‘The Persian imperial standard.’
Abascantius nodded approvingly. ‘Very good.’
‘One of my neighbours in Cyzicus had a fine library, with several translated tomes on the rulers of the east.’
‘What else do you know?’
‘Not much. Faridun was an ancient king. A hero who embodied the virtues of courage, justice, nobility and so on. A familiar tale.’
‘Indeed. And a sacred one to the Persians. They believe the standard represents their destiny, their fate. I’ve never seen it myself but apparently it’s a great purple thing of the finest silk, with jewels the size of apples. It’s been carried at the head of their army since the time of Ardashir I. But when Odenathus of Palmyra’s forces overran Ctesiphon ten years ago, his armies looted the city and took the flag back with them.’
Abascantius paused to take another swig of wine.
Cassius nodded. ‘Let me guess: the return of the banner is part of the treaty.’
‘A crucial part. And a secret one. I’m told that only a few men close to the royal family even know the flag was taken by the Palmyrans. We think they may have been using a replica; the people certainly don’t know of the loss. The young Emperor, Hormizd, is desperate for its return. His position is far from secure and he’s paranoid that the truth will come out. A closed ceremony is being planned for the day after my meeting. Marcellinus is to hand the flag over to Hormizd himself. Without it, the Persians won’t sign the treaty.’
Abascantius looked at the ceiling and rolled his tongue around his mouth.
Cassius said, ‘I presume that the banner is not where it should be.’
‘The cart should have left Palmyra twelve days ago. In command was my senior man — Gregorius, accompanied by ten hand-picked legionaries. They were to travel in local garb, just another merchant’s load on its way to Antioch. There is a good road, but he planned to use a quieter route. Should have taken them eight days. But there has been no news, no sighting, no reports. The men, the treasure and the banner have disappeared.’
Cassius leaned back and exhaled. ‘I hardly need ask what you expect of me.’
‘Actually I originally had something else in mind for you, but it seems the gods have delivered you to me at a fortuitous moment.’
‘Sir, I don’t know why you imagine I might be suited to such a task. Surely you yourself-’
Abascantius held up a hand. ‘The loss of the banner is my responsibility, yes. And believe me, I will do my part. But you must understand how it is here. My face is known on every street and in every inn and barracks from Seleucia to Dura. The legionaries call me “Pitface”, and they — along with many of the locals — would no sooner divulge anything useful to me than eat their own shit. You, on the other hand — a fresh-faced young gentleman from outside the province — should fare much better.’
Abascantius tapped the satchel. ‘I have an authorisation here for you, signed by Chief Pulcher. And there’s this.’
Abascantius reached over to the covered item and removed the cloth. What he held up on the table could easily have been mistaken for a weapon: it was a three-foot length of solid silver topped by a spear-head, with two circles beneath hung with golden thread. Just below the circles was a square iron badge, engraved with the emblem of the Governor of Syria.
‘These are carried by every senior agent in the Service. It identifies you as a member of the governor’s staff and entitles the bearer to certain privileges. While in possession of it, you hold a rank equivalent to a centurion; you may use way-stations and the imperial post; and you can requisition troops when you need them. There are fewer than a hundred of this particular type in existence. This belongs to Gregorius. He left it with me.’
Cassius took the spear-head and laid it down on the table. ‘I hope I get a chance to return it to him.’
‘Look after it, and don’t be afraid to use it. I suggest that you avoid mentioning me if at all possible; pretend you’ve been dispatched straight from Rome by Chief Pulcher.’
‘Marshal Marcellinus knows of the theft?’
‘Not yet, though I may have to inform him at some point.’
Cassius could understand his reluctance. The Emperor’s deputy would surely be delighted to hear of a ready-made reason to discredit Abascantius. Emperors had been using the Service to spy on the army for years, the main reason why most military men regarded its agents with such contempt. Though the strength of the bond between Aurelian and Marcellinus was well known, the fact that the Emperor had used Abascantius for this assignment reinforced a historical truth: the Service had a far better record of loyalty to Roman emperors than the army did.
Abascantius sighed loudly. ‘I fancy the ultimate solution to this may lie in Antioch, so I shall return there tomorrow. Aside from myself, Gregorius and Prefect Venator — who supplied the legionaries — the only men who knew about the cart were Marcellinus himself and the four members of the council. He swore them all to secrecy — on pain of death if I know him — but I’ve little doubt one of them is involved somehow.’
‘In a theft of imperial property?’
‘Stranger things have happened. The council may resent my interest in their personal affairs but at times like this it becomes extremely useful.’
‘And what of this Gregorius? Isn’t it possible that he-’
Abascantius shook his head vigorously. ‘Not a chance. His loyalty is not in question. Besides, he’s worked for me long enough to know the consequences of betrayal.’
‘How much were the contents of that cart worth?’
‘Not including the flag — over ten thousand aurei.’
Cassius blew out his cheeks. It was an astronomical sum — enough to buy an army or a fleet of ships. ‘Sufficient to risk the consequences of betrayal then.’
‘You don’t know Gregorius. I do. He would have taken every precaution necessary. He has never let me down.’
‘What about the legionaries he used, couldn’t they have decided to do away with him and take the treasure for themselves?’
‘I gave strict instructions. They were to be strangers from different cohorts: none of the men knew each other. They were all to be Italians, decorated veterans only, each personally recommended by their centurions. No, the answer doesn’t lie there.’
‘What about locals? Brigands? There must still be Palmyran soldiers scattered all across Syria.’
‘They were to travel only at night, they were to-’ Abascantius abruptly halted his explanation. ‘Do you think I didn’t consider all this?’ he yelled, slamming his hand on to the table. ‘Do you think I was born yesterday?’ He stared at Cassius, bloodshot eyes wide.
‘Of course not, sir. My apologies.’
Abascantius took a few breaths. The impact of his hand had sent the satchel to the far edge of the table, close to the window. He dragged it back towards him and smoothed the edges down. Then he placed it carefully in front of Cassius, shifting it around until it was parallel with the side of the table.
‘I make no claim to be infallible. You are right to put such questions. And now you must seek some answers.’
‘Sir, I should explain that I do not really consider myself a man of action. I have been in battle, yes, and I took on the odd criminal case for the general, but any group well-informed and well-organised enough to carry out this theft represents a considerable threat. What am I to do if I actually track them down?’
‘In the first instance contact me — but that will take time. Remember that you can take command of any nearby units if you need them.’