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‘Who exactly is on this council?’

Instead of answering, Abascantius stared thoughtfully down at Cassius. ‘Do you have a good toga with you?’

‘Yes, sir. Why?’

‘You can see the council first-hand. Act as my eyes and ears. Don’t look so worried, Corbulo. After all those days in the desert I’m sure you’ll enjoy a cultured evening with the great and the good of Antioch.’

‘Sir?’

‘You’re going to a dinner party.’

The villa they were to stay in was another of those liberated from one of Abascantius’s ‘evictees’. Cassius knew he shouldn’t have been surprised to hear the agent talk of such a thing in so dispassionate a manner, but it disturbed him to think what the man might truly be capable of.

Before he and Indavara left, Abascantius summoned three messengers and dispatched them to various locations. He told Cassius to meet him at the eleventh hour by Hadrian’s Bridge, and that he should make himself as presentable as possible.

The villa was located half a mile south of Abascantius, closer to the centre of the city, in a similarly anonymous area. As Cassius and Indavara walked through the streets, Antioch seemed to reawaken after the quiet of noon. Glancing to the right, they caught glimpses of crowds and the grand buildings at the city’s heart.

‘Where’s this big face then?’ said Cassius.

According to Abascantius’s directions, when they were level with a distinctive carving on the side of Mount Silpius, the villa would be dead ahead. As they emerged on to a wide road running down to the Avenue of Herod and Tiberius, Cassius’s question was answered.

‘Ah. Quite impressive.’

Carved into grey rock high above the city was a large male face with a smaller figure on one shoulder. The sculpture looked damaged or unfinished.

‘So that must be it,’ said Indavara, pointing forward.

The villa was smaller than Abascantius’s but again well protected by a high wall and a sturdy gate. Running along the southern side of the house was a smaller river – the Parmenios – that flowed down from Mount Silpius into the Orontes.

The gate was open. They found Simo sweeping the path.

‘Welcome, sir.’

The Gaul shook his head as he followed Cassius inside. ‘There’s so much to do. I shall have to get firewood, some cooking utensils, there’s no water coming in; oh and—’

‘Relax, Simo. You’ve the rest of the day to attend to all that. At least we have somewhere habitable to base ourselves.’

Inside the villa were a few basic bits of furniture but no decoration of any kind.

‘It’s terribly bare, sir.’

‘Less for you to clean then. Where are the horses?’

‘Stabled just down the road. Shostra said the man there is reliable. We may come and go as we please.’

Leading off from the atrium were four rooms, including three bedrooms. Cassius took the largest of them and told Indavara to take the room closest to the front door. Simo asked the bodyguard to help him with a few chores, and he seemed happy to lend a hand.

Cassius’s saddlebags were already in his room, on top of a low but wide wooden bed. The only other furniture was a large set of shelves. Cassius pushed the saddlebags across the bed and lay down beside them. On the way to the villa, he had heard a slave announcing the start of the ninth hour, so decided there was time for a short nap. He was tired and hung over and couldn’t possibly face the demands of civilised company without taking a rest. He listened to Simo ask Indavara to go and buy some water. Before he left, the bodyguard asked Simo about the rock carving.

‘That’s the Charonion,’ the Gaul explained. ‘It’s more than four hundred years old. Built on the orders of Antiochus himself – the ancient king who gave the city its name. During his time a plague struck; a seer advised him that he should create a great image of Charon, the god of the underworld, to appease him and prevent further pestilence striking the city.’

‘Did it work?’ asked Indavara.

Cassius didn’t hear the reply. He was already asleep.

Cassius arrived at Hadrian’s Bridge before Abascantius, which gave him a few welcome moments to gather his thoughts. Two hours of sleep seemed only to have depleted his strength and he was troubled by the prospect of the evening ahead. He wasn’t sure how one gained admittance to a dinner party without being known to the host; and he wondered what the agent wanted him to do.

Arms crossed, he leaned back against the rough wall of the bridge, a wide, arched structure that stretched a hundred feet over the Orontes. There didn’t seem much need for a bodyguard at a dinner party, so he’d told Indavara to stay and help Simo.

It was strange – unnerving in fact – to be among crowds of people after all those days in the desert. He gazed at the thronging mass of pedestrians and carts moving in both directions. There was clearly some substantial building work going on somewhere; most of those returning from the island seemed to be labourers. More of the municipal magistrate’s men were on duty, ensuring that pedestrians kept to the side of the road and clearing any dawdlers with a harsh word and the odd poke with their clubs.

Cassius turned round and looked down at the river, where a multitude of punts and skiffs vied for space with larger boats upon the calm, dark water. Some of the bigger vessels were manned by six or eight slaves pulling hard at their oars while their masters and mistresses lounged at the rear. Several of these boats were converging on a dock at the south-west corner of the island. Already moored there was a big, sea-going galley. Two lads were working at the top of the mast while the remainder of the crew scrubbed sails laid across the deck.

Beyond the dock was a huge, sprawling villa set in its own gardens, complete with several fountains, a stable and a bathhouse. There looked to be some other private residences close by, but most of the island was taken up by public buildings: theatres, baths, civic offices, and – on the far side – the oval bulk of the hippodrome and the looming walls of the imperial palace.

‘Don’t turn. We should avoid being seen together.’

Abascantius and Shostra were suddenly by the wall to his right.

‘Guests already arriving,’ said the agent. ‘We must be quick.’

Cassius nodded towards the big villa. ‘I’m going there?’

‘You are. The House of the Dolphins. But first I shall show you the council. Their meeting at the forum has just broken up so they’ll be along soon. On the other side of the bridge turn right; there’s a theatre next to the villa. Go inside and wait. I’ll have someone fetch you. Go now.’

Cassius waited for a gap in the traffic, then darted through it and strode away across the bridge.

The high wooden doors at the front of the theatre were open. Cassius went inside and found himself in a spacious reception area lined by benches. Opposite the entrance was another set of doors, presumably to the auditorium and stage. On either side of the room were staircases leading upward. Two women were on their knees, cleaning the floor.

Cassius sat down on one of the benches. He hadn’t been there long when a young boy – no more than eight or nine – came running down the staircase to the right. He took a momentary curious glance at Cassius, gestured for him to follow, then ran back the way he’d come.

The staircase spiralled up to a high second floor, and a gallery with an excellent view of the stage, currently obscured by scarlet curtains. The boy pointed to a room on the left side of the gallery then trotted away. Shostra was in the doorway, handing a few coins to an elderly, well-dressed man. Shostra ushered the man away and nodded inside the room. It was packed full of tables, benches and chairs.

‘Over here,’ said Abascantius, popping his head up above the jungle of furniture.

Cassius squeezed his way through, trying not to get his toga dirty. Abascantius was sitting on a chair in front of a small, iron-grilled window. There was a spare stool next to him. As Cassius sat down, the agent looked him over.

‘Very smart.’

It was a hot afternoon, and though the toga was thin, the wool irritated Cassius’s skin. He hadn’t worn it since leaving Cyzicus, and felt rather self-conscious. Simo had also given him a wash and shave, then cut his nails and attended to his hair.

Abascantius grimaced. ‘You are rather good-looking though. Tall too. Not ideal.’

‘My mother would take issue with you on that,’ said Cassius with a grin.

‘You don’t work for your mother.’

Abascantius pointed down at the street. Beneath them was the House of the Dolphins. Guests were arriving at the wide set of steps that splayed out from the main door. Cassius dragged his stool closer to the window to take in the full scale of the structure. It was truly enormous, with four atria and three separate courtyards.

‘Your host is Kaeso Scaurus, one of the richest men in Antioch. His first party since the liberation of the city. Not that he and his kind particularly suffered, but most of them are relieved to be rid of the Palmyrans. His parties are infamous – more than a few of the city folk will be looking for an excuse to cut loose. Should be quite a night.’

‘Were you invited?’

Abascantius laughed bitterly. ‘Me? No. My presence would spoil the festival spirit – put the guests off their food. Ah, the man himself.’

Cassius peered down through the grille. A plump individual in an ostentatious purple and gold cloak was jogging down the steps. He had a round, ruddy face and a voluminous head of curly black hair. As two particularly decorous ladies disembarked from an open carriage, Scaurus bowed low, then kissed each hand in turn. He turned his attention to their menfolk, smiling broadly and gripping their forearms with overt enthusiasm.

‘Still trying too hard, I see,’ said Abascantius. ‘Will he never learn?’

‘Something of an aspirant?’

‘The very definition. Mother was a Jew, father a legionary. Made his fortune in slaves and money-lending. He’s been trying to buy his way into the provincial assembly for years. Doesn’t seem to understand that unless he marries into one of a handful of families or wins the favour of Marcellinus, those doors will remain for ever closed.’

‘The same people hold power now? Even after the occupation?’

‘Most were sensible enough to keep their heads down and their mouths shut – wait until the storm passed. Antiochenes are rather adept at that. A few ran into trouble with the Palmyrans of course, but I doubt today’s guest list will be that different from a couple of years ago.’

Three ranks of spear-carrying cavalrymen had just arrived in front of the villa. Between them was a diminutive figure on a pale grey horse.

‘Ah. The first of our council members. General Julius Ulpian, commander of the Antioch garrison.’

A swift boot from Scaurus sent a slave boy scurrying towards the general with a little box to help him dismount. As another slave held his horse’s reins, Ulpian descended. Scaurus offered a hand but the general waved it away. As he made his way up the steps, a huge African legionary fell into step behind him. Ulpian removed his helmet to reveal a sparse head of grey hair and a lined, leathery face.

‘He’s old, even for a general,’ observed Cassius.

‘Sixty-five, I think. In truth, his has been a nominal title for the last few years. The Palmyrans let him stay, but every last century had already been withdrawn. He’s got a full cohort again now though.’

‘A suspect?’

‘Possible but unlikely. He’s had to watch himself ever since a nasty incident a few years back. He became obsessed with one of his tribune’s wives, and was none too subtle about it. He was warned off several times, but couldn’t help himself. Eventually he sent the tribune away on some pointless errand, then went round to his house and raped the girl.’

‘Gods.’

‘He tried to cover it up but it got back to me eventually. I told Chief Pulcher and he told the Emperor. Claudius decided that Ulpian could keep his job on condition he keep his nose clean until he retired. As far as I know, he has.’

‘He was lucky.’

‘It wasn’t just luck. He’s a war hero. Finest cavalry commander in the province in his day. Fought two wars against Shapur.’

‘Then he must hate the Persians.’ Cassius glanced at Abascantius. ‘Enough to stop us signing a treaty with them?’