‘I was rich. I was the richest man in Antioch. But I ploughed most of it back into the city. They always wanted another temple, or another statue, or another bloody wall. And for what? A few cheap bronze plaques and a pat on the back. But never any real power. Not for a half-Jewish legionary’s son.’ Scaurus cast an eye across the barrels. ‘I did some calculations. Even with all the slaves and the property — it was barely a third of what I have here. And this I can take with me.’
‘But it wasn’t just about the money, was it?’
Scaurus shrugged again.
‘The fame?’ Cassius continued. ‘Or rather the infamy?’
‘Oh the former, I think.’ Scaurus opened his palms wide. ‘This is the greatest robbery of all time, grain man. Everyone from here to Britannia will know my name.’
Cassius looked up through the hatch at the sky — it was so bright, so benign. Just another day, yet here he was, a prisoner on this ship, conversing with this murderous madman. So many lives lost. And for what — some twisted desire for notoriety?
Scaurus came close to him again.
‘I’ve indulged you long enough, pretty boy. Now, what does Abascantius know? You must have got word to him.’
‘I sent a message telling him about the cavern below the guild house and the dead men; and that you were responsible.’
‘When?’
‘About the fourth hour of night.’
‘Ha, he really has lost his touch, hasn’t he?’ A relieved grin spread itself across the spherical face. ‘We’ll be at sea within the hour. There’s nothing he can do now.’
‘And then what?’ countered Cassius. ‘Abascantius is the least of your worries. Half the eastern fleet is stationed at Seleucia. They’ll send the navy after you.’
‘Possibly. But I’ll have a good start. Rufus Bolanus is the commander of that fleet — a personal friend of mine. He’s currently enjoying a week of leave at my villa in Paltus.’
‘Even if you do get away, Marcellinus and the Emperor will hunt you to the ends of the earth.’
‘They shall have to, for I am headed to Africa. There are lands there beyond a great desert where no man has been. I will find a way across it, and with all this I can build my own city, my own armies. No one will give a damn about my lineage there. And one day I may return.’
Cassius knew he had to keep the conversation going as long as he could; find a way to make Scaurus let him live.
‘If I’d made it off this ship, you would never have got out of Antioch.’
‘Ah, but you didn’t, did you?’
‘But I got close to stopping you — you must admit that.’
‘Closer than Pitface, certainly.’
‘Listen, Scaurus, I’ve only been with the Service a few months. My father made me join the army. I detest it; and there seems to be no prospect of returning to my former life. I’m not a fighting man, but I’ve more intelligence than most. I could be useful. Why not let me join you?’
Again, that wide, beatific smile.
‘A well-framed gambit, grain man, but a desperate one. You know my business — I trade in slaves. I have spent most of my life dealing with people who hate me, who’d like to see me dead. And try as you might, you can’t hide the disgust in your eyes. No, you shall die too. Stand. I don’t want to make a mess in here. That big friend of yours bled like a pig; made a horrible stain on my deck.’
Cassius stayed where he was.
Scaurus eased the thin blade from the sheath. He walked over to Cassius, bent over him, and placed the tip of the knife just inside one of his nostrils.
‘I said stand.’
Cassius slowly did so. Scaurus kept the blade where it was, then ran his other hand up Cassius’s thigh and between his legs. He left his hand there for a moment, then continued on, up his chest and neck. He reached Cassius’s mouth and pressed a single finger against his lips.
‘Perhaps you could be useful to me.’
Scaurus lowered the blade and stepped away. ‘But no, I mustn’t let myself get distracted. I’m not quite safe yet.’ He moved aside and gestured towards the door. ‘I shall slit your throat and drop you over the side. You should be grateful — a swift death.’
‘More than you’ll get,’ Cassius said as he passed him. ‘I hope they crucify you.’
‘What’s your name, pretty boy?’
Cassius raised his chin. ‘Cassius Quintius Corbulo.’
‘Well, Cassius Quintius Corbulo, I, Kaeso Scaurus, am going to kill you now.’
He opened the door and shoved Cassius outside, then placed the tip of the blade against his neck. Cassius heard him locking the door behind them. The cold blade pushed at his skin.
‘Up you go.’
Cassius went up the three steps and found himself staring at sixteen African slaves. Naked save for loincloths, the oarsmen were the darkest men he had ever seen. Though their upper bodies rippled with muscle, their legs seemed rather undeveloped in comparison. Each man was shackled to a longer chain that ran along the floor.
A seventeenth slave sat close to the hatch, beating out a slow rhythm on a drum between his legs. The oarsmen were taking long, steady breaths between strokes. Cassius could see they were an experienced, well-trained crew; though their chestnut skin shone with sweat, every man looked well within himself. A couple of them glanced curiously at him, then looked away.
An overseer with a long cane tucked into his belt was patrolling up and down the aisle between the slaves, sipping from a wooden mug. He made way for Cassius and looked him up and down as he and Scaurus passed. Next to the hatch, opposite the drummer, was a table around which four men sat, playing dice on a board and drinking wine.
The men from the jetty: the men who had slaughtered Major and laughed about it. The men who did Scaurus’s killing for him.
They looked to be from lands either east or south of Syria. One was older — bald, probably in his forties; the other three about Cassius’s age. All stocky and powerful, they were still wearing their black tunics and heavy leather boots. Propped up against the table were their four clubs. The head of one had been embellished by metal studs hammered into the wood. Another had two spikes sticking out of it. Cassius examined each face in turn but had no idea which of them had killed Major.
‘Need a hand there, sir?’ asked the older man casually, in passable Latin.
‘I think I can handle this one, Alikar,’ answered Scaurus. ‘Take it easy on the wine.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Cassius slowly made his way up the steps.
‘Palestinian mercenaries,’ explained Scaurus, his hand on Cassius’s arm. ‘I’ve bought and sold every kind of warrior imaginable. There are none better.’
Cassius stepped up on to the deck and bowed his head against the sunlight glinting off the river.
‘Come, grain man.’
Scaurus led him towards the stern. Two men were there, one with both hands on the tiller, the other standing beside him. They were both wearing a pale belted tunic with trousers — standard sailor attire. The older man had a vertical blue stripe on his tunic. He was standing next to the deckhouse, a solidly built shelter that offered protection from the elements when at sea.
‘Bit of rubbish,’ Scaurus said, nodding at Cassius. ‘Needs to be disposed of.’
The helmsman suddenly pointed forward. ‘Sir, look there.’
The captain stared along the river, then moved right to see around the mast. His jaw dropped open. He ran forward and bellowed down into the hatch.
‘Oars up! Oars up!’
Simo had prayed; and he believed God had answered.
Just half a mile downriver, he’d come across three old barges tied up to a decrepit jetty. One of the barges was full of water and listing badly, but the other two were still afloat. They were little more than wooden shells with posts close to the bow for a tow rope. The vessels were narrow but long — long enough for what Simo had in mind.
Having left the cart and the horses on the towpath, he’d cut some rope from the sunken barge, then used it to connect the other two via the towing posts. He then cut all the ropes except a line holding one of the barge’s bows against the jetty.