The Far Shore (41 page)

‘We wait.’

Down in the quarry, Frugi returned to his saddle to take another swig of wine.

Dio glanced to the right and pushed himself off the wall.

‘Can’t hear a horse,’ said Noster. ‘Might be on foot.’

Cassius watched Dio’s hand drift towards his sword. Frugi and Nepos gazed into the darkness.

A cloaked figure walked into the pool of light cast by the torches. Dio relaxed and returned to the wall.

‘No horse?’ asked Frugi.

‘Too loud,’ came the reply as the hood was pulled down.

The woman was hard to age; her hair was still fair but her face was heavily lined. She walked over to the others and looked down at the sack next to Dio.

Cassius was so transfixed by the scene below that he barely noticed Indavara drawing his sword again. But when the bodyguard turned to his left, Cassius did too. The grass was moving, and not solely because of the wind.

‘It’s me,’ came the deep voice, and Eborius emerged from the dark a moment later.

‘Thank the gods,’ said Cassius. ‘Where have you been?’

The centurion clapped a hand on Noster’s shoulder and knelt next to Cassius. ‘Sorry, Corbulo. Cervidus almost snapped his ankle on the way down, not a hundred paces from here. Couldn’t even walk. I had to get him and Atrabates back to the shore path, then find a position for the other three. Then this lot started turning up.’

‘Seen the latest arrival?’

‘Yes. Didn’t expect the third man to be a woman.’

‘You know her?’

‘The face. Can’t remember the name.’

‘Justina Trebantius,’ interjected Noster.

‘That’s it,’ said Eborius. ‘Lives out on the south side of town. Not far from that farmhouse Lucius was to deliver to.’

‘What do you know of her?’

‘Widow,’ continued Noster. ‘Husband was a procurator in Bithynia. Killed himself after some kind of scandal.’

‘I think I can probably guess who led that investigation,’ said Cassius.

He looked down into the quarry. Justina Trebantius was still staring at the sack. Nobody was talking.

‘Now?’ asked Indavara.

‘No,’ said Cassius. ‘Look at them. They’re still waiting. Someone else is coming.’

The flaming torches appeared in quick succession. One, then three, then six; bobbing up and down, casting flickering streaks of light on to the narrow gully that formed the entrance to the quarry. The soldiers slowed their mounts to a walk as they neared the four conspirators.

‘This just got a lot more complicated,’ said Noster. Optio Procyon was first off his horse, closely followed by Optio Mutilus. Procyon nodded to Dio, then looked at the other three. Once the rest of the legionaries had dismounted, Mutilus ordered them into a line, penning the three men and one woman against the wall. Cassius counted the soldiers, some of whom weren’t carrying torches. Twelve. They all turned, waiting for the last rider to dismount.

‘Shit, shit, shit,’ whispered Noster.

The last man walked out of the darkness then stopped, surveying the scene in front of him.

Cassius turned to Eborius, whose head was bowed. ‘Carnifex?’

‘Carnifex.’

The centurion removed his helmet, the crest of which had been chopped down to half its normal height. Beneath was a close-cropped head of grey hair almost white at the temples. His armour was an archaic bronze muscle cuirass, his armament a similarly old-fashioned short sword. Carnifex was bull-necked and squat, with long, powerful arms and thick-fingered hands, which he rubbed together as he approached Dio. He had a slight limp.

‘Welcome back,’ he said, as they shook forearms. The assassin looked like a child next to Carnifex.

Cassius noticed that one of the men resembled a local more than a legionary. ‘Who’s that with the long hair?’

‘Sulli,’ replied Noster. ‘Carnifex’s local guide. He’s Maseene.’

Carnifex threw his helmet to Procyon, then gestured for Dio to pick up the sack. As the assassin did so, the old centurion turned to Mutilus. ‘Pilum.’

Mutilus took a long spear from his saddle, walked past the watching conspirators and handed it to his superior. Dio proffered the open bag. With a lopsided grin, Carnifex reached inside and pulled out Memor’s head by the hair. The skin was a strange dark grey and the face seemed to have collapsed in on itself. Carnifex held it up to Nepos and Frugi. Nepos simply gave a satisfied smirk, while Frugi took a celebratory drink from his bottle. Carnifex showed the head to his men, then finally to Justina Trebantius. She stepped forward and spat at it.

Chuckling, Carnifex jammed the head down on to the blade of the pilum, twisting it for good measure. At the bottom of the pilum was a butt-spike, which he drove into the ground next to the quarry wall.

He stepped back for a moment to admire his handiwork. ‘You got what was coming to you, friend. I’ve waited a long time for this.’

Carnifex took Procyon’s torch and held the flames under the head. It took a while to catch light, until the fat began to seep out of the skin. Carnifex seemed to particularly enjoy lighting each eye – watching the flaming jelly slip down over what remained of Memor’s face. For his final flourish, he waited for the flames to die, pulled the spear out of the ground, then swung it hard against the quarry wall. The head exploded, leaving fragments of skull and charred flesh on the ground.

Carnifex threw the pilum back to Mutilus, then snatched Frugi’s bottle from his hand. He took a long swig and gave it back to him.

‘Now,’ said the centurion, ‘to business.’

Within a few moments, Frugi, Nepos and Justina Trebantius had all produced heavy-looking bags of coins. Carnifex waved Procyon forward to collect them; the bony optio could only just carry them all. The centurion pointed at Dio.

‘Don’t worry,’ he told the other conspirators, ‘I’ll make sure our friend here gets his share. Reckon he deserves it. My own contribution – bringing in such an accomplished professional. That arrangement still all right with you three?’

Carnifex possessed the harsh accent and belligerent tone of those from the roughest, poorest quarters of Rome. Cassius despised him already.

‘Absolutely,’ said Frugi.

‘Of course,’ added Nepos.

‘I’d pay the same again if we could have Memor killed twice,’ said Justina Trebantius, drawing another chuckle from the centurion.

The last of Carnifex’s men arrived – a driver on a cart towed by two horses.

‘What’s that for?’ asked Frugi, bottle still in hand.

‘Your bodies,’ Carnifex replied flatly. He gestured to his men and stepped backwards. Four of the legionaries without torches drew their swords and advanced on the conspirators. Frugi’s bottle fell to the ground as he and Nepos retreated towards the quarry wall.

‘Carnifex, we had an agreement!’

‘Why, man?’ pleaded Nepos. ‘You know you can trust us.’

Justina Trebantius made a pathetic attempt to flee, only to be grabbed by Carnifex. He pulled her to him and held her, one arm round her neck, one arm round her waist.

‘We’re just going to sit and watch this?’ asked Indavara.

Cassius didn’t reply. Even if they could have got down there in time, they were heavily outnumbered.

The legionaries paired off and stabbed their swords into the cornered men. Nepos crumpled to the ground in an instant. Frugi died noisily, choking and flailing at his wounds as he slid down the quarry wall. Carnifex pushed Justina Trebantius towards Mutilus. The optio took a moment to line up his blade with his spare hand, then drove the blade straight into the woman’s heart. Her head shot up in a paroxysm of agony, teeth sparkling in the torchlight. There was an awful sucking sound as the legionary retracted his blade. Justina Trebantius staggered backwards. Carnifex caught her again, and turned her face towards him.

‘By the great gods,’ whispered Eborius.

The woman gazed at Carnifex with unblinking eyes. He gripped her chin and kissed her full on the lips. Procyon giggled. The centurion let go and shoved her towards the wall. She fell to the ground between Nepos and Frugi. Not one of them was moving.

‘Nice touch,’ said Dio.

Carnifex put his arm over the assassin’s shoulder and led him away from the bodies. ‘You did well, lad, very well indeed. Now what about this ship? Nothing to worry about?’

Cassius felt an icy chill wash over him.

Dio shook his head. ‘Just some rich idiot and a couple of women.’

Carnifex turned to Procyon, who nodded.

‘Like I said, covered my tracks all the way,’ continued the assassin. ‘Reached Rhodes via Paphos, changed ships on Crete.’

‘Very good,’ said the centurion. ‘What did I tell you, Procyon? You want a job done right, you’ve got to hire the best. And you know something else about assassins? Travel around a lot. Not many friends, not many ties. A lonely life. But it’s helpful in a way. Because it means no one will ever come looking for them.’

The arm that had been over Dio’s shoulder now dropped under the assassin’s chin. Carnifex squeezed his forearm, crushing Dio’s neck against his bronze cuirass.

‘Cent—’

Carnifex squeezed tighter. The assassin struggled, lashing out with his hands and feet, but Carnifex didn’t move an inch. In fact he didn’t even bother to use his other arm. The centurion looked around at his men and shrugged as Dio’s head shuddered and spittle bubbled from his mouth. Only when he had finally stopped moving did Carnifex let go. The small, limp form dropped to the ground at his feet.

‘What are you waiting for?’ he told Procyon after a moment. ‘I want them back in the villa in an hour and you lot out of town before dawn.’

‘Yes, sir.’

The optio returned Carnifex’s helmet.

The old centurion walked away past his men. One of them handed him his horse’s reins and he disappeared into the shadows.

For a long time, nobody said anything. Cassius, Indavara, Eborius and the two legionaries looked on as the men of the First Century went efficiently about their work. They put the bodies inside big sacks and loaded them on to the cart. Mutilus even took a moment to scatter gravel and dirt over the bloodstains. He and Procyon then mounted up and led the others out of the quarry.

When all the torches had finally disappeared, Noster spoke first. ‘Sir, shall I go and get the others?’

‘No,’ answered Eborius. ‘I’ll do it. You’ll never find them.’

He stood up and seemed to be about to say something, but then walked away through the grass. The others got to their feet too. Cassius reached into the pack, took a drink from his canteen and wished he’d brought something stronger.

The barracks were on the east side of Darnis, close to the old wall. Anxious to avoid any risk of contact with Carnifex’s men, Eborius retraced their route along the shore, then past the harbour – where all was quiet – before turning up into the town. Cassius recognised the area from when they’d followed him the previous day.

The building looked barely large enough for a century and was housed in a low-walled compound with a small parade ground at the front. Ignoring the main gate, Eborius led them round to the rear, where a sentry let them in. Some of the other men came out to meet their fellow soldiers but Eborius ordered them back to their rooms and instructed the squad to head directly to his quarters. He gave Noster a key and left him to open up, then went to check on the injured man.

The officers’ quarters were divided into two small rooms: an office at the front with a bedroom to the rear. For Cassius, it was hauntingly reminiscent of the fort at Alauran and his first assignment in Syria. As he, Indavara and the legionaries filed in, Noster fetched an oil lamp, then lit a lantern hanging over a large table. There were only two chairs so nobody sat down. Little had been said during the journey back and the silence continued until Eborius returned. The centurion shut the door behind him, took off his cloak and sword belt and hung them from hooks on the wall.

‘How is he?’ asked Cassius.

‘Ankle’s badly swollen but I don’t think there’s a break.’ Eborius gestured to one of the chairs. ‘Please.’

Cassius sat down; he was grateful to take the weight off his feet.

Eborius addressed his men. ‘First things first. None of you can speak of what you saw tonight. Not amongst yourselves, to the other men, nor to anyone else. I don’t think I need to explain why.’