The Imperial Banner (21 page)

‘Poor sods,’ Dacien remarked. ‘Looks like they never knew what hit them.’

Cassius reached into the satchel. He was fairly sure he’d be able to spot the legionaries (especially with the details provided by Venator’s clerk) but what about Gregorius? Was his body there too?

Cassius unfolded the sheet describing the agent.

Height: Five feet, seven inches.

Build: Slim.

Eyes: Green.

Hair: Black, shoulder length.

Marks: Long diagonal scar, back of left knee.

The man before him looked taller than five foot seven, but his hair was black and quite long. He certainly couldn’t be described as slim: he had the bulging calves and forearms of a Roman soldier. Then again, his build could have changed since the record had been made. Cassius lifted his left leg. There was no scar. He checked the right leg just to be sure. Nothing.

He and Simo dragged the next man over.

‘By Mars.’

The side of the legionary’s face had been seared by the flames. Most of his hair had been burned away. He was about the right height. One eye was closed, the other red, just like Quartermaster Lollius. Cassius couldn’t tell what colour it had been. He checked for the scar again. Nothing.

By the time all the bodies were out of the channel, even Indavara was breathing hard. Cassius thanked him and Dacien and told Simo to fetch them some water.

‘So what do you think?’ asked the ex-legionary, nodding towards what was now a line of twelve. Cassius had examined each corpse and had already made some basic conclusions.

‘The Service man isn’t here. None of them matches his description. I can tell nine are legionaries. Short hair, light beards, muscular and with military tattoos. Plus several are still wearing their army-issue boots. Numbers four, five and eleven possibly not. Come and have a look.’

The three of them gathered in front of the fourth body.

‘Ah, look here,’ Cassius said, bending down and pointing at a rectangular area of lighter skin at the base of the man’s throat. ‘Where he wore his identity tablet.’

Dacien nodded.

‘That’s our last legionary,’ Cassius added. ‘So – five and eleven.’

Number five was the tallest man in the line by some distance. He was wearing one light leather sandal and a tunic. The bottom of the bloodied garment was charred. The blow that had killed him was a deep slash across his neck.

‘Long hair. Slim. No tattoos. No tablet mark. Enemy,’ said Cassius.

He moved on to number eleven. This man was shorter. His body had been heavily burned from the chest down and they could see the dent in his skull from a fatal crushing blow.

‘No tattoos. No tablet mark. Enemy.’

Cassius looked down at the tangle of ash, firewood, clothing and weaponry littering the bottom of the channel.

‘All that has to come out too.’

He decided he could at least take charge of this. He jumped down and began sorting through the debris. It was filthy work, and in moments his tunic was more black than red. Simo was soon there to help and when Dacien and Indavara weighed in too they finished quickly, leaving only a thick pool of bloody, ash-covered sludge. The smell was still horrific.

Cassius drank from his canteen as they looked down at the recovered items. First was a pile of swords. Dacien had already sorted through them.

‘Not a lot to help here,’ he said. ‘All look like army issue to me.’

Cassius bent down and examined a few. They were all personalised with little touches but Dacien was right. In any case, he wasn’t sure what they could learn from a sword. Next were the partly burned belts that had come loose and ended up at the bottom of the pile.

‘Nothing much here either,’ said Dacien.

Cassius moved on to the four stray boots they’d found. ‘Army issue, yes?’

The ex-legionary nodded.

The last pile was of smaller objects: charms, amulets and three money bags containing a handful of coins.

‘Right, let’s take some time to think about this.’

Cassius led them away from the channel, only stopping when he could no longer smell rotting flesh. On those occasions he’d acted as an investigator for General Navio in Cyzicus, he’d found it beneficial to discuss such a situation, even if it was only with Simo. Though the Gaul would sometimes say something useful, it was really just the process of airing his thoughts that helped Cassius see things differently or make some previously elusive connection. He pointed east.

‘Let’s suppose the legionaries came from there, well clear of the village. The Service man knew the area, so I expect he was aiming for the bridge. We must remember they were travelling at night. The raiders, whoever they were, obviously knew they were coming because they ambushed them here – the only place the cart could cross the channel for several miles.’

‘And they must have done it very well,’ added Dacien, ‘to have only suffered two dead.’

‘Which suggests they attacked in considerable force. These legionaries were all veterans. Even with surprise on their side I’d say the raiders must have numbered twenty at least – two to a man – to have overcome them so easily. They probably hid in the channel.’

‘Under the bridge even,’ said Indavara.

‘Possibly – we must check there. Now the Service man isn’t here. Which means they took him with them, probably alive.’

‘Maybe he knew they were coming,’ suggested Dacien.

Cassius raised an eyebrow. It looked like Venator had been correct about the trustworthiness of the ten legionaries but had Abascantius also been right about Gregorius?

‘Then they burned the bodies but made a poor job of it, which suggests they were in a hurry. Possibly they wanted to get somewhere before daylight. So where did they go?’

Dacien shrugged. ‘Before the rain, any route would have been easily passable.’

Cassius let out a long sigh. He glanced around at the dirty, sweaty faces of the others and knew how similarly weary he must look. Had the toil of the last two hours really been for nothing?

‘Let’s have another look at those two enemy,’ he said, heading back to the channel.

‘I’ll check under the bridge,’ offered Indavara.

Cassius went straight to ‘eleven’.

‘Help me turn him over, Dacien.’

Once this was done, Cassius knelt down and examined the warrior’s legs. He saw what he thought was a tattoo, then realised it was just charred flesh. Then he inspected the man’s tunic, or what was left of it. Cheap, thin cotton. It could have come from anywhere.

Indavara came out from under the bridge. He threw a boot up to Cassius, then pulled himself up out of the channel.

‘Found it close to this end, must have fallen in there.’

Cassius examined the boot. It was unusually large and matched that worn by ‘five’. He walked over to the body and dropped it by the bare foot. The boot landed on its side. The sole was covered in a thick brown layer and a few flecks of white. Cassius picked it up again and held it to his nose.

‘Yuk.’

‘Shit?’ asked Dacien.

‘Well done. And I thought I was the investigator.’

‘What type?’

Cassius frowned. ‘What type? It’s not a fine wine.’

Dacien took the boot and sniffed it. ‘Goat,’ he said before handing it back.

‘Well, I’m glad we’ve established that,’ said Cassius. ‘So our only lead is a man who once stepped in goat shit. That really narrows it down.’

He drew his dagger and scraped the sole of the boot.

‘This stuff, however, might be a little more instructive.’ Under the muck was a thin layer of the white substance. Cassius sniffed it. A faintly bitter odour. He knelt down and scraped at the other boot and again found the same white layer.

‘Well, I lack your expertise as far as ordure goes, Dacien, but I know that smell.’

Dacien took the boot and sniffed it. ‘What is it?’

‘Quicklime. It’s used in mining.’

‘What kind of mining?’

‘Iron and copper, mostly.’

‘Copper? There are copper mines just north of here. The very name of the city—’

‘Chalcis,’ said Cassius.

‘But there are scores of mines there.’

‘Yes, but it’s something. And a moment ago we had nothing. This fellow was probably near a mine not too long ago. And I can’t think of a much better place to hide a big cart, or to use as a base for some criminal scheme. Whereabouts are the mines?’

‘I don’t know exactly. Mostly between Chalcis and Androna, I think.’

‘How far is Androna from here?’

‘A day’s ride perhaps.’

‘We wouldn’t make it by nightfall?’

‘You might – if you picked up the Antioch road.’

Cassius nodded. ‘I’d like you to go back to the village. Bring out a couple of men who know how to keep their mouths shut. These legionaries deserve a decent burial.’ He pointed at the money bags. ‘You can keep all that as payment.’

‘Fair enough.’

‘We’re leaving. I’m sure I can trust you to do the right thing by these men.’

‘You can, sir.’

‘My thanks for all you’ve done,’ said Cassius as they gripped forearms.

Dacien bade farewell to Indavara and Simo, then started back towards Ethusa.

Cassius took a last look at the bodies, then at his filthy hands.

‘Come, you two. I for one have had enough of this place. We ride north.’

‘A sesterce.’

The innkeeper shook his head.

‘Two.’

‘No, sir.’

‘Three.’

‘No, sir.’

Cassius was surprised by the Syrian’s lack of commercial acumen. Admittedly it was the middle of the night, but he was offering well above the odds.

The three travellers had arrived at the southern edge of Androna and been directed to the inn by four watchmen guarding the road. The innkeeper had opened up, summoned two lads to deal with the horses, then shown the latecomers to their rooms. He’d been cordial, welcoming even, but was now proving most reluctant to grant one particular request: Cassius wanted a bath.

The Syrian pursed his lips. ‘It is not simply a question of money, sir,’ he said quietly, anxious not to disturb his other guests. He, Cassius and Simo were standing outside their room at the top of the stairs on the first floor. ‘There is no fire lit in the bathhouse. It will take more than an hour to warm enough water.’

‘I don’t care if it takes two,’ Cassius replied. ‘I’m not going to bed like this.’

He gestured to his dirty, bloodstained, stinking tunic. A loud yawn sounded from inside the room. Indavara was already undressed and in bed.

‘Very well,’ continued Cassius. ‘A denarius.’

The innkeeper rubbed his brow. ‘I have no intention of haggling, sir.’

‘All right, forget the money,’ said Cassius, not bothering to keep his voice down. ‘I don’t know if you’ve been keeping up with current events but Syria is once more a province of Rome. I am a member of the governor’s staff and you are obliged by imperial law to assist me.’

The innkeeper rolled his tongue around his mouth, let out a final sigh, then set off down the stairs.

‘Stubborn. Intransigent. Obstructive. And I see now that you also have a propensity for over-exaggeration. I doubt three-quarters of an hour have passed and behold – I am clean.’

The innkeeper, pouring steaming water from a bronze jug, said nothing. Cassius sat back against the lip of the bath and rubbed his forearms. Simo was kneeling behind him, wiping his shoulders with a sponge.

‘Nice little arrangement you have here.’

The bathhouse was a domed brick building that took up one side of the inn’s courtyard. The bath was five feet across, three deep and surrounded by fire-pits. The Syrian had two of them going, each heating a cauldron.

‘You have all you need now, sir,’ he said, putting down the jug and walking towards the door.

‘Stay a while,’ said Cassius. ‘I need a little information.’

The innkeeper halted.

‘Your name?’ Cassius asked.

‘Addra.’

‘How long have you lived in Androna, Addra?’

‘All my life.’

‘Excellent. The watchmen told me there is an army officer here with a squad of legionaries. An administrator too.’

Addra nodded tiredly. ‘They arrived last month.’