall be busy enough tomorrow. In any case, they’re both finished.’ Cassius tapped his head. ‘I did them on the way back. Only about two hundred words each. We shall be done in an hour.’
‘I take it you’d like me to write, then, sir.’
‘Your handwriting’s better than mine anyway. Ready?’
Simo tested the nib on the writing block. A spot of ink came out. He placed the first of the sheets on the block and raised the pen.
‘Ready, sir.’
IV
Less than an hour after dawn, the Great Harbour was alive with activity. Fishing boats cast off from the quay, stores opened their doors and the locals converged on another freighter that had arrived late the previous evening. Several hours of rain during the night had left puddles on the streets and a clammy cold in the air.
Cassius jumped up on to the sea wall. He looked to the north, towards the Little Harbour, and saw the masts of at least twenty seagoing vessels. Simo was over there somewhere, trying to find ships heading in the right direction. It was unlikely the letters to Abascantius and Chief Pulcher would follow a direct route but — for a fee — a willing captain would deliver them to an army way station and the imperial post would do the rest. Simo had already tried the Great Harbour but of the dozen ships there, eight were now ensconced for the winter, two were undergoing repairs and two were heading in the wrong direction.
Cassius glanced up at the tightly packed buildings on the terraced hillside below the citadel. Clemens was up there somewhere, fetching men from the barracks, and Cassius was impatiently awaiting his return. The optio had sent the message to the magistrate’s office but there was still no reply.
Dropping to the ground, Cassius picked his way through a group of women cleaning up the remnants of yesterday’s market — mostly stinking fish remains and clumps of straw. He found Indavara in the way-station parlour, tearing a corner off a loaf. The still unseen maid had left out some breakfast on the table.
‘Morning,’ said the bodyguard.
‘Unlikely to be a good one, I’m afraid.’
‘We’re off round the ships, then?’
‘Indeed.’ Cassius half filled a mug with wine then topped it up with water.
‘You said there won’t be many on the move this time of year,’ added Indavara. ‘Shouldn’t be that hard.’
‘Yes, but it’s not just the big ships. There are these coasters that make runs to the nearby islands or the mainland — it’s only fifty miles or so to Lycia or Asia Minor. Then there are the other ports on the island — Lindos, for example.’
‘Ah.’
‘But there should be a harbour master around who can help us find out which ships have left and which are about to leave. Hopefully, Simo’s already tracked him down.’
Cassius took a dried fig from a plate.
‘Sir!’
He looked along the corridor to see Clemens waving at him from the road. Behind him were some legionaries.
‘Bring them round to the courtyard!’