The Imperial Banner (19 page)

Cassius awoke in the middle of the night, struck by a sudden thirst. The blankets fell from him as he stood and went in search of a drink. The fire had almost died; just a few grey logs smoking in the dark. Cassius stepped past the snoring Syrian and saw a gourd lying next to Simo. He picked it up and was about to drink when he noticed Indavara had gone.

Then he heard horses. Many horses, moving quickly.

He stepped outside but could see nothing. The sandy ground was cold and rough on his bare feet as he moved beyond the doorway. The noise seemed to be coming from the west. He hurried to the corner of the farmhouse and looked out at the plain. There were four smears of light: torches, moving north to south. The pounding hooves seemed to grow louder; he was surprised the others could sleep through it.

There was no sign of Indavara.

Then the noise of the horses began to fade. He continued to watch the torches until he could hear nothing at all. Only then did he return to the doorway. He found Simo there, holding the oil lamp.

‘There you are, sir.’

‘Horses to the west. Moving away now.’

‘Where’s Indavara, sir?’

‘Good question. Best check the money, Simo.’

‘Has his horse gone, sir?’

‘Would he even take it?’

Cassius walked inside to where Indavara had been sleeping. The blanket was there but none of his other possessions.

‘Gods, his gear’s gone too. The money, Simo. Quickly!’

The goat-herder sat up and mumbled something.

‘Your money’s safe,’ came a voice from outside. Indavara appeared out of the darkness and strode through the doorway. He had his boots on and was holding his bow and quiver. He stared at Cassius, his black hair almost covering his eyes.

‘Ah, Indavara. You’re still here.’

‘I was watching the riders. I am not a thief.’

‘No, no. I just – I woke up and heard the horses. Your gear –’

Indavara knelt down and lifted up one of the blankets Cassius had thrown aside ‘– is here.’

‘Ah.’

‘I am not a thief.’

Indavara began moving his things towards the door, as far away from Cassius as he could get.

Cassius spent much of the next day watching clouds and looking back at the mountains. It wasn’t until dusk that he really felt they had made significant progress across the plain, estimating they were now thirty-five miles from Palmyra. There was little satisfaction to be had, however, because it was then that the rain began.

They were caught out in the open. The Antioch road was visible to the east, but the only settlement in view was a village at least eight miles to the north. There was no hope of making it before nightfall, and, in any case, Cassius didn’t want to stray far from the trail. That afternoon, the wheel marks had left the track. The Syrian had still been able to follow them but the rain might soon change that.

In the end, it was the old man who suggested a plan of action: he knew of a cave on the other side of a ridge about a mile away. To Cassius’s disgust, the cave turned out to be tiny, muddy and wet; and they spent a miserable, cramped night there, enlivened only by a meal of peppered pork and dried apples. As he lay on his blanket, watching the ground outside turn to sludge, Cassius cursed Gregorius and Abascantius, then moved on to General Navio, Marshal Marcellinus and the entire Roman Army, before finally working his way around to his father.

By first light the rain had stopped. Cassius decided they should return to the trail, though he knew precisely what they would find. Once there, he dismounted and stared down at the ground. The Syrian had left a branch to indicate the wheel marks. It was now surrounded by a morass of grey mud.

‘Even worse than I thought.’

‘The owls,’ said Indavara.

‘What?’ Cassius replied irritably. Though he regretted making his hasty conclusions at the farmhouse, the bodyguard had further tried his patience the previous day by walking for most of the afternoon and resisting Simo’s attempts to treat his blisters.

‘My dream,’ replied Indavara. ‘The owls. The storm.’

‘By Mars, your idiocy knows no bounds. It wasn’t a storm. A storm involves thunder and lightning. Loud crashing noises and bolts in the sky. It was heavy rain. Caesar’s cock! Now I’m arguing about the weather.’

Cassius kicked the branch out of the ground. There was only really one option left but he couldn’t stand the thought of returning to Palmyra. Apart from the trials he’d endured there, he doubted much more progress could be made. He might be able to find out more about the legionaries, but without a lead on Gregorius, where could he go next? This Tarquinius character was probably worth investigating but both Lollius and Venator were convinced he wasn’t involved; and travelling up to Zeugma seemed like a misuse of the limited time available. There were now just fourteen days until the missing banner was to be returned to the Persians.

‘Back to the city, sir?’ queried Simo.

‘You don’t want to check the village?’ Indavara asked.

‘If I want your opinion, bodyguard, I’ll ask for it,’ said Cassius.

‘But the trail was aiming roughly in that direction. They may have passed through or close by.’

‘And what if they did? Do you suppose they told some random villager about their plans? Because unless they did precisely that, we’ve no other way of following them now.’

Indavara shrugged. ‘The rains may have been lighter to the north. We might pick up the trail again.’

This gave Cassius pause for thought. He hesitated, weighing up the distances ahead.

‘I suppose it’s not that far. And we’ll not make Palmyra in a day anyway.’ He didn’t want to appear indecisive but the bodyguard was for once making sense. ‘We’ll only lose a few hours. And we can dry off at least. If we find nothing, we can head off in the afternoon. North it is.’

Simo walked over to the Syrian and pointed towards the village.

‘I’m glad today finds you in a more communicative mood, Indavara,’ Cassius said as he hauled himself back up into the saddle. ‘Time for your first riding lesson.’

Two hours later, under a clear sky, the bedraggled foursome guided their horses down a hill through a grove of olive trees. Below them, nestled in a bowl-like valley, was the main part of the village. The settlement showed no sign of planning whatsoever: multiple paths led off the main road and the houses all faced in different directions.

They came to a small hut. Carved into an outcrop of rock next to it was a wide, flat slab – an oil press. Scattered across it were hundreds of dark green olives.

A stout man in his forties walked out of the hut carrying a wooden pole. He had a thick head of jet-black hair and an equally dark beard; and he greeted the strangers with a curious glance that swiftly became an engaging grin.

‘Here’s an unusual sight,’ the villager said in Latin. ‘A Roman officer in lowly Ethusa.’ He leaned the pole up against the press. ‘What brings you here, sir?’

‘Actually I’m looking for someone. A group rather. They may have passed through about two weeks ago. Eleven men escorting a large cart. Do you recall anything?’

The man shook his head. ‘We’ve only had a few visitors since the Festival of Sol. A couple of wandering priests, a few pedlars and now you. Get caught in the rain?’

‘Very observant,’ Cassius replied sourly. It seemed they had wasted yet more time.

‘Name’s Dacien,’ said the villager. ‘Formerly Optio Dacien, First Century, Third Cohort, Sixteenth Legion.’

Cassius decided to be a little more polite. ‘Officer Corbulo, governor’s staff.’

‘Somebody not pay their taxes?’

‘Tax is not my concern. All I’m interested in is these men. Is there any other way through here?’

Dacien put his foot up on a rock. ‘From the south?’

‘Yes.’

‘A couple of small tracks but nothing wide enough for a cart.’

‘You’ve heard nothing of any strangers in the area at all?’

‘No. But there’s folk here with animals and property scattered all over. Somebody may have seen something.’

‘Is there an inn? Somewhere we might dry ourselves, get some hot food?’

‘We’ve not enough passing traffic here for an inn. It’s mostly retired soldiers and local families.’

Dacien examined the four men, then nodded. ‘But my wife can help you with hot food and a fire. For a coin or two of course.’

‘Is your home close?’

Dacien glanced towards the village. ‘Just there. That’s all there is to Ethusa, by the way.’

Cassius gestured down the hill. ‘Please.’

Dacien’s home turned out to be one of the larger dwellings, right next to the main road. Outside, two young boys were playing with a young puppy by a puddle.

‘Back so soon, Father?’ cried the elder lad in Latin.

‘We’ve got some visitors, boys,’ said Dacien. ‘They’re a bit wet – need to dry out.’

Dacien, Simo and the old Syrian took the four horses behind the house. Cassius looked around. Among those observing the strangers were a pair of old women sitting on a bench and a trio of girls washing clothes in a barrel.

The boys were no longer interested in the puppy. The younger one hid behind the other as they stared up at Cassius and Indavara. After a moment or two, they summoned up the courage to approach Cassius. He disliked children and studiously ignored them. The boys passed him warily.

As they neared Indavara, he suddenly darted down at them with a mock attack. The boys jumped back, squealing and laughing; and one of them fell back into the puddle. Indavara helped him up; and for the first time since he’d met him, Cassius saw the bodyguard smile.

‘Come in,’ yelled Dacien from a first-floor window. ‘Round the back.’

Running up the rear of the house was a staircase. Cassius led the way into a large, well-equipped kitchen. Dacien’s wife was plucking a chicken. She eyed the visitors curiously.

‘Some hot wine for our guests,’ Dacien told her in Greek.

As his wife got to work, the ex-legionary pulled out a chair for Cassius. Cassius sat down then offered Dacien a denarius. He hadn’t even a chance to take it before his wife plucked it from Cassius’s hand. Dacien shrugged good-naturedly. The old Syrian laughed, then Simo and Indavara too. Even Cassius managed a smile.

‘Give us your wet things and we’ll dry them as best we can,’ said Dacien, moving a wooden rack closer to the fireplace. As the others set about removing their outer garments, Cassius noticed the two boys peering around the doorway.

‘Good to see you’re educating them well.’

Dacien grinned. ‘I speak Latin to them, Greek to the wife, and when I’m not around the three of them use Aramaic – what a mess.’ He sat down on a stool opposite Cassius and nodded at the floor. ‘Take those boots off if you want, sir, warm your feet.’

Cassius began to undo his laces.

‘You needn’t call me sir. Your army days are over.’

‘You know what they say. Once a legionary . . .’

Cassius shifted his chair closer to the fire.

‘You did your twenty-five years?’

‘I did. Got my plot of land and the house five years ago. All pretty peaceful until the Palmyrans started kicking up a fuss.’

‘You’re glad to see the queen gone?’

‘Of course. Good to have a proper army man as emperor too. Stability – that’s what we need. Though my wife would argue with me if she knew what I was saying.’

‘She favoured the Palmyrans?’

‘I think she just liked the idea of a woman being in charge.’

Cassius hunched over and stretched his hands towards the fire.

‘The men we’re looking for may have passed north of here. Are there any properties in that direction?’

‘Not occupied ones. But you’re in luck, in a way – being here today. The elders are holding a meeting at midday – village affairs. Boring as usual, I expect, but all the men will be there. Perhaps somebody saw these fellows you’re after. I can’t guarantee that they’ll all be falling over themselves to help a Roman officer but I have a good name here. I can speak for you.’

‘My thanks. I’ll be more than happy to reward anyone who can help.’

‘That’s settled then.’