Cassius cast a knowing glance at Strabo, who studiously ignored him.
‘There’s something else,’ added Kabir. ‘It’s hard to explain, the word does not translate well, but it means something like “ghost”. He thinks a ghost killed Barates.’
Strabo snorted and looked across at Julius, who was once again following their conversation keenly.
‘A spirit,’ said Cassius.
‘Yes,’ replied Kabir thoughtfully. ‘That’s closer.’
Cassius turned round and looked across at the granary.
‘And still we are no nearer to an answer,’ stated Strabo.
‘I have dealt with killings amongst my own people,’ said Kabir. ‘Where men are concerned, women or money are usually the issue. We know one cannot be the cause; I’m assuming the same is true of the other.’
Strabo shook his head.
‘Had nothing. Owed nothing.’
‘As I said this morning,’ continued the Syrian, ‘it makes no sense for anyone here to have done this.’
‘Except your man saw Flavian,’ said Strabo.
‘Yes. But even if he was after wine or there was cause for some other dispute, surely it couldn’t have led to murder?’
‘There’s one way to find out.’
‘Wait,’ said Cassius. ‘All we have done so far has been based on the assumption that Barates was killed by one of our men, or by one of yours, Kabir. But as you say, we’ve known from the start that that’s extremely unlikely. Avso thought he may have been killed by some Palmyran scout or spy.’
‘Instead of guessing, let’s look at the facts,’ countered Strabo. ‘We know Flavian was there and we know he lied about it. We should be making him talk, not chasing some phantom spy. In any case, how would he have got inside?’
‘It would be difficult,’ said Kabir, ‘but hardly impossible.’
‘There is another alternative,’ said Cassius. ‘What if he was already here?’
XXIV
Outside the granary, four legionaries were piling jars into two large sacks — food for the men. Cassius leaped up the steps past them and through the open door without a word. Not far behind were Strabo and Kabir. They exchanged bemused looks, then followed him inside. He came to a halt in front of the biggest stack of barrels in the granary.
Running his thumb across his chin, Cassius stared at the barrels. They were arranged in neat rows, five high.
‘Well?’ said Strabo.
‘Help me.’
Cassius placed both hands against the second barrel up at one corner of the stack. Pushing back and forth, he created a wobbling motion that quickly spread upward.
‘Careful!’ said Strabo, joining Kabir behind Cassius so as to avoid any falling barrels.
‘I said help me!’
‘To do what exactly?’ Strabo fired back.
Gritting his teeth in frustration, Cassius gave the barrel a powerful shove.
All three of them leaped back as the third barrel slipped sideways off the second and the two above smashed to the floor. Many of the curved planks that made up the barrels splintered, releasing thick, dark rivers of dates.
‘Happy now?’ said Strabo, surveying the mess.
Cassius held up a hand.
‘Did you hear that?’
‘Hear what?’ said Strabo dismissively.
‘Yes, I heard something,’ said Kabir.
With the Syrian’s help, Cassius moved the remaining barrels out of the way. Beyond was an identical stack, labelled as olives and meat. Cassius again reached for the second barrel up. Kabir gripped the other side and they began rocking the container. On the fourth push they successfully dislodged it and again narrowly avoided being struck from above.
The three of them were now standing in a heap of broken wood and dried food. Cassius moved closer to the next stack. He pushed his face between two barrels and shut one eye. There was space there — quite a large space. He could see a section of flooring.
Strabo looked on cynically, arms crossed.
‘You don’t seriously think-’
A flash of movement. Cassius jerked his neck back just quickly enough to avoid the thin blade that shot between the barrels. His speedy retreat caused him to lose his balance on the slippery fruit. Strabo caught him.
With a sharp scrape of metal on wood, the knife disappeared. From beyond the barrels came the sound of scrabbling hands and hurried breaths.
Strabo, staring incredulously at the spot where the blade had been, forgot to let go of Cassius. Pushing the Sicilian’s hands away, Cassius got to his feet. Kabir, who had already drawn his sword, moved right, trying to see between the barrels.
‘Who-’ said Strabo, his face pale.
‘I’ll cover outside,’ said Kabir. ‘He may have a way out.’
As the Syrian hurried away, Cassius and Strabo stood still, listening intently. Whoever was in there was moving.
Strabo waved a hand in front of Cassius, then nodded at the barrels. Cassius nodded back and the two of them planted their hands on the nearest stack. This time they simply pushed, aiming to bring the tower down on their hidden foe. Cassius had barely applied any force before Strabo’s shove toppled the barrels into the space beyond. Wood splintered, glass smashed and dust kicked up into their faces. They drew their swords and closed in.
The den was about four yards across. There were clothes, blankets, jars of food, even a half-empty barrel of water. Of the occupant himself there was no sign.
‘By Mars,’ breathed Strabo.
‘Look!’ cried Cassius, pointing at the granary floor in the far corner of the den. A section of floorboard had been removed; they could see sandy ground beneath.
‘He’s here! He’s outside!’ shouted Kabir.
Cassius and Strabo sprinted to the door and cut left.
Standing in their way were the four legionaries. Beyond them, Cassius saw Kabir slip as he darted into the narrow alley between the granary and stables.
‘Move it!’ yelled Strabo. The soldiers flung themselves out of his way, one straight into Cassius’ path. They collided. The legionary was knocked to the ground. Cassius fell on one knee, regained his balance and charged after Strabo.
The Sicilian followed Kabir down the alley. Cassius caught a glimpse of him helping the Syrian up as he himself continued on past the stables. Ignoring the nervous whinnying of the horses, Cassius slowed as he neared the corner. Edging round it, sword held high, he saw a small figure hunched over at the corner of the workshop, twenty feet away.
The man was clad in dark robes, his head covered with brown, matted hair that reached almost to his waist. He carried a satchel over his left shoulder. Suddenly he grabbed a handful of sand and threw it up.
Kabir stumbled into view, clutching at his eyes. The man made no attempt to press his attack, instead scuttling away towards the western wall, robes dragging in the dust.
Cassius dashed after him, wondering where Strabo was. He couldn’t understand where the man thought he could escape to. A stray barrel had been left against the rear wall but didn’t reach high enough for him to clamber over.
The man flicked his hand forward as he ran. The next thing Cassius saw was the wooden handle of a knife sticking out of the wall a yard above the barreclass="underline" a perfectly placed step.
Cassius’ long stride had cut the distance between them but the man was still five yards away when he leaped for the barrel. With the agility of an acrobat, he pushed off with his right foot, jammed his left on to the knife, then reached for the top of the wall. With both hands over but his impetus gone, he needed one final effort to haul himself clear.
Cassius had drawn his sword and was all set to swing it at the man’s feet when a javelin thudded into the wall just above his head. It had torn straight through the man’s robes and now pinned him.
‘Don’t move!’ shouted Strabo in Greek. ‘I have another.’
Cassius turned round. The Sicilian was advancing slowly, his arm already back in the throwing position. Cassius realised he must have grabbed the javelins from the workshop.