‘Afternoon, sir,’ said Petronax, stepping out from behind a shelf. ‘I was beginning to think I wouldn’t see you again.’
‘I’ve been rather occupied,’ Cassius replied, stepping over a box as he approached the clerk.
Petronax looked at the bandage. ‘Are you all right?’
‘It’s nothing.’
‘Thank the gods it wasn’t your face.’
‘What about these records then?’
‘We’ve still only scratched the surface but I separated all the personal records out as you asked.’ He pointed at two distinct piles close to the door.
‘I don’t suppose you’d have anything on General Ulpian?’
‘Records for senior officers are kept at the governor’s office.’
‘I’m interested in someone he may have served with in the Sixteenth.’
Petronax nodded and led Cassius to one of the piles by the door.
‘This is the Sixteenth stuff that’s been sorted out so far. The most recent records are from two years ago, the oldest are’ — Petronax examined a small piece of papyrus glued to the pile — ‘twenty years old.’
‘Ulpian was a cavalryman. We’ll start with them.’
‘Cavalry are in the box on the top there.’
Cassius looked around. ‘Is there a space where we can work?’
‘There’s a clear table next door. Go and make yourself comfortable and I’ll bring the boxes through.’
‘Thank you, Petronax.’
The clerk smiled; he seemed to enjoy hearing Cassius use his name.
With Major on guard outside the second storeroom, Cassius and Simo sat opposite each other at the table. Stacked in front of them were all the records from the cavalry detachment of the Sixteenth Legion. Petronax had been able to find out that Ulpian had left his post as cavalry commander ten years previously. Cassius initially thought about discounting all the records compiled after that date, but if the two-fingered man had served with Ulpian, he could still have been invalided out of service after the senior man had moved on.
‘Cavalryman Eborius,’ said Simo, reading from a sheet of papyrus. ‘Invalided — injury. Doesn’t specify what, sir. Height: five feet, ten inches.’
Having estimated Two Fingers to be between five feet five and five feet eight, Cassius had decided to discount any potential match that didn’t fit this parameter.
‘No.’
It was a while before either of them came to another file of interest.
‘Cavalryman Juncus,’ said Cassius, reading from a waxed tablet. ‘Invalided. Hand injury. Height not listed but age. . he would be forty-two now.’
With that strange, lined face of his, Two Fingers was difficult to age; Cassius reckoned he could be anything between thirty-five and fifty.
‘Possible.’
He added the sheet to the smaller pile next to the main stack. A few moments earlier, a slave inside the basilica’s main hall had announced the beginning of the eleventh hour. According to Petronax, at the end of the twelfth, the entire building would be locked up.
‘You can start copying details from the ones we have, Simo. Note everything. Especially the addresses if they have one.’
Simo nodded and stirred the ink Petronax had brought in for them. Addresses weren’t normally listed on the legionary records, except for some of those who’d retired due to injury — to assist with payment of the military pension.
As Simo started writing, Cassius thought about what he would do with the list of names once it was compiled. They could try the addresses but what about those without? What other way was there of tracing ex-soldiers? Perhaps the stores that supplied equipment and weapons. Many legionaries kept accounts there. Presumably, cavalrymen did the same.
They worked on in silence. Cassius went through another twenty files and found nothing of interest.
‘Last night there were thirty people at the church-house, sir,’ Simo said suddenly. ‘They prayed for those at the prison. Elder Nura is sure our Lord will answer.’
‘Keep writing, don’t get behind,’ Cassius told him as he discarded another file. ‘Most would say a believer must demonstrate his commitment to a god. Shouldn’t you show it somehow — a sacrifice or something?’
‘Our Lord always hears us, sir,’ Simo replied, without looking up.
‘Yet often ignores you.’
Simo stopped momentarily, then continued writing in silence.
‘My point is, it’s all rather out of your hands,’ added Cassius. ‘Except of course that every one of those men could be free — if they took the wiser course of action. What did you say to your father when I left you alone there?’
Simo put down his pen.
‘I considered what you said, sir — about him pledging his loyalty to Bishop Domnus, and you might well be right. It could work. But I couldn’t ask that of my father. He introduced me to the faith. It’s not my place to question him, or tell him what to do. You would understand that, I think.’
Cassius didn’t particularly like the tone of that last remark — it was rare for Simo to speak to him in such a way — but he let it go. And once he’d said nothing, he knew it would appear weak to admonish him later. But there was another reason why he remained silent. Simo was right. He did understand.
They carried on until they had to leave, by which time there were nineteen names on the list. As papers were put away and doors locked, and the last of the administrators filed out of the basilica, Cassius hurried down the steps, Major by his side. Simo had been sent ahead to find the carriage driver, and the vehicle now stood at rest ahead of them, one of a long line picking up late-working bureaucrats. To the left a small crowd had formed around a pair of drummers, to the right were a noisy group of toga-clad young men; students perhaps. Major edged closer to Cassius as they passed between the two groups. They were almost at the carriage when a female voice called out.
‘Master Corbulo, sir.’
The voice seemed to have come from the left, but when he looked that way, Cassius saw only a stocky man hurrying towards him. He had a large, sheathed dagger on his belt. Major darted in front of Cassius and drew his knife.
Then a girl stepped out from behind the man. Bacara.
‘It’s all right, Major,’ Cassius said. ‘I know her.’
‘And him?’ asked the bodyguard.
Bacara pushed past her friend. ‘Master Corbulo, this is Silus — Nabor’s brother. He knows who killed him. And he knows all about the silver and gold.’
Cassius took a moment to absorb what the girl had said. He looked around, unsure what to do. It would be unwise to stay in this crowded, open place for long, he knew that much.
Silus was about thirty, and carried himself with a certain swagger; he didn’t seem overly concerned about the big man with the knife standing three paces in front of him.
‘Put the blade away, Major,’ Cassius said.
The bodyguard did so.
‘We need to talk,’ Cassius told the girl.
‘Not here,’ said Silus.
‘Agreed. Simo, you go up with the driver. Back to the villa.’ He turned to Bacara and Silus. ‘You two: get in.’
Cassius opened the door to the carriage. Silus helped Bacara up then climbed in himself. Major gestured for Cassius to go first, then clambered up behind him. The carriage was designed for four; but with the three big men inside there was little space. With a cry, the driver set the horses off and the carriage bumped away down the street.
‘Well, speak up,’ said Cassius, looking first at Bacara, then Silus.
‘Like she said, I know who killed Nabor, I know who has all that treasure, and I know where it is.’