The Far Shore (37 page)

By the time Indavara reached the market, the rider was well on his way along the Via Cyrenaica. With no way of knowing how far he was going, Indavara tried to slow his breathing, prepare for a long haul. But once on the road, he could see that the buildings petered out after a mile or so. Assuming the rider wasn’t leaving the town, he would at least be able to see where he turned off.

Indavara felt himself slowing; it was a while since he’d run like this and the slippery paving stones and his sodden tunic didn’t help. Just as he lengthened his stride, the rider veered towards the right side of the road.

Attracting more stares from a couple of market vendors, Cassius and Noster cut across the square. They’d been close enough to see Indavara turn east and Cassius reckoned they hadn’t lost much ground. Despite Noster’s disadvantage in years and height, the sprightly legionary had easily kept pace. When they reached the road, however, both the rider and Indavara had disappeared.

But the Via Cyrenaica wasn’t empty. Six soldiers on horseback trotted out from a side street to the left, every man clad in helmet and armour. They came to a halt in the middle of the road and stared at the villas on the other side.

‘Yours?’ asked Cassius as they slowed to a walk.

Noster shook his head. ‘First Century. Wonder what they’re doing in town.’

Indavara knelt by the corner of a low stone wall and peered round the edge. The soldiers were about fifty feet away, half the group obscured behind a villa. He pulled back his head as one of them glanced in his direction.

‘Shit.’

The rider had turned off about a hundred yards ahead of him. He’d been considering whether to continue up the road or try to find a short-cut when the first of the legionaries had appeared, making the decision for him. He’d sprinted into the nearest side street, then turned down an alley.

Cassius had briefed him earlier about what Eborius had disclosed, but Indavara had no idea which century the soldiers were from or what they would do if they saw him. He peered round the corner again. One of the legionaries was pointing to the east and the two others he could see were also looking that way.

He stood up and ran across the street into the next alley. There was no shout or clatter of hooves. He ran on.

‘Shit,’ said Cassius.

‘That’s not good,’ added Noster as the soldiers urged the horses off the avenue into the maze of villas. He and Cassius were standing still, trying not to look as if they were watching the legionaries.

‘Hope they don’t run into your friend,’ Noster continued. ‘Carnifex’s men aren’t known for their restraint.’

‘Neither’s my friend.’

‘Got you.’

Indavara looked across the street. Twenty yards away, the rider had just led his horse into a high-walled courtyard. He was indeed short, his head lower than his mount’s saddle. He returned to the street for a moment, took a brief look around, then pulled the gate shut behind him. The courtyard and the villa to which it belonged seemed to be in good condition compared to the other houses nearby.

Indavara retreated into the shadows next to one end of what looked like a sanctuary. There were gaps in the front wall that he thought might provide a good view of the villa. He smiled. He liked it when he was leading the way, getting things done. He reckoned it reminded Corbulo how much he needed him.

The arched gateway into the sanctuary had lost a lot of bricks and looked as if might collapse at any moment. As he passed warily underneath it, Indavara’s wet legs brushed against the knee-high weeds that carpeted the interior. Once inside, he realised the structure wasn’t a sanctuary; there were no flower beds or benches or fountains.

Ahead of him, arranged in pairs, were six large cubes of a pink-tinged marble, each five feet across. Well-rendered faces and lines of text had been etched on each one, though much was now obscured by moss and grime. At the far end was another arched entrance. This one still had a gate, which had been left ajar.

Indavara heard the legionaries calling out to one another. They were getting closer.

He walked on, between the first pair of what he’d now decided were probably tombs. The black and white tiles beneath his feet were barely visible through the grass and a dense tangle of weed. He passed the second pair of tombs and looked for a suitable gap in the wall to his left; there were a couple of missing bricks but both were too high to look through. Approaching the last pair of tombs, he looked straight at the gate. Or rather the wet ground in the alley beyond it.

The marks in the mud looked fresh.

The faint sound of breathing seemed to be coming from ahead of him. He turned his good ear towards it.

The flash of movement came from the tomb to his right.

Indavara turned; and had time to register only three things. A lithe, dark figure springing at him; a pair of wide, bright eyes; and a narrow blade coming at his neck.

He swung his left arm into the man’s wrist, smashing it into the tomb, but the assailant’s impetus kept him moving forward. Indavara reached out with his right hand and grabbed whatever he could, which turned out to be the diagonal belt across the man’s chest.

He heard boots scuff the ground behind him.

Second man. Moving in.

Gripping the belt tight, Indavara spun round and launched the first attacker towards the second. To his surprise, the man came right off his feet.

A moment after he let go, he heard two simultaneous yelps. Unbalanced, he fell on to his backside and reached for his dagger but when he saw his assailants he realised he wouldn’t be needing it. He got up and drew it anyway.

They couldn’t have been more than fourteen or fifteen, and one was lying on top of the other. Their skin was dark, their long black hair tied into tails with twine. Despite the rain, they were barefoot and wore only baggy, roughly made tunics. Each carried a small, circular shield of hide on a strap over his back. They had both dropped their daggers and Indavara could see the identical leather sheaths fixed to the inside of their left forearms. Surely these were two of the local tribesmen Eborius had spoken of. The Maseene.

The youth lying on top rubbed his head, then rolled off his compatriot. The other warrior was still on his back. Wincing, he pushed himself up off the ground and stared at Indavara. Then he glanced down at the weeds where one of their daggers lay. Indavara retrieved it and tucked it into his belt. Spotting the other one, he grabbed that too.

The pair got to their feet.

‘Down there!’ cried one of the legionaries. He sounded very close.

The bulkier of the two youths also looked to be the youngest.

‘Soldier?’ he asked quietly in Latin.

The accent was like nothing Indavara had ever heard but the word was clear. He shook his head. Even though he’d been close to taking a blade in the neck, he couldn’t help admiring the young warriors for taking him on. But though there could be no doubting their bravery, their fear was equally evident as they stood there, narrow chests rising up and down, rain soaking their faces.

He waved the youths towards the tomb – so they’d be out of sight. Once they’d hesitantly complied, the three of them just stood there in silence, listening to the legionaries moving through the streets and alleys around them. Indavara didn’t know what he’d do if they were discovered, only that there was no way he was going to give up the tribesmen to the legionaries – not after what he’d heard and seen in the square.

Thankfully, it seemed the soldiers were reluctant to dismount and search every hiding place, and before long their voices and the clip-clop of hooves moved away.

Indavara approached the young warrior who had spoken. He held up his spare hand in what he hoped the youth would recognise as a signal of peaceful intent, then pointed at his left forearm. The Maseene exchanged a confused look with his friend but eventually realised what Indavara intended. He offered his arm.

Indavara took one of the daggers from his belt and slipped it into the sheath. The warrior pushed it into place, then dropped his arm. Indavara returned the other dagger to the second warrior in the same manner, then stepped away from them. He aimed his blade towards the gate.

The pair retreated, eyeing Indavara all the way. Their smooth, measured movements reminded him of the hunters he’d seen at work in the arena. As the older lad disappeared behind the tomb, the younger one gave a respectful nod and then a cheeky grin. Indavara walked forward and watched them slip silently into the alley.

‘At least they’re moving away,’ said Noster, looking down the side street from the Via Cyrenaica.

‘But where’s Indavara?’ said Cassius. ‘We don’t even know if he came off to the left or right. That bloody rider could be anywhere by now.’

‘There he is,’ said Noster as Indavara suddenly appeared on the street.

Cassius and Noster ran over to him.

Indavara grinned. ‘What kept you?’