The Black Stone: Agent of Rome 4 (The Agent of Rome) Page 6
Eclectis was already back at his table, the picture of innocence.
Indavara nocked the arrow. He raised the bow and pulled the string back. A thick bead of sweat dropped onto his right eyelid. He shook it off and adjusted his aim.
Feel good, did it?
That rush of relief, the glow of victory? Oh yes. Once the decision had been made you just got on with it. Didn’t even think about it. Just did what you had to. The guilt came later.
Indavara gulped, lowered the bow, took a breath.
A few murmurs from the crowd.
He adjusted his feet slightly, raised the bow once more. He closed his left eye.
A single image returned: that poor bastard who had just lain there; his slimy, smelly guts hanging out of him, crying like a child. Mama, Mama, Mama.
Complaints rang out from the crowd, demanding he hurry up. Taenaris tried to silence them but the shouts continued.
Indavara tried to shut it all out. He drew back, exhaled, let go.
A white. A bad white, close to the target’s edge. At least he hadn’t missed.
Mild applause.
Eclectis, calm as ever, went through his smooth routine and let fly. A red.
The crowd erupted.
Indavara took a drink. Eclectis was two points ahead. Only red would do. He picked up the arrow and readied himself.
Sanari waited for a gap in the shouts. ‘You can do it, Indavara! You can do it!’
I can. I can. It’s all in the past. I am free.
He closed the eye, exhaled.
Mama, Mama, Mama.
He noticed something moving in front of him. The iron point of the arrow was trembling. Worse, his arm was starting to shake from the effort of holding the string.
He blinked and looked at the target once more; repeated his routine, let go.
High. So high in fact that the arrow struck the top edge, spun several times in the air, then landed in the sand.
The auxiliaries were already celebrating. Indavara put a hand to his head, suddenly dizzy. The moment passed. He looked up at the bright blue sky and suddenly the thoughts and images were gone. He couldn’t believe he’d let the bastard get to him like that.
Eclectis put his bow down then turned to the crowd, arms high, lapping up the acclaim.
Indavara threw his bow onto the table and walked towards him, fists clenched.
Eclectis yelled back at his supporters, ‘Just another year! Just another year!’
Sensing that their attention had shifted, he turned and grinned at Indavara. ‘No hard feelings.’
‘This’ll feel pretty hard.’
The head-butt struck Eclectis just above his nose and knocked him clean off his feet. Indavara barely noticed the spike of pain and when his eyes cleared the Egyptian was lying in the sand, mouth hanging open.
Then came the shouts. The auxiliaries charged off the benches, knocking several people over. One man was ahead of the pack. As he drew his knife, his trailing leg caught the clerk’s table and he hit the ground three yards away.
Indavara ran.
III
Cassius stood over the desk, gazing down at the piles of paper. He was determined not to let the unpleasant incident with Pontius affect him. Calvinus’s vote of confidence had given him a boost and he intended to repay the gesture. Provincial governors were generally an ambitious, manipulative bunch – mostly senators in the making – but, owing perhaps to his advancing years, Calvinus seemed like a decent, thoughtful man. Cassius admired his commitment to Arabia and its people. Here was a leader in the tradition of the Republic – a man more committed to Rome than himself. It was hard not to contrast him with Cassius’s commander in the Service – the ruthless, underhand Abascantius – though he was just as dedicated in his own way. Cassius hadn’t heard anything from his superior since being assigned to Bostra, which was fine with him.
After a bit of rummaging he found the list of informers Verecundus had left. Rolled up with the page were the notes Cassius had made while trying to re-establish contact. He’d secured meetings with only two of the men; one had never turned up, the other had blankly refused to discuss anything relating to the Tanukh.
Cassius dropped the pages and sat down. How could he help the governor find out more about the Ruwaffa attack and the chiefs? Calvinus had his emissaries, but they moved through official channels and seemed to have made little progress.
If in doubt, make a list. His mother’s maxim for taking on a big task had always served him well so he reached for a blank sheet. He had no idea where his pen case was so he fished the charcoal out of the satchel and started writing.
Informers – check again. New ones?
Spice market – ask around, or get someone else to.
Moneylenders?
Army scouts?
Merchants?
Will need bribe money. A lot.
Cassius felt something brush his ankle. He looked down and watched the cat slink past. Imagining fleas jumping from its fur onto his exposed leg, he waved a hand at it.
‘Clear off, you.’
When it came to the animal kingdom, Cassius really only liked horses – as long as he didn’t have to look after them, of course. Dogs and cats he detested equally, and he had no idea why anyone would want to keep the accursed things as pets. The cat sat down and stared at him.
This time he used Greek. ‘Piss off!’
Cassius was about to throw the charcoal at it when he heard shouting from the street. Then the front door crashed open.
‘What in Hades?’
Grabbing his sword belt from a nearby couch, he hurried out of the study and into the atrium. Indavara had just slammed the door shut. He rammed the bolt in and turned round. He was breathing hard, his face flushed and wet.
‘What—’
The bodyguard held up a hand. ‘Just listen. You have to do something. I think they mean to kill me.’
‘Who? Why?’
‘Auxiliaries. I head-butted their friend.’
Cassius could hear more shouts and rushing footsteps outside. ‘Again – why?’
‘Long story.’
Someone hammered on the door, which fortunately was a robust slab of hardwood framed with iron.
‘We know you’re in there.’
‘Come out and face us.’
‘Show yourself.’
A red face appeared at one of the grilled windows. ‘I think I can see him!’
Cassius joined Indavara behind the door, which was now shaking, the bolt rattling in its mount. Despite the situation, Cassius couldn’t help being slightly amused by the look on the bodyguard’s face; it was unusual to see him so scared.
‘You’d better utter a prayer to Cardea,’ he advised.
‘Cardea?’
‘Goddess of door hinges.’
‘There’s a goddess of … forget that, do something!’
Cassius looked down at the sword belt in his hand. He drew the blade and held it up so that the eagle-shaped hilt was visible. He then motioned towards the door. ‘Open it.’
‘What?’
‘Open it.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure.’
Indavara retracted the bolt. The mob quietened.
‘He’s coming out,’ said one man in Greek. Others were talking in what sounded to Cassius like Nabatean.
Indavara lifted the latch and eased the door open, careful to stay behind it.
Cassius stepped forward, ensuring he kept the sword high. Every inch of space between the doorway and street was occupied. There were twenty men at least: some holding clubs, a few daggers. Cassius guessed most of them noted the red tunic first, then the pricey blade with the eagle head.
The fight went out of them quickly. Shoulders sagged, a few groaned, and some began to retreat. Not the man at the front, however. He was a flabby individual with a snub nose and beady eyes, his fat fingers clutching a fighting stave.
‘Where is he?’ Snub asked in Greek.
Snub looked confused.
One of the others tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Sir. Say sir.’
‘Where is he, sir?’
‘He’s here.’
Indavara was leaning back against the wall, still hidden by the door. Cassius took a step to the right and gestured for him to come forward. Indavara did so, warily eyeing those outside. ‘I’m sorry. I—’
‘No, no, don’t speak,’ interjected Cassius.
By now, the two sentries outside the fortress had wandered over and were questioning some of the men.
Cassius called out to them. ‘Leave this to me, thank you.’
The legionaries desisted but stayed to listen in as Cassius addressed the mob. ‘I am Officer Corbulo of the Fourth Scythican Legion and currently a member of Governor Calvinus’s staff. This man is part of my household and therefore under my protection. Any dispute is between him, the party concerned, and me. Not you lot. You should therefore leave immediately.’
‘But he—’
‘Finish that sentence and you’ll find yourself up before the municipal court before the day is out. If your idea of a pleasant evening is to be tied to a post and have the skin flayed from your back then by all means continue!’
Cassius had spoken with such ferocity that a dollop of spittle landed on Snub’s tunic. This was not the first time he’d admonished a large group of men – soldiers and citizens – and he always followed the advice of a centurion he’d observed to be particularly good at it. Get in quick and sell your anger. Think of them as children or animals. They must believe it.
Checking first that no one was aiming a weapon at him, Cassius stretched out his arm and pointed the tip of his sword at Snub. ‘Now, I think it’s about time you vacated my doorway.’
He took a step, and if Snub hadn’t retreated, the blade would have struck his face. The others withdrew too. Cassius walked them all the way onto the road, stopping only when he reached the gate.
‘Disperse! Quickly if you know what’s good for you – I have a remarkable memory for faces.’
Only then did Cassius remember he was barefoot. As the muttering men trudged away along the street, he spotted Lepida and Helena watching from a window. He gave what he hoped was a genial shrug and returned to the house.
Indavara was leaning against the wall, recovering.
Cassius shut the door then sheathed his sword. ‘I must admit I rather enjoyed that.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Pleasure. Nice to be able to return the favour once in a while. So what happened?’
‘Don’t worry, just … thank you.’
He walked into his room and pulled the curtain shut behind him.
Cassius spent the rest of the day in the study (forgoing his usual trip to the baths) and finally finished sorting out the papers. He didn’t find much else of use other than an older list of informers with some different names to follow up. He was trying to decipher some of Verecundus’s scrawled notes concerning a previous agreement between Calvinus and the Tanukh when Muranda came in carrying a lamp.
‘Here, sir, you’ll hurt your eyes reading in this gloom.’
Cassius put the sheet down. ‘I should start getting ready now anyway.’
‘Out again tonight, sir?’
‘The theatre. Apparently Brutus is on after all.’
‘Who’s that one by, sir?’
‘Accius.’
‘Mmm. I’m not one for the theatre really. I do love a good mime, though.’
‘Can’t stand them myself.’
As Cassius placed some paperweights on the various piles, Muranda closed the shutters.
‘Sure you won’t be wanting any dinner, sir?’
‘Quite sure.’
‘Not really worth cooking then, I suppose. Not if it’s just going to be me.’
‘Well, I doubt Indavara will be going out, and when have you ever known him to miss a meal?’
‘He said he’s not hungry, sir. Just sitting in the kitchen he is, miserable as I’ve seen him. Must have been what happened earlier.’
‘He didn’t tell you what had caused it all?’
‘No, sir. I daren’t ask how he got on at the contest.’
‘The archery? The final? That was today?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Shit.’
Indavara was perched on a stool by the kitchen table, close to the hearth. He was staring at the flames, idly stroking the cat. As Cassius walked in, the bodyguard gave him a wary glance, then went back to looking at the fire.
Cassius decided to let the cat stay where it was. ‘Drink?’
Indavara shook his head.
‘I insist.’
Cassius found two clay mugs and made up a mix of two-thirds wine, one-third water. The wine was the local stuff – a tad bitter for his taste but good and strong. He handed a mug to Indavara then pulled the bench out from under the table so he could sit opposite him.
‘The contest – apologies. I forgot.’
Cassius now recalled that Simo had left him a note reminding him to try and make the semi-finals. Now he’d missed the whole thing, including whatever had led to the trouble.
‘You don’t hit people without good reason. What happened?’
Indavara sipped his drink and continued stroking the cat.
From the fortress came the sound of bellowed orders, a noise they had become used to.
‘Come on. Tell me.’
‘I might be leaving soon.’
‘Leaving? Why?’
‘There’s nothing for me here.’
‘Of course there is.’
Indavara looked at him. ‘You have things to occupy you – your job with the governor, chasing women. Simo has his work, his friends at the church-house. What do I have?’
‘You have a place with us. With me, with the Service.’
‘What do I care? Just another job.’
Cassius hadn’t heard him talk like this before. He’d always assumed Indavara had little affection for Rome – no surprise in an ex-gladiator – but he thought their experiences together had created quite a bond. Cassius also knew Indavara had no one else; no family, no other friends.
‘What about that girl, Nasari?’
‘Sanari,’ replied Indavara sternly. ‘I might as well forget her. What must she think of me now?’
‘Gods, man – just tell me what happened. It’s not sensible to keep all your problems bottled up. Perhaps I can help.’
Even as he spoke, Cassius admitted to himself that his concern was not solely for Indavara’s well-being. For someone in his line of work, a good bodyguard was essential; and Indavara had repeatedly shown himself to be nothing short of irreplaceable. But he was a troubled man, and Cassius now realised he had erred in neglecting him.
Indavara took a long breath before speaking. ‘I was doing well, but this bastard Eclectis—’
‘I remember the name – the current champion.’
‘He worked out I’d been a fighter, started riling me – made me remember things. Things I’ve tried to forget.’
‘So he played dirty. You must have had him worried.’
‘Still worked, though. I couldn’t control myself. I lost.’
‘And then you hit him.’
‘Yes.’
‘Listen, memories such as you must have would stay with anyone. I’ve a share that haunt me too – as you well know – but your situation is unique. You remember nothing else before the arena. Perhaps that’s why those thoughts remain so strong.’
Indavara downed the rest of his wine and slammed the mug onto the table. The cat sped silently out of the kitchen.
Cassius drank. Given what he knew, he really had been stupid not to notice the poor sod struggling. But perhaps there was a way to make up ground. ‘I’ve been thinking about something. The first thing you remember is the arena,
correct? At Pietas Julia?’
Indavara nodded.
Cassius had first considered this idea months ago but had never got round to mentioning it. ‘There’s bound to be a Service officer there. I can write to him, ask him to do some investigating on your behalf. You mentioned a man once, the organiser of games. He might know more about where you came from.’
‘As if he would help.’
‘You know how persuasive the Service can be. It may take time and it may not lead anywhere, but we could at least try.’
‘You would do that?’
‘Absolutely.’
Indavara gave a little smile. ‘Absolutely – it means to be certain. Like a pledge or promise.’
‘It does.’
‘That’s what you said about the contest. You said you’d be there. Absolutely.’
He stood up and walked out of the kitchen.
‘Indavara …’
As Cassius flicked the rest of his wine into the fire, he heard the front door slam.
The theatre was only a quarter full, which still amounted to over a thousand people. The steeply angled tiers of seating were arranged in a semicircle facing the stage. Most of the bowl-like structure was composed of the local black basalt but the colonnaded front was pale limestone, which helped the stage stand out in the gloomy dusk. There had been a brief, light rainshower earlier in the day but that was unusual for the season and unlikely to be repeated. Dozens of torches and lanterns were alight, shrouding the place in a greasy glow.
‘How about here?’ said Lepida as they walked down the central aisle. She was pointing at some empty seats to the right, about ten rows back. They would be close enough to hear the performance but also able to talk if they wished.
‘Fine with me,’ said Cassius. ‘Miss?’
Helena gave a polite nod. She had said little on the walk over and Cassius guessed he would have to play the gentleman to make any progress. But – after what had been a fairly taxing day – he wasn’t actually sure he could be bothered. It was all very well messing around with tavern girls but relationships of any kind with young ladies were fraught with difficulty. It was hard to get your hands on them without at least hinting at the prospect of marriage and that was the last thing on Cassius’s mind. A bit of kissing and groping was usually as far as it would go, unless you got very lucky.