The Black Stone (8 page)

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.

Cassius offered his best flinty glare. ‘Perhaps you are unused to addressing officers of the Imperial Army. I suggest you try again.’

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.

He waited for his companions to sit down, then did so himself, careful to ruffle his cloak up under him. The ladies, of course, both had cushions with them, once again reminding Cassius how much he needed Simo. No one would bat an eyelid at a servant carrying a cushion for his master but an army officer simply couldn’t be seen with one, so he would have to contend with a cold backside for the evening. He had, however, remembered to wear an under-tunic, and the thick, woollen cloak would help too. The ladies were both in hooded capes and long stola that reached down to their ankles.

‘Lucky me,’ he said, ‘a thorn between two flowers.’

Lepida moved in immediately, her left breast against his arm, the haze of perfume engulfing him. Cassius was glad she was sitting to the right – he wouldn’t have to look at that ghastly mole. During their last trip to the theatre, her hand had wandered up his tunic and he’d had to be quite forceful to fight her off. But tonight, with the fading light to cover them, he fancied he might not resist. The theatre had one notable advantage over other forms of entertainment; it was one of the few places where men and women were permitted to sit together.

‘Ah, I do love that scent,’ he said.

Down on the stage, a lad was sprinkling saffron water: a long-standing theatrical tradition that could have unfortunate consequences – few actors managed to get through their career without an embarrassing fall or two.

Lepida leaned forward to address her cousin. ‘Officer Corbulo did some acting as a youth.’

‘Really?’

‘An ignoble profession, of course,’ said Cassius. ‘But I must admit I did enjoy it at times.’

He stifled a grin – the main source of enjoyment had been the dressing up and spying on girls getting changed.

Lepida continued: ‘He also has a remarkable memory for poetry.’

‘Please, Mistress,’ said Cassius, ‘you’re embarrassing me.’

Fortunately, the play was about to begin and a corpulent actor in a green tunic had just appeared on the stage. Behind him was the first set; several screens decorated to resemble a forest. The actor held both hands high.