The Black Stone: Agent of Rome 4 (The Agent of Rome) Page 8

  Abascantius glared at him. ‘May I continue?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘After the demise of Elagabalus the stone was returned to the great temple at Emesa. It has remained there for the last five decades, watched over by a brotherhood of priests. When the Emperor recently elected to lead the second campaign against Palmyra himself, he also decided to take the stone back with him to Rome. A detachment was assigned to guard the temple and await his arrival. When I left Antioch, the grand army had just crossed into Cilicia. The Emperor will reach Syria in a few weeks; and the attack on Palmyra will commence soon after. Once that is concluded, he will move on to Emesa. The unfortunate Governor Gordio will have to inform him that the stone is no longer there.’

  Cassius’s headache had begun as soon as he entered the kitchen and was worsening by the moment. He closed his eyes and massaged his brow.

  ‘You needn’t despair just yet, Corbulo. I know where it is.’

  Cassius put down his hand.

  ‘Here,’ added Abascantius. ‘In Arabia. Where exactly I’m not sure, but I know a man who does.’

  ‘Sir, please. I beg you not to continue. There must be someone else who can take this on.’

  ‘I haven’t told you what I want you to do yet.’

  ‘Find the stone?’

  ‘Well, yes, but—’

  Cassius could control himself no longer. He shot to his feet and lashed his boot back onto the bench. It hovered for a moment, then crashed noisily to the floor.

  Abascantius looked up at him, stunned. ‘What in Hades do you think you’re doing, you little turd? Sit down!’

  Cassius heard himself say, ‘No.’

  ‘What?’ The agent put down his wine.

  ‘Sir, this is simply not fair. You have asked me to shoulder a great deal already. I do not see why I should be responsible for sorting out every single problem that—’

  Despite his size, Abascantius moved with surprising speed. He leaped out of the chair, grabbed Cassius’s tunic and pushed him back against the wall beside the hearth.

  ‘It seems I shall have to remind you of a few things, Corbulo. First – you do not question me. Understood? Don’t say anything, just nod.’

  Cassius nodded; and tried not to inhale any of Abascantius’s putrid breath. The agent’s fingers scraped across his chest, pulling his tunic tight around his neck.

  ‘Second – recall that you are still a man making up for lost time – the two years you spent avoiding your Service duties by hiding in Cyzicus.’

  It had actually been twenty months, but Cassius wasn’t about to quibble.

  ‘You may have covered yourself in glory of late but things change. Things can always change.’

  Abascantius let go and took a step backwards. He flattened Cassius’s tunic down and placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘Look at me.’

  Cassius did so. ‘Profound apologies, sir. I didn’t—’

  ‘Just listen, lad. I have two words for you. One is deserter. The other is hero. Which do you prefer?’

  ‘Certainly not the former, sir. But I am no hero.’

  ‘False modesty doesn’t suit you. Sit down.’

  Abascantius took Cassius’s drink and pushed it into his hand, then coaxed him down onto the bench.

  Muranda looked in through the doorway.

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Cassius shakily. ‘On with your work.’

  Abascantius sat down. ‘And for the record, I’ve only actually given you one assignment that turned out to be dangerous. You took on the Memor investigation yourself.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Why?’

  Cassius shrugged. ‘The local magistrate was an idiot. Memor’s family were bereft. Somebody had to do something.’

  ‘There, what did I tell you? A hero. By Mars, Corbulo, you even have the looks for it – especially now you’re starting to roughen up around the edges.’

  Cassius took another drink as Abascantius continued.

  ‘Believe me, I would take charge of this myself if I could but I must ride directly from here to a meeting with Prefect Venator. The Fourth Legion is to lead the counter-attack against the Palmyrans and Marshal Marcellinus has tasked me with the scouting operation.’

  ‘Sir, it’s just that I had begun to settle in here. The province has its own problems and the governor has given me the task of acquiring information on the tribal chieftains. Essential work.’

  ‘I’m sure. And under normal circumstances I wouldn’t take you away from it. But you have shown yourself to be a natural at investigative work.’ Abascantius leaned forward. ‘This is for the Emperor himself, Corbulo. He believes, he must win and secure the favour of Sol. And what he believes, we must believe. You called Elagabalus one of the worst emperors of all time. Quite right, but in this Dacian we might have one of the best. A few have come and gone in my time but finally we have a man worthy of the purple. Pulcher tells me he may even be planning a move into Gaul, to crush the usurper Tetricus. You and I have taken an oath to serve him. Do not forget that.’

  Though he resented Abascantius’s rather obvious attempts at manipulation, Cassius found himself nodding. Aurelian was an aggressive, astute commander yet also a man dedicated to peace and prosperity for the Empire. If that could be achieved, all would benefit, Cassius included.

  ‘Sir, please forgive my outburst.’

  ‘Already forgotten. Now, time’s getting on. I need a bath and a good night’s sleep. I’ll see Calvinus in the morning, then call in here and give you the details.’

  ‘Very well, sir.’

  ‘I will, however, say this. All must do their duty and their share but – yes – it could be argued you have already done more than yours. How much longer must you serve under the agreement with your father?’

  ‘Almost exactly two years, sir.’

  ‘Then I offer you another agreement. If you recover the stone, I’ll guarantee you six months behind a desk. How does that sound?’

  There was a sudden thump against the front door.

  Muranda ran through into the kitchen. ‘Someone’s outside, sir. Could it be those men from earlier?’

  ‘What men?’ asked Abascantius as they stood up.

  ‘I’m sure it’s nothing, sir.’

  Even so, Cassius kept his hand on his dagger as he hurried across the atrium. ‘Who’s there?’

  From outside came a strange groan.

  ‘Indavara?’ Cassius opened the door. Abascantius had grabbed a lamp and he held it over the figure lying across the path.

  Indavara’s top half had crushed a shrub. He gazed up at the light, eyes glassy.

  ‘Gods.’ Cassius knelt down and checked him for injuries.

  ‘Is he hurt?’ asked Abascantius.

  Cassius inhaled a heavy waft of wine. ‘Drunk.’

  ‘Ah. Does he do this often?’

  ‘Never. Can’t take more than three or four mugs.’

  Abascantius gave the lamp to Muranda. ‘I’ll take his legs. Let’s get him inside.’

  ‘By Jupiter, he’s even heavier than he looks,’ spluttered the agent as they finally lowered Indavara’s limp form onto the bed.

  ‘This end’s even worse.’

  Though his eyes were closed, Indavara waved at something, then turned onto his side and promptly began to snore.

  Abascantius eyed the livid pink scarring upon his right shin. ‘That new?’

  ‘From Cyrenaica. The fight with Carnifex. It got badly infected a while back but Simo dealt with it.’

  The agent turned his attention to the arrangement of the bed. It had been pushed up against one wall and was corralled by the rest of Indavara’s belongings.

  ‘He always does that,’ explained Cassius. ‘Simo thinks it’s because he was in a cell for so long. It’s strange – I’d have thought he’d want as much space as possible.’

  ‘Fought for three or four years, didn’t he? Not many survive the arena that long.’

  ‘Six. Six years.’

&nbs
p; ‘Remarkable. So you think he got drunk because of what happened today?’

  ‘Probably,’ replied Cassius as they left the bedroom.

  ‘Come. I need to stretch my legs – you can tell me about it.’

  As Cassius pulled the curtain across Indavara’s doorway, Muranda appeared outside the kitchen.

  ‘I’ll be back shortly,’ Cassius told her. ‘Keep all the doors locked.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Upon reaching the fortress gate they met the two sentries. Though in theory the men should have asked for some identification or at least the day’s password, the officers’ red tunics – or perhaps Abascantius’s reputation – saw them through without a word. Once inside, the agent sauntered along one side of the parade ground, Cassius beside him.

  ‘So?’

  Cassius related what Indavara had told him about the incident at the hippodrome and the pursuit of the mob.

  ‘Could have been nasty. You need to keep a closer eye on him, Corbulo. Surely I don’t need to remind you about the importance of keeping him in our employ. Indavara is a valuable asset. I advise you to treat him as such.’

  ‘There is something else, sir. Something he told me in Cyrenaica. It too perhaps explains his troubles.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I – I felt when he told me that it’s not something he would want passed around. Simo knows, but—’

  ‘Who would I tell?’ snapped Abascantius. ‘Continue.’

  ‘Indavara has no memory of his life before the arena. He was hit on the head somehow and the first thing he remembers is coming to there. The only man that knew him from before was killed not long after. All he knows is his name.’

  Abascantius stopped and gazed at the torches lining the barracks on the other side of the parade ground. ‘By the gods, that does explain a lot.’

  ‘That naivety he has about him, sir, that innocence. Whatever earlier experiences he had, he cannot draw upon them. All he has known is those six years then the time after.’

  ‘He remembers nothing?’

  ‘Not a thing. I’ve offered to help by contacting his former owner in Pietas Julia – where he came from. Perhaps we might find some answers for him.’

  Abascantius set off again. They turned at the corner of the parade ground and continued along beside a high wall. ‘Perhaps. But such a distraction would be in neither of our best interests.’

  Cassius felt a little guilty; discussing Indavara’s fate while the poor bastard slept. But the situation had to be resolved somehow.

  ‘Honestly, sir, I think he’s better off with us. Simo gets on well with him; he’s teaching him to read and write and count. But this incident, clearly it has affected him. He spoke of leaving for good.’

  ‘We cannot have that. I will double his payment for this operation.’

  ‘Sir, I’m not sure that’s the issue. Apart from weapons he has no real interest in possessions; no one to spend it on. In fact, money just makes him more independent of us – more able to leave if that is his wish. He spoke of having no place in the world.’

  ‘Yet he has already risked his life for the Service. For Rome.’

  ‘He has risked his life for myself and Simo, yes. And for others. But not for Rome. Earlier today he told me it was just another job.’

  As they approached the barracks, Abascantius stopped again. ‘That needs to change. We must make him feel wanted, Corbulo. We must give him his place.’

  V

  ‘About bloody time. I was just coming to kick your bed again.’

  A bleary-eyed Indavara tottered out of the kitchen towards Cassius, who was taking his breakfast in the courtyard. Slumping down on a stool, he eyed his plate.

  ‘Go ahead,’ said Cassius, pushing it across the table. ‘I don’t want any more anyway.’

  As the bodyguard pulled a roll apart, Muranda appeared in the doorway. ‘Morning, Master Indavara.’

  Indavara managed to raise a hand as he stuffed the bread into his mouth.

  Cassius held up his mug. ‘Another, Muranda. And plenty of water for him.’

  As the sun reappeared from behind a cloud, light filled the courtyard. Indavara bowed his head and kept eating, fringe hanging over his eyes.

  ‘How did I get home?’ he murmured.

  ‘No idea,’ said Cassius, leaning back and crossing his legs. ‘We found you passed out in front of the door. Where’d you go?’

  ‘Some tavern.’

  ‘You’re lucky those men didn’t find you.’

  ‘I wish they had.’

  ‘Don’t be idiotic, man. Oh, by the way, you owe me six sesterces.’

  ‘Why?’

  Muranda returned, carrying a steaming mug of hot wine for Cassius and Indavara’s water.

  ‘We had an early morning visit from the city sergeants regarding your misdemeanour at the hippodrome. One was a senior man – wouldn’t take any less than six to drop it.’

  ‘I’ll get you the coins later.’

  Indavara thanked Muranda then took a long drink. The housekeeper put her hands on her hips and looked down at him. ‘Look at the state of you. Shall I put a bowl of water and a towel in your room?’

  ‘Do so at once,’ said Cassius, waving her towards the villa. ‘You need to freshen up and get your tunic on. A messenger called in just before you roused yourself. We are expecting an important visitor.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘A rather overweight gentleman who arrived in Bostra last night. Odious features, appalling manners and known affectionately across the length and breadth of the eastern provinces as “Pitface”.’

  ‘He’s here?’

  ‘He’s here.’

  Abascantius suggested they meet in the study. As Indavara brought in two extra chairs, Cassius dug out the map of the province the agent had requested (Verecundus had left behind a decent copy – thick paper mounted on a wooden frame). Indavara placed the chairs in front of the desk and sat down. Cassius watched him watch Abascantius, who was still in the atrium, doling out a stream of instructions to Shostra. Indavara wiped some residual water off his hair and rubbed his eyes. As Shostra left via the front door, Abascantius strode in.

  For once he was attired like an officer, though his scarlet cloak was rather threadbare. The helmet was in rather better condition and – uniquely in Cassius’s experience – boasted a black crest. Abascantius had earlier confided to him that this had been his idea; apparently the Praetorian Guard wore the colour many centuries before and he liked the way it unnerved other officers and ranks. He deposited the helmet on the table then thumped his hands onto Indavara’s shoulders.

  ‘Look at this lad. Built like a brick shithouse, eh, Corbulo?’

  He lowered his bulk into the chair and grinned at the bodyguard. ‘Tell me – how in Hades do you stay in such good condition?’

  ‘Just keep up with my exercises, sir.’

  ‘Two hours a day,’ added Cassius. ‘Often more.’

  ‘Remarkable commitment,’ said Abascantius. ‘Wish I had the time. So, have you seen the commendation?’

  Indavara looked at him blankly.

  ‘From Chief Pulcher,’ continued the agent. ‘Expressing his thanks for what you and Corbulo did in Cyrenaica.’

  ‘I have it here,’ said Cassius, pointing to the letter. ‘I’ll read it to you later.’

  ‘Well, Indavara can probably read it himself now. I hear you’re doing well with your numbers and letters.’

  ‘It’s difficult.’

  ‘You are progressing, though,’ said Cassius as he sat down. ‘Simo says so.’

  Abascantius leaned forward and shook Indavara’s forearm. ‘Young man, I want to thank you personally for what you did. I knew Memor well. You and Corbulo not only found his killers but avenged his death.’

  ‘Miss Annia gave me a medal,’ said Indavara.

  ‘The daughter? You did that family a great service.’

  Indavara looked thoughtfully out of the window behind Cassius.

 
‘To business,’ said Abascantius. ‘You two have been lounging around here in Bostra too long; time to set you to work once more. Corbulo, you told Indavara about the stone?’

  ‘I did. Sir, you said there was a regular army garrison at Emesa. Surely they have been searching for it since it was stolen?’

  ‘Indeed, but without success. The commander there was a centurion named Ursus – from the Sixteenth under Prefect Sanctus. Apparently, this Ursus made a valiant attempt to stop the raiders but virtually his entire force was wiped out. Sanctus refuses to have any Service officers attached to his legion so his recovery efforts have been … well, let us say unimaginative. He also has limited numbers of troops available because of the Palmyrans.’

  ‘But you have made some progress, sir?’

  Abascantius had the leather folder with him again. He took out a small sheet of paper. ‘I’ve lost count of the people I’ve paid for information over the years. I get letters every week offering some essential piece of intelligence, always demanding money in return, of course. Most of it is useless. I hadn’t heard from this fellow for ages – to be honest I thought he was dead – but this arrived nine days ago.’

  He handed the letter to Cassius. ‘Ulixes was a legionary for a few years and a spy for many more. A rogue and an inveterate gambler but he appears to have stumbled on something.’

  Cassius read the letter through. When he finished, he found Indavara staring at him expectantly.

  ‘One of Ulixes’s old informers was heading north from the western coast of the province several weeks ago and tried to enter a town, but was refused entry because it had been taken over by a chieftain and some kind of cult.’

  ‘Which town?’ asked Indavara.

  ‘Doesn’t say,’ replied Cassius. ‘It’ll become clear why in a minute. This man continued north and stopped at a cistern to water his horse. A large party of heavily armed horsemen riding south towards the town stopped there too, led by a big, fair-haired northerner. The informer stayed out of their way but noticed they appeared to be guarding a large cart, even though it seemed to contain nothing but reeds. Eventually he arrived back in Damascus and related the tale to Ulixes. Ulixes thought no more of it, but a few days later he met some scouts from the Sixteenth outside the city and one officer recognised him from his army days. Knowing he had worked as a spy, the officer told him what they were searching for and asked if he knew anything. Ulixes told him nothing, then contacted Master Abascantius.’