The Imperial Banner (45 page)

‘At the Mithraeum last night. What you believed to be manifestations, signs of the god – the water and the glowing eyes.’

‘Yes?’

‘They were tricks. The eyes were no more than lit coals, like I said. Probably put there by the same man who poured the water from the snake’s mouth.’

‘What man?’

‘Hiding behind the altar.’

Indavara shook his head. ‘It was their god. They asked him for a sign and he showed them – the water came.’

‘It’s not intended to be interpreted literally. They don’t really believe it’s Mithras himself. It’s more like a . . . recreation.’

‘They don’t believe it? Then why were they there?’

Cassius threw up his hands. ‘All right – it was Mithras! What do I know?’

Indavara didn’t speak again until they were close to the villa.

‘So you think Abascantius is wrong about Octobrianus?’

‘Not necessarily, but I fear his determination to nail the procurator has blinded him to other possibilities. Between them, Ulpian and Quarto control just about every armed man in the city, and with this handy little cult they have all the contacts they’d need.’

‘So we’re going to the basilica?’

‘Soon. First the baths. I need to think.’

Simo was off visiting Elder Nura – to tell him what they’d seen at the prison – but he’d already given Cassius directions to the Baths of Julius Caesar. They were just a quarter of a mile from the villa, further up the slopes of Mount Silpius.

Knowing they would be busier in the afternoon, Cassius was pleased to find the baths quiet. Passing through the colonnaded entrance, they entered a narrow but high-roofed reception room. The only people there were a woman at a table and a team of artisans working on a mosaic of Caesar. Cassius paid the woman. She aimed a thumb over her shoulder at the door behind her.

The baths were relatively small, with no facilities for women, so there was only one dressing room. Inside were benches and shelves where patrons could leave their clothes. There were two doors, one straight ahead labelled
WARM ROOM
, the other to the left, labelled
COLD POOL
. The only occupant was a scrawny old man who had just pulled his tunic off over his head. He nodded at the new arrivals.

‘Good-day.’

‘Good-day,’ replied Cassius.

The old man pulled a face. ‘Not even a slave to look after our clothes.’

‘Too early, I suppose.’

‘Probably just as well. Thieving bastards every one.’

The old man opened the door to the warm room. Steam swirled in before he shut it behind him. Cassius put down the bag Simo had left for him. Inside were his bath oils and two towels. Normally he wouldn’t have permitted the humiliation of having to look after himself, but it seemed only right that the Christians should hear how their imprisoned fellows were faring – even if the news wasn’t good. He hadn’t yet asked what Simo had said to his father, but he feared the Gaul had ignored his advice.

Cassius sat down and quickly untied his boots. He couldn’t wait to get in the water. In Cyzicus it had been rare for him to spend less than an hour a day at the local baths. It wasn’t just the pleasure of cleaning off the dirt and smell of the city, it was the whole experience. A good bath gave one’s body a chance to recuperate, one’s mind a chance to relax; and he was in dire need of both.

Indavara was still standing by the door.

‘Not getting undressed?’

‘I thought I was standing guard.’

‘You are. But you can’t walk around inside there clothed. It’s simply not done. You can use one of my towels to dry off later.’

Indavara looked uncertain.

‘Another new experience?’

‘We were allowed to bathe sometimes. But it wasn’t like this.’

Not for the first time, Cassius felt sorry for him. He was so capable and powerful in the physical realm, yet so ignorant of the ways of the world. It was a curious combination.

‘Well, last night’s new experience with the girls worked out well, didn’t it? You might find you enjoy this too.’

Indavara shrugged and removed his boots.

Cassius took off his belt, then his tunic. Now naked, he put his bag, boots and clothes on one of the shelves. Feeling chilly, he rubbed his shoulders.

‘Come on, I want to get into that warm room.’

‘Go ahead then,’ replied Indavara as he unbuckled his belt.

Cassius shook his head. ‘You may not like it and I certainly don’t like it, but I want you no more than five yards from me at any time over the next few days.’

Indavara removed his main belt and his sword belt and placed them with his boots on another shelf. Then he took off his tunic.

Cassius looked at him. He really was an impressive specimen, but any appreciation of his condition was forgotten when Cassius saw the marks upon him. He had noticed the brand before, and all the scars on his foreams and legs, but now he saw the full extent of the damage Indavara’s young body had sustained. Between his shoulder blades were three identical red circles. And below this, line after line of welts; scar upon scar.

‘By Mars, you’ve been through it.’

Indavara turned to him. ‘What?’

Cassius pointed at his back. ‘They whipped you.’

Indavara said nothing.

‘As if it’s not enough to make a man fight for his life.’

Indavara nodded at the door behind Cassius. ‘I thought you were cold.’

The warm room was on the small side, but Cassius adjudged the temperature to be about right. The furnace would be directly beneath the next chamber – the hot room – but some of that heat was redirected to the warm room, radiating up through the floor and out through the walls, preparing the patrons’ bodies for the high temperatures to come.

The walls had faded from red to pink and there were some damaged mosaics on the floor. Only the ceiling retained its original grandeur, with ornate leaf and flower patterns swirling around the four high windows.

Already inside were the old fellow – who was sitting on a bench – and a large man lying face down on a table, attended by a trio of slaves. Two were oiling and scraping his broad back, while the third read a letter to him.

‘So now what?’ queried Indavara as they sat down on the bench.

‘We wait, warm up a little, then it’s the hot room.’

‘We just sit?’

‘No. Usually I would be being oiled but as my attendant spends more time dealing with his own problems these days, I shall have to just sit, yes.’

‘Pretty boring.’

‘Even more so if some fool is engaging you in mindless conversation. Hush, I came here to think.’

Indavara rolled his eyes and stared down at the nearest mosaic. The big man began dictating his reply to the letter. It sounded like he was some kind of architect. Cassius tried to turn his thoughts to the investigation but he was soon distracted: the architect could barely string a sentence together yet insisted on ignoring his slave’s literary advice. ‘As you wish, sir,’ the slave would say every time his master overruled him. On the eighth ‘As you wish, sir,’ Cassius stood up.

‘Come on.’

They passed through the open doorway into the hot room. Back home there would usually have been an adjoining exercise area, but Cassius knew from his time in Cyzicus that the eastern provincials did things their own way. He wasn’t overly concerned, having never particularly embraced the habit of exercising before a bath anyway. He did, however, hope the cold pool was big enough for a good swim.

‘Ah, yes,’ he said, enjoying the soothing heat rising up from the floor and out from the hollow walls. Dead ahead was a high, round basin full of steaming water. From here, the chamber led to their left, down a set of wide steps to the hot pool. Sitting on the steps was a slight, middle-aged fellow missing both legs below the knee. His slave, a powerfully built young man with the colouring of an Egyptian, sat beside him.

As Cassius made his way past them down into the water, another man came into the chamber. He had a wild head of hair and was clad in the roughly cut tunic of a slave. The invalid called to him but he disappeared towards the cold room.

‘Useless. Bloody useless.’

Cassius acknowledged this with a brief nod, then lowered himself into the water up to his neck. He didn’t want to get involved in a conversation but couldn’t resist the pool. He closed his eyes as the heat enveloped him, then dunked his head under. As he re-emerged and ran his hands through his hair, the man was already talking.

‘. . . thirteen functioning bathhouses in Antioch. The eight best are on the island and of the remaining five, only one is worse than this place. I use it because it’s close.’ The man nodded down at the stumps of his legs. ‘I have to consider these things now.’

As there seemed little chance of avoiding talking to him, Cassius replied.

‘It happened recently?’

‘Last year. I was out at Daphne. A snake startled my horse, we fell into a ditch and the damned thing landed on top of me. They both had to come off. At least I have my wealth. A poor man couldn’t afford a slave to carry him around all day.’ He offered his hand. Cassius swam around his big attendant and shook it.

‘Titus Plotius Otho.’

‘Cassius Oranius Crispian. Are you a local man, Otho?’

‘Well, I came here as a youth but that was nigh on forty years ago now, so yes, I suppose I qualify.’

Indavara was still back at the basin, washing his face. Cassius splashed water on to his shoulders. He decided the conversation need not be a complete waste of time.

‘So you know a little of city society?’

‘Not as much as I used to,’ Otho said sadly. ‘But yes, a bit.’

‘This may seem rather forward, but I am in need of advice. I’m new here. It would be useful to hear the view of a longtime resident. A rather sensitive matter.’

‘Speak, friend.’ Otho nodded at the slave, who was gazing thoughtfully down at the water. ‘My lad knows not to repeat a word of what he hears.’

‘I am in the army, attached to the governor’s staff. It’s been communicated to me – via several sources – that if I wish to advance myself while here in Antioch, it would be to my advantage to join one of the local Mithran sects.’

‘Indeed? Well, these sources might be right. Do you object to such a prospect?’

‘Not at all. It has always seemed to me to be a most worthy religion.’

‘You are pledged to other gods, then?’

‘No, it’s not that either. It’s just that this particular sect seem very secretive. They almost seem to enjoy creating an air of mystery around themselves.’

Otho nodded gently, then glanced at Indavara, who had just sat down on the far side of the steps, with only his feet in the water. ‘This fellow is trustworthy too?’

‘Absolutely.’

Otho glanced over his shoulder to check they were still alone. ‘You are talking about the Sons of Antioch.’

Cassius nodded. ‘Do you think it would be worth joining?’

‘Oh, I should say so. From what I’ve heard, the ceremonies get shorter every year, and the trade talk gets longer. Perhaps that’s what comes of pretending to be no more than a guild – a self-fulfilling prophesy. There’s certainly no shortage of esteemed members. You know who their leader is?’

‘I do.’

‘Not a young man.’ Otho smiled. ‘When he steps down, they may do away with the religious stuff entirely.’

‘He is – for want of a better expression – a true believer then?’

‘From what I’ve heard, yes. It may be that he has enjoyed the benefits of such an organisation over the years, but I think he was the founder, or at least one of them.’

Cassius nodded. ‘Interesting. You never considered it?’

‘No. My mother was a Jew – she would never have forgiven me. And frankly, I’m not sure I would have got through the initiation. But you must make up your own mind, young man. Did I help at all?’

‘Indeed. Thank you.’

In fact, Otho’s information had done little to clarify things. The general was thought to be truly devout, yet the Sons of Antioch had become more like a guild under his leadership. Had someone exploited their contacts within the organisation to carry out the theft? Ulpian himself? Quarto? Both of them? Someone else? And was the fact that these men associated in this way even significant? Abascantius clearly didn’t think so.