The Emperor's Silver: Agent of Rome 5 (18 page)

Cassius drove the sword straight at Indavara’s face. The bodyguard swatted it away and shifted his position with a single movement. As the pair circled each other, the horses at the other end of the stable snorted and puffed.

‘Trying to get the sun in my eyes, eh?’ said Cassius, careful with his footing on the slippery straw.

Indavara had moved in front of the wide doorway. ‘I don’t need any tricks to see you off but you should still be prepared for them.’

‘Indeed. You are …’

Instead of finishing the sentence, Cassius leaped forward and jabbed the wooden sword towards Indavara’s groin. The bodyguard stepped back and swung his own weapon down into a block. But Cassius had already flicked the sword upward. Even though Indavara threw his head back, the tip scratched his chin.

‘Hah!’ Cassius raised his arms in triumph. ‘I got you! After all these bouts, all these hours, I finally got you. Simo, Simo …’

‘He left, remember?’ Indavara touched his chin; the contact hadn’t drawn blood.

‘Don’t deny that I got you,’ said Cassius, pointing at him with blade and finger. ‘I got you.’

‘The sun shines on every dog’s arse sometimes. All you got was lucky.’

‘Oh, come now, Indavara. Just admit it. I outfoxed you.’

‘So what, that’s it? You want to stop now to enjoy yourself?’

‘No, let’s fight on. I have a taste for it now.’

Indavara raised his sword.

‘What’s the focus?’ asked Cassius. ‘Speed? Recovery?’

‘Do you think a real opponent will stop for a discussion first? Just fight.’

Cassius didn’t particularly like the glint in the bodyguard’s eye but he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of stopping. Though they had been sparring for only a few minutes, it was baking hot inside the padded under-jackets they wore for protection.

Indavara started at a medium pace; a jab here, a sweep there. Cassius tried to forget his ‘victory’ and watched the sword and the hands as the bodyguard had taught him. After a minute or two, Indavara sped up. He crouched lower, came on more quickly, threw in some of the endless variety of combinations he could summon at will. He darted low, swept high; sidestepped, twisted and spun.

As stinging sweat ran into his eyes, Cassius parried and retreated until finally he found himself in a corner. The swords cracked together, sending tremors up his arm, weakening his grip. Another impact. Another. The fourth blow caught his thumb.

‘Uh!’ Cassius dropped the sword. ‘All right, I get the point.’

He studied his thumb. The nail had split down the middle and blood was trickling across the skin. ‘Look at that. Probably broken, you dolt.’

‘Show me.’ Indavara held the thumb then bent it at the knuckle.

‘Ow! What in Hades are you doing?’

‘Checking it’s not broken.’

‘Shit. It really hurts.’

‘So you just give up because of a grazed thumb? Drop your sword and wait for the cut to your neck?’

‘We’re practising. It’s not real.’

‘And those men in Bostra? Real enough for you? It was for me.’ Indavara dropped his sword then grabbed Cassius round the neck. ‘And what if someone comes at you again? Like this?’

‘Lesson’s over. Get your hands off me.’

The bodyguard paused for a moment, then hooked his right leg around Cassius’s ankle and shoved him in the chest.

Cassius felt himself fly backwards into a pile of straw. Before he could get up, Indavara pinned him with a boot on his chest.

‘Get off me, you arsehole.’

Indavara glared down at him, pale green eyes unblinking. He dug the boot into Cassius’s chest.

‘It hurts. Get off!’

Cassius punched Indavara’s bulging calf, to little effect.

‘One leg against two arms?’

Cassius couldn’t believe this was really happening. Had the bodyguard lost his feeble mind?

‘Indavara, get off me right now or I will put you on a charge. You are in the army, remember, and I outrank you by some distance. Do it.’

He did not.

Cassius smashed his hand into the bodyguard’s foot, then his shin, then his knee, but succeeded only in hurting his knuckles. He then clamped his left hand around Indavara’s boot and pulled to the left. He continued to thump his right fist into the other side and at the third attempt dislodged it.

Indavara retreated. ‘Better. There
is
a bit of fight in you.’

Cassius wiped dust off his chest. ‘Cretin.’

‘
Now
the lesson’s over.’

‘You’re the one who’s going to get the lesson, my man. About the real use of power.’ Cassius dragged himself to his feet. ‘Who do you think you are?’

‘Your bodyguard. Dancing around with wooden swords only gets you so far. You need to know what it’s like with someone in your face, someone who won’t stop. Someone who wants you
dead
.’

Cassius’s chest ached, though not as much as his thumb.

‘Take ten deep breaths,’ advised Indavara.

Despite himself, Cassius did it.

‘If you still want to put me on a charge, go ahead.’ The bodyguard stepped forward and pointed at his face. ‘Or I’ll give you a free punch if you like. Two? Three?’

Cassius let out another long breath. ‘So I can break my hand on your caveman jaw? No thanks. All right, I see what you’re trying to do but you could at least have warned me.’

‘You think
they
will?’

‘Just don’t do that again.’

‘I won’t. Not for a while anyway.’

‘I’m serious.’

‘My job is to keep you alive, isn’t it? I’m serious about
that
. What if there’s five of them next time. Or ten?’

Cassius thought about that for a moment then walked past him and out into the sunlight.

The goddess stood upon a high, narrow plinth close to the bottom of the temple steps. She was wearing a crown and bearing standard and shield.

Indavara looked up at her. ‘Aphrodite, goddess of …’

‘Love, beauty, passion. Whatever.’

‘Like Venus.’

‘The Greek version, yes,’ said Cassius.

‘Looks more like a soldier. Nice jugs, though.’

Cassius ignored him and looked up the steps; Diadromes was not among the people waiting outside the temple.

‘Still in a bad mood?’ said Indavara.

Cassius knelt down to retie a troublesome bootlace.

‘I’ll take that as a yes.’

As he stood up, Cassius adjusted the small bandage Simo had wrapped around his aching thumb. The attendant was back at the inn, repairing his master’s saddle.

‘See all these people here, going about their daily business? They don’t have to worry about fighting, or protecting themselves, or being hunted like a bloody animal. They just live their lives. Normal, everyday, safe lives. Look at these lucky bastards.’

He pointed at four cheery youths coming down the steps. They were wearing togas and carrying waxed tablets bound by twine. ‘Students no doubt, with nothing more on their mind than the next lesson or the next tavern. Gods, what I wouldn’t give to be back in Ravenna.’

‘But you’re not.’

‘No. I’m here. With you.’

The bodyguard shrugged. ‘I can leave any time you want.’

‘That’s not what I meant.’

Diadromes was late but the half-hour actually passed pleasantly enough. While the sky darkened, they sat on the steps and watched the world go by. Cassius found his mood improving and he embarked on one of his favourite activities: marking passing women out of ten. Indavara soon joined in and before long they were japing and conducting impassioned debates. Cassius pronounced Berytus ‘better than average’, and was especially taken by a young priestess who they – eventually – agreed was a solid eight.

‘Good evening to you.’ Diadromes came down the steps at quite a rate. He was dressed in a green tunic and had obviously applied a powerful – but not unpleasant – scent before leaving home.

Cassius stood up. ‘Good evening.’

The Syrian looked at Indavara. ‘What’s your name?’

Indavara told him.

‘Never heard that before. You look like you can take care of yourself. Ex-army?’

‘Still serving,’ interjected Cassius, ‘though sometimes you wouldn’t know it.’

Diadromes jutted his jaw towards the nearest avenue. ‘There is an excellent eatery over there. Plenty of private rooms.’

‘Please – lead on.’

They followed the Syrian across the well-scrubbed flagstones (a large crew of slaves were hard at work with brushes and pails).

‘I must say I’m surprised to see you walking around on your own,’ said Cassius. ‘Not even a clerk?’

‘When I started moving up the ladder, people would always tell me I needed a man or two. When I moved up again they said I needed four, then six, then eight. It’s not uncommon to see my two fellow deputies touring the city with fifteen or even twenty. But I started out on my own and I like it that way. I have a clerk at the basilica, of course, and a select group to whom I assign certain tasks. But I’d rather have them out working than traipsing around after me.’

They waited for two carts to pass, then crossed the avenue.

‘And no bodyguard?’ asked Cassius. ‘With respect, surely a man in your position must have made a few enemies here over the years?’

‘Probably, but no one’s ever tried anything yet. It’s funny you should mention it actually; today the magistrate told us to be on our guard – he thinks some of the weavers might stage an attack.’

‘Clearly you don’t share his concern.’

‘The workers just want what they think is fair. They’d never go that far.’

‘You have some sympathy with their cause, then?’

Diadromes stopped as they reached the front of the eatery. It seemed a modest place; there was no doorman and the only advertising was a faded mosaic featuring a plate of food.

‘Enough politics. Let’s concentrate on dinner for now. It may not look much, but the cook here is one of the best in Berytus. Name a fish, and he will prepare it precisely to your liking.’

Diadromes noticed the beaming smile on Indavara’s face. ‘I see you like the sound of that, my friend.’

Though he found the ‘man of the people’ routine a tad unnecessary, Cassius had to admit Diadromes was excellent company. The Syrian insisted that they address no serious matters until later on and entertained his guests with tales gleaned from his long and varied career. The need for the private room was obvious; on their way through the dining room he had been approached by half a dozen individuals, most seeking a discussion of some issue or another. Diadromes handled them expertly; always appearing open and warm, never giving them a second to get started.

When the maid recited the menu, Indavara became so overwhelmed by his options that in the end Diadromes ordered a platter of ‘catch of the day’, which included five different varieties of fish plus crab, oysters and mussels. Cassius was still feeling a little sore from earlier and avoided the shellfish, but he sampled the trout and the bream; both were exceptional. Diadromes tried everything and gave his (mostly positive) views to the staff. Later, Cassius became so embarrassed by the sight of Indavara picking through bones and shells that he told the maid to remove the platter, even though Diadromes didn’t seem concerned.

When the girl returned with more wine, the Syrian asked her to escort Indavara to the kitchen – to show him what was on offer for dessert. Guessing Diadromes wanted to keep this ‘sensitive matter’ between them, Cassius did not protest; surely he was safe enough here.

Diadromes let his belt out a notch and turned his chair towards Cassius. ‘This will remain between the two of us, of course.’

‘Of course.’

‘My son is almost sixteen. He wants very much to study here at the university. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you about its reputation and importance. He has the enthusiam, the ability and the necessary references. Unfortunately, they admit only fifty new students a year, and the intake for the autumn is already complete. I’m told nothing can be done.’

‘They are very strict. I remember applying myself.’

‘Really?’

‘I trained for two years as an orator. An … unfortunate incident persuaded my father that I would be better off in the army. I entered the Service straight from training.’