The Imperial Banner (55 page)

‘Going to come quietly this time?’ asked Herminius.

Indavara took a moment to appraise the two men in front of him; they were holding the spears horizontally, points aimed at his stomach.Then he looked across the cell at Abascantius.

‘Do you trust your servant?’

Abascantius’s eyes narrowed for a moment, but then he gave an enigmatic half-smile. ‘Yes.’

Herminius frowned.

Indavara looked over at Abito, who was now on his feet and looking on. ‘Do you trust your son?’

Abito took rather longer to answer, but the reply was even more definitive. ‘Absolutely.’

Indavara kicked out at the closest guard, striking the hand gripping the top of his spear. As the weapon flew upward, Indavara grabbed the shaft and drove it into the guard’s face, striking him on the nose. As the guard let go and fell, Indavara swung the weapon to his right, catching the second guard on the forehead with a dull slap. Arms flailing, the guard staggered backwards into Herminius.

Abascantius and Salvian wrenched off the grille and threw it to the floor.

Eyes fixed on the bright square of light, Indavara ran between them and leapt feet first through the window.

In the brief time it took him to drop sixty feet, he closed his eyes. If there was nothing beneath him, he hoped his neck would break; he wanted to die quickly.

But he landed flat on his back, and made such a hole in the mountain of straw that when he opened his eyes, the pile was already falling in on top of him. He was winded; but nothing was broken.

‘You all right?’ cried a familiar voice from somewhere to his right.

He spat out a piece of straw. ‘Yes!’

‘What about the others?’

‘Just me. Go!’

As the cart rumbled away, Indavara slid to his left and almost off the back. He threw up his hands and gripped the side of the cart as his legs hung over the rear edge. He dragged himself forward and hung on as the cart juddered across the rough ground. Looking ahead, he glimpsed Simo’s broad back. The Gaul was hunched over with one hand on the reins, the other holding the side of the cart.

Only when they reached the road was Indavara able to move. He crawled through the straw then clambered up on to the seat next to Simo. The Gaul – his face flushed and wet with sweat – looked back towards the prison.

‘It’s all right,’ said Indavara. ‘No one’s following. They have no mounts there.’

Keeping the horses at a trot, Simo turned on to a wider street, heading directly away from Hadrian’s Bridge, west across the island. Though the route passed close to the sprawling walls and high towers of the imperial palace, there were only a few people up and about.

‘Thank the Lord,’ said Simo, patting Indavara on the arm. ‘I must have moved that cart twenty times. Every time the horses twitched my heart almost stopped.’

‘You did well,’ said Indavara. ‘But slow down. We’re attracting enough attention as it is.’

Thanks to their speed, most of the straw was now gone, but they were still leaving quite a trail on the road.

‘Ah,’ said Indavara. ‘Good.’ He glanced down at the collection of weapons and equipment Simo had strapped to the seat.

‘Your bow and quiver. I found you a sword and dagger too. Plus Master Cassius’s armour.’

‘Water?’

‘In your bag.’

Indavara found the gourd inside the leather sack and took a long drink. Passing the imperial palace, they saw a squad of legionaries and six curtained litters being carried towards the gates.

Before long they came to the bridge on the western side of the island, where four city sergeants were gazing down at a boat passing underneath. When they heard the approaching cart one man hurried into the road, waving at Simo.

‘Go,’ ordered Indavara. ‘Speed up.’

‘Oh my.’

Simo lashed at the horses and the cart rattled around the guard and on to the bridge. The sergeants shouted at them but stayed at their post. Indavara hung on tight as they sped over the river.

‘Are they following? Are they following?’ jabbered Simo.

‘Relax and use your eyes. They don’t have mounts either.’

Only when they were across and on to the wide road heading west did Simo slow down. He turned to Indavara.

‘Did you see my father?’

‘I did. He’s well. In fact he helped us.’

‘I might find myself beside him soon,’ said the Gaul, gripping the reins with one hand so he could wipe his brow with the other. ‘I too shall be considered a criminal now.’ He turned and looked back at the bridge.

They passed several small hamlets; and a few farmers and traders heading into town for market, then came to a junction.

‘This road runs parallel to the river,’ said Simo. ‘I pray they’ve not made it to the port yet.’

He guided the horses to the left.

Indavara held up a hand. ‘Stop here.’

‘What? Why?’

‘Just stop.’

Simo reined in, and the cart trundled to a halt.

‘We can’t waste time here,’ said the Gaul impatiently. ‘Abascantius wants you to go after Master Cassius. He was following this man Scaurus and his ship has gone. Shostra believes he’ll be headed downriver, trying to escape.’

‘I’m not going after any ship,’ replied Indavara coolly.

‘But that’s why all this was arranged.’

‘I arranged it. So I could get free. Now I am.’

Indavara turned to look at the signpost by the junction. ‘What does that say?’

Simo didn’t reply; he was still staring at Indavara in disbelief.

‘Well,’ said Indavara as he untied the weapons, ‘if this road leads to the coast, I shall go the other way.’

‘What about your money?’

Indavara jumped down to the ground. ‘I have a little left.’

He swung his bow, quiver and bag over his shoulder and took the sword and dagger.

‘You can’t just leave him,’ said Simo. ‘You were supposed to protect him.’ The Gaul clambered down and hurried after Indavara, meeting him at the rear of the cart.

‘Corbulo decided I wasn’t up to the job, remember? And I’m glad of it. He did me a favour. Why should I risk my life for a man who cares only for himself?’

‘There’s been no word from him. This man Scaurus is evil. We found a cavern full of bodies. Full of blood.’

‘Then your master’s probably dead too.’

Simo’s head dropped.

‘Anyway,’ Indavara continued, ‘do you even know what all this is about? What it is we’ve hunted across Syria? Can anything be so precious that so many men must die for it? Leave these rich idiots to their games. Why not just come with me?’

‘I cannot,’ the Gaul said quietly.

Indavara offered his hand. ‘Then I shall say goodbye, Simo.’

Simo ignored the hand, but he spoke: ‘I know you may not have seen his best side, but Master Cassius is a good man and I’ll not abandon him. If he’s alive, then he’s alone and he needs help.’

‘I wonder – would he do the same for you?’

‘I believe he would.’

‘That is where we disagree. Goodbye, and good luck.’

Indavara set off in the opposite direction.

Simo watched him for only a moment. He hurried back to the front of the cart and climbed up, then set the horses off along the river road.

Indavara tried to stop someone, find out where he was walking to. The drivers of the first three carts kept going; perhaps, he thought, because of the weapons he was carrying. The fourth cart belonged to an old man, who halted only long enough to tell him that the road led to the city of Alexandretta. Indavara had never heard of it.

He walked on; and soon came to a milestone. As he stood there, trying to make sense of the letters and numbers, four boys emerged from the marsh at the side of the road. They walked past him, headed for the river. They were carrying fishing rods and nets and one was leading an unsaddled horse along. They weren’t speaking, but were taking it in turns to kick a stone ahead of them. Indavara put his bag down by the milestone, then laid the weapons on top of it. He squatted down on his haunches and watched the boys ambling towards the water.

Back in Pietas Julia, he had always taken great care not to make friends, because gladiators measured their lives in weeks and months, and never knew when they might face each other in combat. He had outlived every last man. From the moment he had heard of Capito’s deal, he had thought only of that twentieth contest. For six long years, he had done nothing but train and fight.

All he could do – all he had ever done – was look after himself.

He watched the boys a moment longer, as they began running towards the river.

Things were different now. He was free; free to do what he wanted. But that meant he had choices, and whether he liked it or not, the choices he made today had consequences for others. What if Corbulo was alive? And what if Simo tried to save him on his own? They wouldn’t stand a chance.

Indavara looked back at the junction.

It was one thing to be forced to fight. It was another to choose to.

At the top of the river bank was a well-trodden towpath usually used by slaves hauling barges up and down the Orontes. The path was smooth and wide, and Simo made good time. He knew there were fifteen miles of river between Antioch and Seleucia. Without knowing when the galley had left, it was impossible to guess where the ship might be.

For the first hour, he passed only small vessels going downriver and three big grain freighters coming up. He came to an unmanned loading dock and was delayed while he took the road that ran round it.

Another hour; and the path followed the meandering river through a wooded area thick with insects. The horses were fading fast. Simo was on the verge of stopping and unshackling them from the cart, when they passed the last of the trees and he spied a vessel up ahead.

The galley was moving quickly, the sixteen oars dipping in and out of the water at speed, leaving a thick trail of foaming wake. Simo slowed the horses as he came up behind the ship. Below the sternpost was a bronze plaque. Shostra had told him the vessel’s name and there it was:
Radians
. One man was operating the tiller, another – the captain perhaps – stood next to him. Six other sailors were on deck, coiling ropes. They soon noticed Simo, and watched him as they worked. The captain looked up at the bank too.

Simo kept his head facing forward, but his eyes stayed on the galley. As he passed each rank of oars, he could make out the dark, muscled forearms of each slave beyond the port-hole. There was no sign of anyone else. He passed the bow and drove the exhausted horses onward. He could see the cranes and warehouses of the port a couple of miles ahead.

‘Dear Lord, grant me strength.’

It was the shivering that woke Cassius: a sharp, icy chill that ran up his spine and across his shoulders. Raising his hands to rub his eyes, he realised his wrists were tied together. He shifted and felt a fiery pain on the left side of his skull. He could hear a rhythmic beating sound coming from somewhere ahead of him. He made himself stay still. Slowly, the pain receded.

Where am I?

A bright light somewhere above. He was sitting with legs stretched out in front of him, his back against a hard surface. He moved his neck and felt something sticky on the left side of his neck – dried blood, he guessed.

Dreams? That pile of mutilated bodies in the cavern? Major butchered in front of him by that laughing warrior?

Water dripped on to his lap. He looked up and saw blackened timbers, then a square of bright blue sky. Clouds too; and a gull swooping by on the wind. That noise. The beating. A drum for oarsmen. He was on the ship.

A key turned. The door in front of him swung inward, and Kaeso Scaurus walked in. The smile on that cherubic face seemed so innocent, so genuine, that Cassius almost smiled back.

‘Ah, you’re awake at last.’

Scaurus was wearing a simple long-sleeved tunic, with only the finger-rings and a gold-plated belt buckle to mark him out as a man of means. He was armed with a long, narrow dagger. He stood over Cassius and looked down at his head.

‘Ouch.’

Running a hand through his curls, Scaurus leaned back against a thick pile of sailcloth.

‘I have some questions.’