Agent of Rome: The Far Shore Page 3

It was a recurring problem. Simo kept his personal belongings to an absolute minimum, but Cassius needed quite a variety of clothing and there were other items – his bathing oils, pillows and collection of belt buckles for example – that he simply couldn’t do without. Other objects that took up a lot of space included his helmet and mail shirt, not to mention footwear ranging from felt slippers to hobnailed marching boots.

  In addition, Simo always insisted on making sure they had plenty of spare cloths, blankets and towels. He had, however, judged to perfection the amount they would consume during the trip and there was nothing left but half a skin of wine.

  Indavara would have been considered an exceptionally light traveller were it not for his collection of weapons and equipment. Having received a silver ingot upon the successful completion of their first assignment, he’d already spent more than a quarter of his newly acquired wealth. Only his battered wooden fighting stave remained from their last outing in Syria. He’d spent two days scouring the markets of Antioch and was now equipped with a new bow, sword and mail shirt. All three items had been purchased from suppliers used by the Roman Army.

  The composite bow was five feet long, made of wood, hide and sinew. Indavara also had a quiver with sixteen arrows and numerous tools for maintenance. He kept the whole lot in a long leather bag.

  The sword was standard military issue but of a rather old-fashioned design, and he’d had to look hard for one as short and light as he wanted. It reminded him of the first weapon he’d fought with in the arena. He could still move easily when wearing it and the blade was perfect for close-quarter work. He’d opted for a piece with a ridged bone handle and a solid wooden pommel – always useful for a non-lethal blow to the head. He had yet to draw the sword in anger.

  The mail shirt wasn’t quite up to the standard of Cassius’s (copper alloy was incredibly expensive), but the bronze rings provided solid protection and felt relatively comfortable when worn over the accompanying padded undershirt.

  Cassius took his sword belt from Simo and slipped it over his right shoulder so that the sword hung over his left hip. His weapon was also new: a long, broad blade with a brass eagle’s head on the hilt and elaborate swirls embossed on the scabbard. He winced as the strap tugged at his neck.

  Indavara shook his head. ‘Have you even tried wielding that? You’d probably need to train for a month just to hold it up.’

  ‘I think we’ve been through this, bodyguard.’

  ‘Just saying, that’s all. If there’s some spare time, we shall see what you can do with it.’

  ‘At the earliest opportunity.’

  Cassius had so far resisted Indavara’s attempts at instruction but there was no denying it made sense. In truth, he would just as soon have carried the lightest blade possible, but most officers now seemed to favour these ostentatious weapons.

  ‘Helmet, sir?’ asked Simo.

  ‘I suppose I must. Always helps get things done quicker, doesn’t it?’

  Cassius took the hated helmet from Simo and pulled it on, glad that it was at least more sufferable in the cooler months of the year. Simo reached up and straightened the red horsehair bristles on the transverse crest. Leaving the chinstrap untied, Cassius checked the clasp on his cloak, an item of clothing he wasn’t wearing solely for effect; there was a brisk breeze running into the harbour.

  ‘Grab a porter, Simo. I can’t be seen carrying things in the city.’

  As the Gaul hurried away, Cassius looked over at Indavara, now again weighed down with his bags.

  ‘Perhaps you could have spent some of that silver on a third tunic.’

  ‘Why do I need more than two?’

  ‘I shall not waste my breath on a reply to that.’

  Simo returned with a young lad, who instantly set about grabbing saddlebags.

  ‘Know where the nearest army way station is?’ Cassius asked him.

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Wonderful. Well, shouldn’t be far away.’

  Cassius set off down the side of the crowded quay. It was difficult to maintain one’s dignity on such occasions and he forced himself to move slowly, though anyone who saw him coming took care to stay out of his way. Not for the first time, he was reminded of the parallels between life as an army officer and his youthful forays into acting, not to mention his two years studying to be an orator. So much of professional life was an act. One donned the clothes, then played the part.

  Once off the quay, they came to the low sea wall that ran round the harbour. The rest of the waterfront was relatively quiet; though a hundred or more had gathered to meet the freighter, there was little sailing done at this time of year. The only other cluster of people in view were at a ramshackle market squeezed between the sea wall and the road.

  ‘Good afternoon. Can I help you?’

  Cassius turned to see a man of about forty with wavy, greying hair and a practised smile. He was wearing a heavy cloak over an immaculate toga. Behind him were three male attendants.

  ‘Gaius Vilsonius,’ stated the man. ‘I’m a member of the city assembly, amongst other things.’

  They gripped forearms.

  ‘Officer Cassius Quintius Corbulo.’

  Cassius only mentioned Imperial Security to civilians if he thought it to his advantage, which was rarely the case.

  ‘First time on Rhodes?’

  ‘It is.’

  Vilsonius pointed at the statue. ‘What do you think of our big bronze friend?’

  He spoke in perfect, accentless Latin; almost certainly raised in Rome.

  ‘Most impressive,’ replied Cassius.

  ‘Take a closer look if you have a moment. Much quieter now the tourist season’s past. There are usually a few artists over there – they’ll do a good likeness of you with the statue in the background. Rather talented some of them. What brings you here so late in the year?’

  As Vilsonius and Cassius spoke, the six others with them stood in silence.

  ‘Just army business. Supply issues – all rather boring I’m afraid. But I hope to have a good look around the island.’

  ‘Oh you must, you must.’

  ‘I wonder if you can help me. I’m looking for the nearest way station.’

  ‘You’ve not far to go.’ Vilsonius pointed west along the road. ‘Just down there. For some reason they insisted on putting it close to the fish market. Luckily there’s a bit of wind today.’

  ‘Indeed. Good day, sir.’

  ‘Good day to you.’

  The fish market was a hundred yards down the road. There was barely enough room to get a cart between the stalls and the row of two-storey villas opposite the sea wall. The dwellings were sturdily built of some local stone: uniformly white, with rust-coloured roofs. Their proximity to the elements clearly took its toll; there was a lot of peeling paint and missing tiles.

  ‘Get your sea perch!’ yelled one of the market vendors. ‘Get your perch here. Last ten – got to get rid of them.’

  It was early afternoon, so most of the fish had gone but, as they walked by, the trio examined what was left.

  ‘What’s that?’ exclaimed Indavara as he passed the last stall. Lying on a stone slab was a broad, grey fish about five feet long. The last foot was its blade-like snout.

  ‘At a guess, I’d say a swordfish,’ replied Cassius.

  ‘Quite right, sir,’ said Simo. ‘Very tasty with some lemon and a few herbs.’

  ‘Perhaps we can get some for dinner,’ said Cassius, heading across the road to the way station with something of a spring in his step. Cilicia had been difficult and tiring, the sea crossing equally arduous, and he was glad both were behind him. He’d always hoped to visit Rhodes at some point in his life and it felt good to be in a new city, hopefully with a little time to explore.

  The way station was marked by a solid bronze plaque engraved with the legend ‘SPQR’. Without being told, Simo retrieved Cassius’s ceremonial spearhead from a saddlebag and handed it to him.

  ‘Wait here a mo
ment,’ he told the others as he hurried inside. Ahead of him was a long corridor. Immediately to the right was a shadowy room where a young clerk sat slumped at an empty desk. He had clearly been dozing but stood up with creditable speed as Cassius strode in.

  ‘Officer Corbulo.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Good afternoon, sir.’

  The clerk – who was no more than sixteen – looked at the three-foot spearhead, which identified Cassius as a member of a governor’s staff. The fact that the title engraved on the badge was that of the Governor of Syria was irrelevant; any man in possession of a spearhead was considered to be of a rank equivalent to a centurion.

  Cassius heard someone marching down the corridor towards them.

  ‘I require lodgings for three,’ he told the clerk, removing his helmet. ‘Tonight and possibly longer. Is there space here?’

  ‘Er, yes, sir. Yes, that should be fine.’

  ‘Afternoon, sir.’

  Cassius turned to find a broad, middle-aged soldier behind him.

  ‘Optio Clemens, sir. The lad will go and get the maid to prepare those rooms for you.’

  The clerk warily rounded them and jogged along the corridor. Clemens glanced at the spearhead. ‘Might I ask why you’re here, sir?’

  ‘I’m with Imperial Security,’ Cassius replied, smoothing down his hair. ‘Here to see Master Augustus Marius Memor. Can you direct me to his villa?’

  Not many people would have noticed the subtle change in Clemens’s expression once he heard the young officer before him was a ‘grain man’. Legionaries generally maintained a dim view of the Service, believing it to be a corrupt organisation full of liars and thieves not courageous or honourable enough for real soldiering. Cassius did notice.

  ‘I can,’ Clemens answered evenly. ‘He likes to keep himself to himself as a rule – for obvious reasons. We get plenty of post for him.’

  ‘Nothing for me, by the way?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  Apart from accommodating and assisting army officers, the key function of a way station was to facilitate the delivery of the imperial post.

  ‘Here, sir, I can show you the way?’

  Clemens reached under the desk and pulled out a roll of thick paper. ‘You came in on that freighter, I presume?’

  ‘Indeed.’

  Clemens gestured towards the grilled window. ‘This is known as the Great Harbour. The one to the north is the Little Harbour, though they’re actually about the same size now.’

  Clemens pointed at the map. ‘The road out front runs all the way along the sea wall. Follow it to the east. Then, when you reach the edge of the harbour here, turn south – inland along the Via Alexandria. You’ll eventually reach the village of Amyndios about here. Memor’s place is a hundred yards short of the square. There’s no plaque on the gate but it’s the biggest villa there and has an orchard of peach trees.’

  ‘How far?’

  ‘Four miles or so.’

  ‘How many hours of light left?’

  Clemens hurried to the doorway and looked out. ‘Perhaps three.’

  The optio glanced at the others and the pile of bags.

  ‘We’ll need some horses,’ said Cassius, now behind him in the corridor.

  ‘Let’s get your men and your gear inside, sir, then I’ll take you through to the stables.’

  Leaving Simo to settle in, Cassius and Indavara were soon heading back past the fish market, this time on horseback. Clemens only had one legionary with him at the way station but they’d swiftly saddled up the mounts and the optio assured Cassius that their rooms would be ready within the hour.

  Cassius always tried to be as reasonable as possible with common soldiers – especially when he was dependent on their cooperation – but it was usually an uphill battle. Their suspicion of the Service was deeply ingrained – with some justification he knew – but it pained him to be repeatedly judged so harshly by men he’d just met. All things considered, Clemens had been exceptionally polite and helpful. Cassius wondered what he and the legionary would be saying now.

  ‘So who’s this man we’re going to see?’ Indavara asked as they passed a little fishing boat coming in alongside the quay.

  Cassius shook his head. ‘Do you remember anything I’ve taught you? Straighten your back and ease your grip on the reins. You’ll pull the poor thing’s teeth out if you’re not careful.’

  Indavara rolled his eyes.

  ‘Open your fingers – you’re not holding a sword.’

  Cassius waited for him to comply before answering the question. ‘We are going to visit Augustus Marius Memor – the Service’s second in command beneath Chief Pulcher. As I understand it, he’s in charge of affairs in Africa and the East. We’re to take some documents to Abascantius back in Antioch. I imagine he’s keen to get them before winter sets in.’

  ‘Africa is close to here?’

  ‘South – a few hundred miles. In fact I believe the god Helios was Egyptian.’

  ‘Why do so many wild animals come from Africa?’

  Cassius sighed. He often felt like a teacher when talking to Indavara. ‘I’ve no idea. Fewer people perhaps. More space and food for them.’

  ‘I’d like to see a lion,’ said Indavara.

  ‘You never had to fight one?’ Cassius asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I saw one once, but it was in a menagerie. Mangy old thing.’

  ‘I’d like to see a crocodile too,’ Indavara continued. ‘And a rhinoceros. I once heard of a fight between a rhinoceros and three bulls. They chained them together.’

  ‘People do love to see animals tear bits out of each other.’

  Cassius pointed towards a patch of beach where twenty or so men stood in a circle, watching a pair of fighting cocks. Outside the circle were other birds in cages. Feathers shed by the anxious creatures covered the sand.

  ‘Not only animals,’ Indavara said as they came to the end of the sea wall.

  ‘Here’s the turn.’

  Cassius led the way as they rounded a corner and headed up a slight incline along the Via Alexandria. This was an area of warehouses and boatyards and fishermen’s huts. A pair of old women sat on a bench, stitching a thick net as they watched the riders pass.

  ‘What was it like? The arena?’ Cassius asked. ‘You never really talk about it.’

  Indavara cast a weary sideways glance at him but eventually relented. ‘Quick. It was always over so quick. For months you’d just wait and train. Then suddenly you were told you were fighting – in a few days, or even the next day. You had to be ready. And not just your body.’ Indavara tapped his head. ‘I saw men shout at themselves for hours before a contest, even bang their skulls against the wall until the blood ran. Others would just sit and cry. By the time they had to actually fight, they had nothing left in them. I remember one man killed himself just before he was to go up. Shoved a latrine sponge down his throat.’

  ‘By the gods. And you – how did you prepare?’

  ‘Did as little as I could. The night before there was always a big meal – drink too if you wanted it. I never even went. Once the day came, I’d try and sleep, do a few exercises just before I was taken up.’

  ‘Sleep? How could you sleep?’

  ‘As long as I’m not on a boat I can always sleep.’

  ‘But thinking about it, what you faced …’

  Indavara shrugged. ‘It was coming – whatever I thought. Nothing I could do except try to get through it. One old boy, he said to me: “They’re the cats. We’re the mice. They’ll play with us, then leave us in pieces, bleeding on the ground.”’

  Cassius eased his horse closer to Indavara’s. It was rare for the bodyguard to string more than a few sentences together, especially about himself.

  ‘Must have been terrible.’

  ‘You’ll never know.’

  ‘I’m not a complete innocent. I have been in combat. I told you about the fort.’

  ‘Not the same.’

  ‘I saw a lo
t of death. And I thought I was going to die.’

  ‘Not the same.’

  ‘Neither is it entirely different.’

  Indavara shifted in his saddle so he could better face Cassius. ‘Why were you there?’

  ‘We were defending the province against rebels. I told you before.’

  ‘So there was a reason. A reason to fight.’

  Cassius conceded with a tilt of his head. ‘Point taken.’

  It was a while before he spoke again. ‘Have you ever thought about joining the army?’

  ‘Trying to get rid of me already?’ replied Indavara.

  ‘I mean in the future. I’m sure they’d be glad to have someone with your abilities. Money’s pretty good, and there’s no shortage of enemies to fight. Good way to stay sharp.’

  ‘I’m a freedman now. Isn’t a soldier just another type of slave?’

  Cassius wasn’t about to argue with that. One of the few benefits of life in the Service was that he enjoyed far more personal freedom even than a senior field officer with the legions.

  ‘Another good point, Indavara. We’ll make an orator of you yet.’

  The Via Alexandria took them through rows of closely packed town houses and past several pretty sanctuaries. They saw the Temple of Dionysus too, and a hundred followers gathered in the courtyard, reciting chants led by a quartet of priests.

  The houses began to thin out as they continued along the wide, paved road and into the countryside. The wind increased and the high poplars that lined the road began to rustle and sway. Cassius shivered and pulled his cloak tighter around him. Indavara, who owned a cloak but never seemed to wear it, was still in his sleeveless tunic.

  ‘You have to be cold.’

  Indavara shook his head.

  ‘Showing off your muscles more important, eh?’

  ‘That’s good coming from a man with that sword.’

  Cassius reckoned Optio Clemens had got his distances correct. He could see the village square up ahead as they came to a big property on the left. The plot must have taken up a square mile and was separated from the road by a three-foot stone wall. The villa reminded Cassius of his family home: a sprawling structure made up of different blocks, all with dazzling white walls and immaculate tiled roofs. In the middle of the central section facing the road was a grand doorway flanked by columns. A meandering path led from the door through the peach trees Clemens had mentioned and down to a gate. The trees were bare, but still identifiable by their dark, spindly limbs. The gate was narrow and set under a high arch built into the wall. Further down the road was a second gate, broad enough for carts and leading to a wide track that ran round to the rear of the villa.