The Emperor's Silver: Agent of Rome 5 (25 page)

‘Any dogs?’ asked one of the men.

Cosmas shook his head.

‘Need us for anything?’ asked Indavara keenly.

‘Maybe just cover the road, in case they make a run for it.’

The bodyguard looked disappointed.

‘I think we can manage that,’ said Cassius. Holding the hilt of his sword, he jogged along with Indavara as they followed the sergeants up to and around the bend. Just before they ducked into the cover of the wall, Cassius glimpsed the dwelling; a low, shabby farmhouse with several tiles missing from the roof.

The only noise was the quiet slap of their boots as they approached the gateless entrance. Cosmas stopped and squatted down, then peered around the wall. Indavara moved up beside Cassius, stave in hand.

Cosmas pointed at two of his men. They ran through the entrance and around to the back of the dwelling, disturbing some hens that pranced away, squawking and shedding feathers. Cosmas and the two remaining men ran to the front.

Cassius and Indavara moved up to the entrance and watched as the sergeant rapped on the door. His compatriots were already looking through windows, brandishing their clubs.

‘Open up. Magistrate’s men. Come out unarmed.’

For a moment there was silence. Then Cassius heard a woman’s voice.

‘Open up!’

A bolt was withdrawn and the door opened a crack. Cosmas barged his way inside, hand on his sword hilt, closely followed by the other two. The woman shouted something, then boots thumped as the sergeants looked for the brothers.

‘In here!’

‘There he is.’

‘Got the other one.’

The woman was now wailing, drowning out the men.

Cassius and Indavara walked up to the door, across compacted soil littered with straw and horse shit.

Cosmas was first out. ‘Got them both.’

Cassius glanced at Indavara, who was tapping his stave against the ground. ‘I know you’d rather be in there yourself but it’s wise to delegate once in a while.’

Indavara replaced the stave on his back. ‘Delegate?’

‘Give the difficult jobs to other people.’

‘You are very good at that.’

The mother kept up the voluble complaints as she pulled a shawl on over a tatty tunic. Next came one of her sons. He had his wrists tied behind his back and a sergeant’s hand on each shoulder.

‘Younger of the two,’ said Cosmas. ‘Known as “Knuckles”.’

Indavara snorted.

He was a muscular, grim-looking man, barefoot and clad only in a sleeveless tunic. He reeked of wine.

‘And here’s Greyboy.’

Though less than thirty, like his brother, this man’s hair was indeed entirely grey. He was also much smaller, with not an ounce of fat on him. He too smelled of wine, though he had summoned the energy to inspect Cassius and Indavara.

‘Bring up the cart!’ shouted Cosmas. ‘Looks like these two had a jug too many last night. We had to pull them out of bed.’

Greyboy temporarily silenced his mother, then spoke to Cosmas. ‘What’s the charge?’

‘No charge. Yet. I told you, we just want to talk.’

Greyboy looked again at Cassius. His brother moaned and shook his head. Staying on his feet was looking like a struggle.

The cart rattled along the road and the driver reined in by the entrance. Simo came along on foot, towing all four horses.

‘Let’s get them in there,’ said Cosmas. As the sergeants pushed the Gorgos brothers across the yard, he did his best to calm the mother down, assuring her that her sons would be back by sundown.

Cassius and Indavara wandered back to the road and looked on as the sergeants manhandled the two captives into the cart. Once the pair were down, the magistrate’s men sat on either side of them. Cosmas took charge of his horse and swung up into the saddle.

Indavara blew out his cheeks as Simo brought their horses around the cart.

‘Should have gone to Egypt.’

‘Really?’ said Cassius. ‘Considering what happened the last two times we tried to apprehend a suspect, I’m glad to see things go smoothly for once.’

As they mounted up, the tearful mother came over to the wall and spoke to Greyboy. Knuckles tried to speak too but instead vomited over the side of the cart. What splashed on to the road looked to be mostly meat and wine.

‘Gods,’ said one of the guards, ‘what a stench.’

‘Moving out.’ Cosmas set off, closely followed by the cart.

As they rode back down the steep, twisting road, Cassius soon found himself alone. Indavara had dropped back to talk to Simo and – from the sound of it – was trying to raise his friend’s spirits.

They were not the only ones talking. The Gorgos brothers seemed to have woken up and – despite the protestations of their captors – were insistent on continuing their discussion. One of the sergeants shouted at them, then at the driver. As he halted the cart, Greyboy gave what sounded like an order. A moment later, his brother head-butted the man sitting to his right.

With a high-pitched yelp, the sergeant tipped over on to his side then fell out of the back of the cart.

Cassius yanked on his reins, pulling up only a few feet short of the man. The next thing he saw was the other three sergeants pounce on Knuckles.

Greyboy was not slow to take his chance. Showing considerable athleticism, he flipped his legs past the battling quartet, shunted himself to the back of the cart then dropped on to the road. Hands still bound, he bent down next to the fallen guard, then plucked his dagger from its sheath.

Without a second look at his brother, he ran up the bank to the right of the road and disappeared between two bushes.

Cosmas was already off his horse and haring after him.

As Cassius dismounted to help the guard, he heard something clatter on to the road. Indavara’s stave rolled down the slope as the bodyguard bolted past and leapt up the bank.

‘Uuuurgh.’ The guard rolled on to his back, mouth open. The skin sliced open on his brow separated further and blood trickled out.

Cassius put a hand on him, not knowing what to do. ‘Er …’

A heavy blow from one of the guards’ clubs finally ended Knuckles’ resistance. The sergeants pushed him on to his side and one began binding his ankles.

‘Here, sir. Let me.’

As Simo arrived to help the stricken guard, Cassius ran to his mount and leapt up on to the saddle. Twenty yards back along the road was a track leading off to the right. He wheeled the horse and kicked down, urging it into a gallop.

Indavara kept his eyes on the ground. He was running across difficult terrain; sandy hillocks dotted with clumps of limestone. He powered his way up another slope, arms pumping as his boots slipped on the dry soil. He reached the top and stopped.

Two hundred yards ahead was the aqueduct. Here – on the plateau at the top of the gorge – it was only three or four feet above the ground. A dozen or so of the labourers could be seen ferrying buckets back and forth. Greyboy was halfway there. Cosmas seemed to have disappeared.

‘Who’s that?’ said a voice from below. ‘I’m here.’ The Syrian’s arm appeared above a bush.

Indavara took the downward slope with a series of long leaps and landed beside the sergeant, who was examining his ankle.

‘Did he cut you?’

‘No, tripped me as I came down. Go get him!’

Cassius had just startled a flock of birds. As they scattered, his mount slowed then shimmied sideways, tossing its head. He lashed a kick at its flank and pulled down hard on the reins but the horse was determined to flee.

‘Bloody beast.’ Cassius could have got it back under control but – as he’d just seen Greyboy reach the aqueduct – there was no time to spare. He let go of the reins, swung his left leg over the saddle and dropped adroitly to the ground.

Once free, the horse bolted back towards the road.

Just as Cassius reached the edge of the track, he spied Indavara leaping a low stone wall. He should have been watching his own footing: his left boot caught a root and he rolled down a short bank, ending up on his backside. As he wiped dirt off his face he was relieved to find nothing hurt.

‘Caesar’s length.’ He dragged himself up and loped towards the aqueduct.

The labourers watched Greyboy splashing along the channel.

‘Hey, you can’t go in there,’ shouted one man. ‘That’s drinking water.’ He was so enraged that he dropped his bucket, splattering white paint across the ground.

Indavara vaulted over the wall of the channel and landed in three inches of water.

‘Two of the buggers. What in Hades!’

Ahead, one of the labourer’s compatriots had dropped into the channel to confront Greyboy. A threatening thrust of the suspect’s knife sent him leaping straight back up on to the wall.

Greyboy wasn’t slow but Indavara reckoned he was gaining. In the distance were the chalky walls on the far side of the gorge. He had no intention of letting the Syrian get that far.

‘Army business!’

The labourers kept their distance as Cassius sprinted along the side of the aqueduct. When the ground began to drop away into the gorge, he had to clamber up on to the channel. Before continuing, he looked back towards the road; there was no sign of Cosmas or the other sergeants.

Greyboy looked back too; and what he saw evidently unnerved him, because he somehow tripped and fell. Arms flailing, he went down hard on his chest. Indavara was impressed by how swiftly he got back on his feet but the Syrian had lost valuable seconds and considerable momentum. Greyboy took only twenty paces more before realising he was about to be caught.

He stopped and turned, breeze ruffling his hair.

Indavara had been so intent on catching him that he hadn’t noticed another labourer leaning over the wall beyond his opponent. The man straightened up, a paintbrush in his hand.

‘Who are you two?’

‘I’m army,’ said Indavara, knowing that any mention of the legions usually had the desired effect. ‘Clear out.’

The labourer looked over the left side of the channel. ‘Arcus, come up. We’ve got to move. Just hurry!’

Greyboy wiped sweat out of his eyes as he sloshed backwards. The fall had done quite a bit of damage; his forearms had been scraped red and blood was dripping from his knee, colouring the water.

‘You’ve got nowhere to go,’ said Indavara.