‘Bloody dark down here, sir.’
‘You see anything?’
‘Not much, just- Hey!’
‘What is it?’
Cassius’s only answer was the sound of a struggle. He was halfway down the steps when the legionaries reappeared out of the gloom. They each had a hand on a short individual attired like the other sailors.
‘Got another one, sir.’
‘You speak Greek?’ demanded Cassius. ‘Latin?’
The man’s response was to try to wrench his arms free, but he soon desisted when the older legionary waved his sword in his face. ‘Want some of that, short-arse?’
‘You keep looking,’ Cassius told the younger legionary.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Bring him.’
Cassius retreated up the steps. As soon as the fifth sailor cleared the hatch, he started babbling at his compatriots.
‘Quiet!’ Cassius shouted.
The older legionary held the man by the collar and kept his sword close to his neck.
‘Centurion! Sir!’
The ten men on the deck of the Scyros looked up at the wharf. Standing there with a coil of rope over his shoulder was a man of about forty. He looked rather shocked.
‘Might I ask what’s going on here? I am Nepius Ahala, master of this vessel.’
‘Just making enquiries,’ Cassius said calmly, keen to avoid letting another tense situation spiral out of control. ‘Come down here, would you?’
Leaving the rope on the wharf, Ahala nimbly negotiated the fenders and strode over to Cassius. He was a striking man: broad-shouldered and handsome, with a light beard and thick, greying hair.
‘Surely there’s no need for blades here, sir,’ he said, continuing in Latin.
‘I’ll be the judge of that,’ replied Cassius. ‘Is there anyone else on board?’
Ahala exchanged a few words with his men in the mysterious language. ‘No. I have six more crew but they’re fetching water.’
‘Why do none of them speak Latin or Greek?’
‘Why would they? I recruit them from my home town, not far from Barcino.’
‘Ah,’ said Cassius. ‘Spanish.’
‘Aquitanian, we call it.’
‘You were supposed to leave yesterday, correct?’
‘That’s right. Bit of rudder trouble. What’s all this about anyway?’
‘Where are you headed?’
Though Cassius kept the questions coming, Ahala showed no sign of unease.
‘To Demetrias in Macedonia. Quite a long trip.’
‘And dangerous at this time of year.’
Ahala shrugged. ‘I’ve done it before. Basically a matter of hopping from one island to the other, then along the coast in stages.’
‘Why is your hold empty?’
‘We’re bound to meet some bad weather somewhere, so we’re better off without a big load.’
‘That’s horseshit, sir,’ interjected the older legionary. ‘These captains squeeze in everything they can to make a profit.’
‘Experienced seaman, are you, soldier?’ asked Ahala.
‘Watch your mouth,’ retorted the legionary.
‘I’ve already made my money on this trip,’ explained the captain. ‘Which won’t count for a lot if we’re sunk on the way home.’
‘Sir, I’ve got something!’ cried the other legionary, still down below. He stomped up the steps holding a heavy-looking sack tied at the top with twine. ‘Didn’t you say something about a sack, sir? Found this near where we found the man.’
Cassius and the others all stared at the captain. He suddenly laughed.
‘Something amusing?’ Cassius asked.
Ahala put a hand on the curved dagger at his belt. ‘May I?’
‘Sir,’ warned the older legionary.
Cassius examined the captain’s face and made a swift decision. ‘Go ahead.’
‘You’ll find a hundred and forty-nine more of these if you keep looking.’
Ahala jabbed the dagger into the sack, then pulled it out. Sand spilled from the hole on to the deck. The captain sheathed his dagger. ‘Ballast.’
Cassius looked at the crew. ‘Where were your men on the night before last?’
‘Here. Sleeping.’
‘You’re sure of that?’
‘Absolutely. I bed down near the hatch so none of them can sneak into town for a drink.’
‘All right. One last thing. Line your men up.’
As Ahala gave the orders, Cassius waved the legionaries up to the wharf. ‘Go. We’re done here.’
The soldier who’d argued with Ahala shook his head. ‘You’re just going to leave it at that, sir?’
‘You don’t get paid enough to make decisions, legionary. Off the ship.’
‘Should I translate?’ asked Ahala, now standing with his men.
‘Yes,’ Cassius replied, pulling a coin from the money bag attached to his belt. ‘Tell them to catch this with one hand.’
‘As you wish,’ replied the bemused captain.
Cassius went along the line. Four of the men caught the coin cleanly and the last one dropped it but they all had one thing in common.
‘Right-handed,’ said Indavara. ‘But what about the other sailors who aren’t here?’
Cassius shook his head. ‘We’re wasting our time. My fault for jumping to flawed conclusions. Why would the killer masquerade as part of a crew? He wouldn’t even be able to decide when to make his escape. No, we’re looking for a man on his own. Come on.
‘Apologies for the intrusion,’ he said as they passed Ahala. He wouldn’t normally have bothered, but the captain had been exceptionally good-natured about the whole thing.
‘No harm done, Officer,’ said Ahala with a smile. ‘Always happy to assist imperial officials.’
‘I’m sure.’
Cassius was last off the ship. As they marched back towards the town, the covered carriage reappeared on the road, overtaking a slow-moving wagon and speeding past the warehouses towards them.
‘Gods,’ said Cassius. ‘What is it now?’
The two legionaries laughed when the carriage came to a stop — squeezed in between the two young ladies was the portly Optio Clemens.
Annia waved at Cassius. ‘Officer, this man was looking for you so I thought we’d help out.’
‘Very thoughtful, miss,’ said the red-faced optio.
‘Ha ha! Lady Clemens out for a ride!’ cried the younger legionary. The older man was already guffawing.
Cassius shoved the loudmouth in the shoulder, swiftly bringing him to his senses. ‘Shut your mouth, idiot,’ he snapped, before turning to Clemens. ‘What is it?’
‘One of the men has got a sighting from the day before yesterday. Sounds right. Short man, with the hood and the sack.’
‘Where?’
‘Coming out of a shipping agent’s office.’
‘Who saw him?’
‘Cobbler with a store opposite.’ Clemens grinned. ‘He noticed the boots.’
VI
A quarter of an hour later, a quite sizeable group of people were gathered outside the shipping agent’s office: Clemens and four legionaries, three city sergeants, the harbour master’s clerk, Mistress Annia and her entourage, and half a dozen curious passers-by.
Cassius — waiting impatiently as the agent examined an array of waxed tablets — looked out through the doorway at Annia. Alone in the carriage, she stared out at the sea, seemingly unconcerned by the harsh wind lashing her face, or the errant strands of hair whipping about her neck.
The agent was named Sudrenus; a wealthy-looking Greek who didn’t seem accustomed to clerical work. His two employees were both ill with some coughing sickness, so he was having to man the office himself. His family owned and managed a fleet of mid-size freighters that ran routes all across the eastern Mediterranean.
He glanced at the street. ‘Must they all stand around like that? It’s not good for business.’
‘The quicker you are, the quicker they’ll be gone,’ said Cassius. ‘The witness did seem sure he saw the man leaving here two days ago.’
‘Yes, yes. I just have to find the right tablet.’
Though it had cost him fifteen denarii (ten for the legionary, five for the cobbler), Cassius was fairly certain the sighting was genuine. The man had described a brand new pair of the hobnailed, front-laced boots worn by legionaries and officers across the Empire. ‘Just like yours, sir, only newer,’ he’d said. Such boots were expensive, and would indeed have looked out of place with the rest of the assassin’s garb. Unfortunately, the cobbler had been so entranced by the suspect’s footwear he couldn’t recall much else, though confirmed he was on the short side.