The Black Stone: Agent of Rome 4 (The Agent of Rome) Page 10

VI

  Organising the riding drill took an annoyingly long time. Most of the horses were being used for the manoeuvres and Nerva had refused to provide any more than three. Abascantius confided to Cassius that the chief centurion’s long-standing enmity towards the Service meant that they could expect little assistance from him. Pontius, however, had been helpful, even going as far as to personally recommend Mercator. As a man with serious political ambitions, the tribune had to take rather more care how he treated Abascantius than the veteran Nerva.

  ‘That stubborn prick,’ said the agent as he and Cassius watched some lads lead the horses onto the fortress corral. ‘He demanded to know what we needed the men for. As if I would disclose Service matters to the likes of him.’

  ‘The governor knows, though, sir?’

  ‘Of course. I had no choice there. Just hope the old boy keeps it to himself.’

  ‘He seems a decent man.’

  ‘Better than most. Can you take it from here? I have some other matters to attend to.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Abascantius plucked his helmet off a nearby fence post and pulled it on. ‘When you’re done here, start thinking about logistics: mounts for the journey, supplies, weaponry …’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  As the auxiliaries parted to let Abascantius through, Cassius quietly cursed. Organising all that needed doing in little more than a day would be a struggle, especially with no Simo to assist him. The thought of leaving Bostra without the capable attendant was deeply depressing. Cassius was trying not to think about what they might face in the southern desert. He now knew from experience that the only way to get through the next few weeks would be to negotiate a day at a time.

  ‘Right, first three men – in you go and get ready.’

  With the lads holding the horses, the auxiliaries walked through the open gate and onto the mix of sand and bark that covered the ground. Cassius noticed a few jumps and other obstacles piled up in the middle of the oval-shaped corral but he didn’t plan to make things complicated. All he needed to know was whether the men could handle a horse properly.

  As the trio hesitantly mounted up, he looked over at Indavara’s group, who’d occupied the empty space between the corral and the road. Mercator had earlier collared an armourer, who’d furnished them with some wooden practice swords. The bodyguard and the optio were now assessing the fighting skills of the other half of the auxiliaries.

  Despite his apparent lack of enthusiasm, Indavara had perked up at the prospect of the sword drill. Cassius wondered how he’d fare with the auxiliaries – he was hardly the most vocal of men, after all. But, as he looked on, Indavara raised a sword and gestured for one of the soldiers to come at him. The man seemed keen to impress and darted this way and that, striking from different angles and positions. Indavara held his ground, seeing off every thrust with smooth parries and sidesteps. After a while the deflated auxiliary gave up, but Indavara encouraged him to continue against another man and moved on.

  ‘Sir?’

  The auxiliaries were ready; the lads out of the corral.

  ‘Right. Circuits. Nice space between you. Keep to a walk for now.’

  As they began, one of the other auxiliaries came up to the fence. ‘Sir, it’s been a while since I’ve ridden. I should tell you, I might—’

  Cassius cut him off with a palm held up to his face; he wanted to watch the others. Two were passable but one man had taken up a terrible posture, his weight too far forward.

  After two circuits he ordered a trot. The third man was still struggling to control his mount and seemed to have no clue how to speed up. As he approached the gate, Cassius ordered him to stop. Even this was a challenge and one of the lads had to intervene and grab the reins.

  But the auxiliary was determined to persist. ‘Another go and I’ll get it right, sir. Honestly.’

  ‘Dismount. You won’t be coming with us.’

  The Arabian muttered an oath, no doubt imagining those precious gold aurei slipping through his fingers.

  ‘I told you to dismount.’

  The man did so.

  Cassius called out to the remaining riders. ‘Gallop!’

  The auxiliary struck his leg with frustration, then walked over to the others.

  ‘Thank you for volunteering,’ said Cassius, conscious that the men would also be sizing him up, seeing what kind of officer he was. ‘Back to your century.’

  As the auxiliary complied, Cassius ordered the riders to make a turn and trot in the other direction. Both managed this with little difficulty and he decided he’d seen enough.

  It took him half an hour to watch the rest of the recruits. By the end he’d lost three more, which left him with twelve competent riders. As the last of the rejected men departed, Cassius led the auxiliaries over to the second group.

  Indavara and Mercator had only four pairs still fighting, the sound of their scuffing boots mixing with the sharp crack of wood on wood. The others were sitting down, watching.

  ‘Easy there,’ said Indavara to one wide-eyed soldier who looked as if he thought he was in a real battle. ‘Your shoulders are all tensed up. Watch the blade, not the man.’

  Mercator looked on with arms crossed.

  ‘Well?’ Cassius asked him as the men sat with their compatriots.

  ‘I’ve decided to leave it to your friend there. Where did you find him anyway?’

  ‘Long story. By the way, I see we’ve got a couple of guard officers with us.’ Cassius had noted the single red band on their tunics.

  ‘That’s Yorvah with you – good soldier. He’ll have no trouble with the sword. How was his riding?’

  ‘Excellent. It will be useful to have one or two squad leaders. And this man here?’

  ‘Andal. He’ll not struggle with the riding either.’

  Cassius moved on to Indavara. ‘What do you think?’

  Indavara nodded at the men already sitting down. ‘They’re all decent.’

  ‘Decent?’

  ‘A lot better than you, not as good as me.’

  Cassius was at least grateful Indavara had kept his voice down. ‘I suppose that’s clear enough. What about these others?’

  ‘Some of them were originally recruited as archers. It shows. How many can we lose?’

  ‘Anyone who’s not up to it.’

  ‘There are four.’

  ‘Tell them.’

  ‘You tell them. I’m not even in the army.’

  ‘Which ones?’

  ‘The young lad, that pair at the end, and the fat one.’

  ‘That’ll do, men,’ said Cassius. Once the auxiliaries had lowered their swords, he pointed in turn at the four Indavara had selected. ‘Thank you for volunteering. I’m afraid you won’t be joining us. You can head back to your century.’

  Two of the men placed their swords on the ground and left immediately. Another looked for affirmation from Mercator before joining them.

  The young soldier, however, didn’t move an inch. ‘That’s not fair.’ He aimed the sword at Indavara. ‘Why’s he deciding? He doesn’t fight like we’ve been taught anyway.’

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to take him on and we can see whose way is best?’ suggested Cassius.

  ‘The decision’s been made,’ said Mercator. ‘The others were stronger. On your way.’

  Realising he wasn’t going to get anywhere, the auxiliary added his sword to the pile and left.

  ‘Right,’ said Cassius to the sweating swordsmen. ‘Over to the corral, you lot.’

  He turned to Indavara and Mercator. ‘Remember we need twenty. No more, no less.’

  Half an hour later they had them. While the men filled up their canteens from a barrel of water supplied by Mercator, Cassius took the optio and the two guard officers aside. ‘We aim to leave the day after tomorrow. If you and the men have any affairs to tidy up, now is the time to do it. But do not discuss the operation with anyone.’

  ‘With respect, sir,’ said Andal, the older of the tw
o, ‘we don’t know enough to discuss anything.’

  ‘It will have to stay that way for now.’

  ‘Might be a few drop-outs before we leave,’ said Mercator.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Some of them have women, family. Given a bit of time to think about it they might decide they’d rather stay here in Bostra.’

  ‘Well, we have a few reserves we can call up,’ said Cassius. ‘Now, we’ve covered horses and supplies. What about weapons? What would a bunch of desert warriors be carrying?’

  The three Arabians looked at each other. Yorvah touched the curved dagger at his belt. ‘One of these, certainly.’

  ‘All the men have one?’ asked Cassius.

  ‘Just about,’ said Mercator.

  ‘Make sure they all do. What about swords?’

  ‘Actually a lot of the Tanukh carry legionary-issue blades; thousands were handed out during the Palmyran war.’

  ‘You can keep your own, then. What about bows?’

  Cassius glanced at Indavara but he again seemed content to observe in silence.

  ‘We have some archers,’ said Andal.

  ‘Useful to have a few,’ said Mercator.

  ‘Indeed,’ said Cassius. ‘Tell those that have them and are happy to carry the gear to bring them. What about armour?’

  ‘Occasionally a helmet or a bit of mail,’ said Andal. ‘Generally the nomads travel light.’

  ‘Then I’m afraid we must do the same. No armour.’

  ‘We’ would not include Cassius. In disguise or not, he would be taking his pricey copper alloy mail-shirt.

  ‘Other than that,’ he continued, ‘each man may bring what he thinks he’ll need, but remind them – nothing else issued by the army. No canteen tins, no entrenching tools, no military belts. Which brings us onto clothes.’

  ‘Not a problem,’ said Mercator. ‘Forgive me, Officer, but something tells me we’ll have a lot less trouble blending in down there than you will. You have some kind of cover story, I presume?’

  ‘You presume correctly. Anything else?’

  The three locals shook their heads.

  ‘Mercator, we will need to meet again tomorrow. My villa is the third on the right outside the main gate. Will you come along at the second hour?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Very good. Thank you for your help, gentlemen.’

  With that the trio turned away.

  ‘Oh, one more thing,’ said Cassius. ‘I’ve noticed these desert folk are a hairy bunch. Anyone without a beard must grow one.’

  As Mercator and the auxiliaries collected up the swords and left, Cassius walked over to Indavara, who was cleaning his dagger blade with a cloth.

  ‘You seemed to rather lose interest once the fighting stopped.’

  Indavara shrugged. ‘Back to the villa?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Once on the avenue, they turned left. A squad of cavalrymen trotted by, roaring at some jape.

  ‘What do you think of our auxiliaries, then?’ asked Cassius.

  ‘Not bad.’

  ‘I’d prefer the pick of the legion. Some good sword-hands?’

  ‘Like I said, not bad.’

  Indavara kicked a stone that skittered away into the end of a barracks. They walked on in silence: past the headquarters building, past the hospital and the warehouse, then onto the empty parade ground.

  ‘Long ride down to Petra,’ said Cassius. ‘And who knows how far to wherever this bloody stone is.’

  Indavara stopped briefly to scratch his shin; the skin there was yet to fully heal.

  ‘Twenty men,’ added Cassius ruefully as they walked on. ‘The raiders had many more than that when they grabbed the stone. I wonder how many protect it now? Probably a lot more.’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘Mercator and the guard officers seem capable at least, eh? Good to have them with us.’

  This time Indavara didn’t even reply.

  Cassius stopped in the middle of the parade ground.

  Indavara took a few more steps then halted too. ‘What?’

  ‘You have to come. You have to. Not having Simo will be bad enough. I cannot go on my own. I just cannot. Tell me you’re coming.’

  ‘I haven’t decided yet.’

  ‘Abascantius thinks you’re coming.’

  ‘He may be in for a surprise.’

  ‘Must I beg?’

  ‘You wouldn’t beg.’

  ‘Actually that’s true, but I am asking. One friend to another.’

  Indavara gave a slight grin and walked towards the gate.

  ‘What does that mean?’ asked Cassius. ‘Is that a yes?’

  ‘It means I’m hungry,’ replied Indavara as he quickened his pace. ‘It’s lunchtime.’

  Cassius stood there, watching him. ‘Gods, give me strength.’

  Indavara was less critical of Muranda’s cooking than Cassius, but he decided to buy his lunch on the street. One stall sold some excellent spiced sausages and after two of these, followed by a handful of mixed nuts, he felt considerably better. Watching a long column of carts leaving the fortress, he walked slowly back towards the villa along the Via Cappadocia.

  Fortuna hadn’t helped him much this time. Sometimes just asking her for guidance steered him to his own decisions and once or twice he thought he’d actually heard her voice, but he still couldn’t make up his mind. He wouldn’t admit it to Corbulo or Abascantius, but the prospect of hunting down this mysterious stone sounded a lot more interesting than sitting around in Bostra, especially now he’d ruined things with Sanari.

  Nearing the villa where she worked, he looked over the front wall, hoping she might be there. The small, neat garden was empty. Before he realised it, he’d stopped and put his hands on the wall. He looked at the six windows in turn, hoping to glimpse her face. He saw only darkness beyond the shutters. He thought about walking up to the door, asking to see her. But it was a busy household: her employer had a wife, three children and several other servants. Indavara wouldn’t know what to say, and he’d probably get Sanari in trouble – then she’d definitely never talk to him again.

  Suddenly the door opened. Indavara hurried along the street but after a few steps glanced back. The old steward had appeared. He always looked very serious, though Sanari said he was a good-hearted man. In his hand were some rolled-up papers. Indavara continued on his way.

  ‘Hey. Hey, you.’

  The steward came up the path and spoke without looking at him. ‘She’s in the alley there. Hurry up, I don’t want Mistress to see you.’

  The old man continued along the street towards the fortress. Indavara doubled back, then jogged down the alley that separated the villa from Lepida’s place. A door opened and Sanari slipped outside. As he hurried up to her, she carefully shut the door. There was no smile this time.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

  ‘Why didn’t you come and see me?’ she replied, arms wrapped around herself though it wasn’t cold.

  ‘I – I didn’t know what—’

  ‘Why did you do it? Why did you hurt him like that?’

  ‘He was saying things to me. Trying to put me off.’

  ‘I heard he didn’t wake up for almost an hour. He hasn’t been out of his bed since.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  Indavara just looked at her. He’d never seen her face like this.

  ‘What did he say to you?’ she asked.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have done what I did. I know that.’

  Someone walked past the end of the alley. They both looked, but whoever it was had already disappeared.

  ‘You shouldn’t hurt people like that. It isn’t right.’

  ‘Can I see you later?’

  Sanari looked down at the ground. ‘People are talking about you. It will be difficult for us now.’

  Indavara was about to reach for her hand when someone called her name.

  ‘I have to go.’

  ‘W
ill I see you again?’

  ‘Sanari!’ It was a woman’s voice; a well-spoken woman.

  Without another word, Sanari opened the door and hurried inside.

  Indavara stared at the scarred planking of the door for a while. He heard her talking to someone then the voices faded. He looked back along the alley and wished more than ever that Simo would return. He would know what to do.

  The last thing Indavara needed now was another earful from Corbulo.

  The sanctuary? Yes, there.

  Shostra emitted a loud grunt as he dumped the little barrel in the atrium. Abascantius shut the front door behind him as Cassius came through from the kitchen.

  ‘A gift, Corbulo.’

  At a signal from his master, Shostra wrapped his remarkably long arms around the barrel and tipped it on its side. Cassius peered down at the bottom and saw a small stopper. Shostra unscrewed it and pulled it out. Abascantius gestured to the barrel. Cassius squatted down and looked inside. Seeing something glinting, he plucked out a gold aureus. The coin was in pristine condition.

  ‘Where’s Fat-arse?’ asked Abascantius.

  ‘Outside dusting the carpets. Don’t worry, she’s harmless.’

  Abascantius shut the kitchen door. ‘She likes to talk.’

  Cassius was still examining the coin. On one side was an image of Aurelian, on the other two crossed swords.

  ‘Only a few weeks old – fresh from the mint at Cyzicus,’ added the agent. ‘There are two hundred in there. And some wine in the top half in case anyone gets thirsty. Or curious.’

  ‘Two hundred?’ Cassius struggled to keep his voice down.

  ‘Fifty for Ulixes. The rest is to use as you see fit. An amount like that will buy you a lot of information. Or cooperation. Obviously the men needn’t know, Mercator included.’

  Cassius replaced the coin. ‘Ingenious.’

  While Shostra put the stopper back in, Abascantius handed over a small sheet of paper with a few lines written on it. ‘You’ll have to sign for it, of course.’

  Cassius took the paper into the study.

  ‘Find somewhere to hide that,’ Abascantius told Shostra before following Cassius. ‘Where’s Indavara?’

  ‘Not sure, sir.’

  Cassius signed the sheet and handed it back to him. ‘Actually, on that subject …’