Abito looked over at the other Christians. The only lantern was close to the guards’ room, casting a dim glow over the men. They lay in a line; some asleep, others staring up at the ceiling.
‘I don’t think he is punishing us. Testing us, perhaps.’
‘Testing what?’
‘Our faith in him.’
Indavara tilted his head back against the wall. ‘If he won’t help you, he definitely won’t help me.’
Abito picked at the crumbling clay floor with his fingers. ‘Perhaps this is not his work. Perhaps it is the beast Satan.’
‘Satan?’
‘Our Lord’s enemy. His demons are loose in the world — they are the ones that unleash pain and cruelty on us.’
‘Are they men? These demons?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Abito quietly.
‘I think they’re men.’
Half an hour later, the door to the little room opened. First out were the centurion and his clerk, followed by Abascantius, then the two legionaries. While the clerk and the soldiers waited, the centurion led Abascantius over to the cell and ordered the guards to open up.
One of the prisoners sitting to Indavara’s right got to his feet. Despite the fact that most of the others were sleeping, he clapped his hands.
‘Gods be praised! If it isn’t Pitface himself. Perhaps there is a little justice to be found in Antioch after all.’
Some of the other prisoners stirred, looking on as Abascantius entered the cell.
‘Have a good night,’ the centurion said drily as he and his men left.
As Abascantius turned from the bars, the loud-mouthed man came towards him.
‘So all your underhand tricks and lies have caught up with you at last,’ he said smugly.
‘Hello, Dexippus,’ Abascantius replied. ‘Haven’t they hanged you yet?’
‘Now that you find yourself in here, perhaps you will beat me to the noose. Tell me, who did you set up this time? Whose life did you ruin?’
Salvian moved forward to cut off Dexippus, but Abascantius waved him away.
‘Do yourself a favour, Dexippus. Shut up and sit down. I’m not in the mood.’
‘Oh, you’re not in the mood? Well, I wasn’t particularly in the mood for having my life destroyed. I wasn’t particularly in the mood for-’
Abascantius took one step forward and landed a solid boot between Dexippus’s legs. The man hit the ground hard, squirming and groaning.
‘Never did know when to keep his mouth shut,’ muttered Abascantius as he joined his men. They stood between the Christians and Indavara, and had only just started talking when Herminius came up the stairs, his fingers now bound. He walked straight into the guards’ room and emerged brandishing a long, thick cane in his good hand. He came close to the bars and peered into the gloomy cell.
‘You, One Ear. Come here.’
Indavara stared back at him.
‘All right,’ Herminius said, nodding at the door. ‘Bring him out.’
Two of the guards grabbed their spears. Another took the key from a hook.
Abascantius came over to Indavara. ‘I’m assuming you’re responsible for that bandaged hand?’
Indavara nodded.
Abascantius walked back to the door and faced the chief guard through the bars. He glanced down at Herminius’s hand and shrugged. ‘He can be a little excitable at times.’
Herminius tapped the cane against the floor. ‘Me too. As he’s about to find out.’
‘The thing is,’ replied Abascantius, ‘I really can’t have you attacking my men. I could perhaps offer you a little compensation for the pain, but that’s all you’ll get. Put the cane down, have a bit of wine.’
The man with the key still hadn’t unlocked the door. Herminius exchanged glances with him and the other guards, then turned back to Abascantius.
‘I must confess I didn’t expect ever to see you here but you are my prisoner, Master Abascantius. As is your young friend.’
‘What’s your name, legionary?’
The chief guard rolled his eyes. ‘Optio. Herminius.’
‘Well, Herminius, listen a moment. You are free to ignore me, of course. As you say, I am your prisoner. But you’d better be confident that I will remain on this side of the bars. Personally, I doubt I shall be here much longer than tomorrow, but if you know something I don’t — go ahead, please. Make an enemy of me if you wish.’
Herminius now looked considerably less sure of himself. Before he could reply, a legionary came jogging up the stairs. He hurried over to Herminius and whispered in his ear. After a moment’s thought and a brief glance at Abascantius, the chief guard put his cane on a table and went down the stairs.
Simo had been told to stay by the carriage with the lad. Shostra and the woman — her hood still covering her face — were waiting outside the door to the prison tower. Simo recognised the rough features of Herminius as the chief guard stepped outside. Shostra showed him a letter and they began talking. Herminius shook his head several times.
Then, at a word from Shostra, the woman pulled down her hood. Simo saw that she was indeed fair, with pale, delicate features and long tresses of glossy blonde hair — features rarely seen this far east. Herminius and the two sentries were transfixed. The chief guard dragged his eyes away long enough to examine the letter again. With a last glance at the girl, he nodded, snatched up the letter and returned inside. Shostra sent the girl after him and they both disappeared into the tower. Shaking their heads, the sentries returned to their posts on either side of the door.
Shostra walked back to the carriage with a triumphant smirk on his face.
A quarter of an hour later, Herminius and the girl came out of the tower. The girl already had her hood back up as she trotted towards the carriage.
‘Nighty night,’ called out Herminius, before disappearing up the stairs.
‘Where’s that wine?’ the girl demanded as she climbed into the carriage. Simo detected an unusual accent; he was certain she came from some distant western province.
‘Under the seat,’ answered Shostra.
Simo looked on as she found the bottle, pulled out the cork and took a long swig. He had never seen such a thing.
‘What are you staring at, Fatso?’
‘Apologies, madam.’
Shostra snorted. ‘I wouldn’t worry. She’s no lady.’
He pulled out some coins and gave them to the girl. She put down the wine and counted her money.
‘Take her home,’ Shostra told the lad. ‘Then come back here.’
As the boy turned the carriage around, Shostra chuckled at Simo’s expression. ‘You needn’t look so shocked. Your master’s a grain man too — better get used to dirty dealings.’
‘Now what?’ asked Simo.
‘We wait.’
‘What for?’
‘Orders.’
Abascantius had continued his discussions with his men but his attention switched to the chief guard when he saw the sheet of papyrus in his hand. Indavara sidled along the wall towards the front of the cell; he wanted to know what was going on. Herminius came up to the bars once more.
‘You have some persuasive friends.’
Abascantius nodded at the letter. ‘That’s for me?’
‘I was ordered not to admit visitors for you. Nothing was said about letters.’
‘I’m glad you’re seeing sense.’
‘You mentioned compensation. I have a figure in mind.’
Herminius gestured for Abascantius to come closer and a whispered conversation ensued. At the end of it both men nodded, and Herminius passed the letter through the bars.
‘Your man’s expecting a reply. You have half an hour.’
Abascantius waved the others away and leaned back against the wall as he read the letter. After only a moment he cursed and lashed a kick at the floor. Then he took a few deep breaths and finished reading. When he was done, he asked Herminius for a pen. The chief guard brought one and a pot of ink from the guards’ room and passed them through the bars. Salvian took them and started filling the pen with ink. Abascantius knelt down on the floor, turned the sheet over and pressed it down on to a piece of reed matting.