The Far Shore (12 page)

‘Sure it’s that one?’ asked Cassius.

‘Definitely, sir,’ replied Auspex, the sergeant who’d arrested Viator before. ‘He went flying out the back when our men rang the front-door bell.’

‘Indavara, remember the glass factory in Antioch?’

The bodyguard pointed to a little scar on his neck.

‘Ah,’ said Cassius.

‘I’ll take the back,’ said Indavara, who always became more vocal and animated with the prospect of a bit of excitement.

‘Don’t go overboard – we just need to talk to this man. Auspex, you go with him. Be careful not to show yourselves but be ready to act.’

‘And you,’ said Indavara as he and Auspex walked casually away along the pavement. When they were well away from the villa, they hurried across the street and disappeared around the far side of the sanctuary.

‘Now listen,’ Cassius told the other sergeants as he removed his sword belt. ‘You two be ready as well, but stay well hidden.’

Cassius would have preferred to send the men in, but their surly demeanour, identically short haircuts and bulky physiques were an absolute giveaway; better not to alarm the man if he had a tendency to run. He handed one of the men his sword-belt.

‘Simo, give him my helmet and the satchel too. You’re coming with me.’

As Simo handed them over, Cassius eyed the Gaul’s belt and tutted.

‘How many times have I told you about carrying a dagger, yet still you defy me?’

‘I simply haven’t the need for a weapon, sir.’

‘Lucky bloody you.’

Cassius turned to the sergeants for one last word. ‘If it goes to shit, be quick.’

He pulled his cream-coloured cloak tight around his collar. His tunic could still be seen underneath but red wasn’t exclusively the preserve of the army, so he hoped Viator would take it for no more than a bold statement of style.

‘Come on, Simo.’

Cassius walked across the street and up on to the pavement, twitching as he felt sweat gathering under his armpits.

The villa’s wooden door was fitted with an expensive iron lock. Next to it was a bell on a chain. Cassius rang it and the door opened surprisingly quickly. Standing there – holding a broom taller than him – was a lad of about ten.

‘Viator residence?’

‘Who’s asking?’

The only thing that stopped Cassius cuffing the boy round the ear was the man who appeared behind him.

‘Keep at your work.’

As the lad withdrew, the man pushed the door back towards Cassius so that it was only slightly ajar. He was about thirty, lean and wiry, with long, greasy hair tied into a tail. He took a quick look at Simo and a longer one at Cassius.

‘You Drusus Viator?’ Cassius asked with as friendly a smile as he could summon.

‘I reckon you know that as you’re standing at my door,’ replied Viator with a scowl. ‘More to the point, who are you?’

‘My name is Cassius Corbulo. I’m working on behalf of—’

Viator took a brief look over Cassius’s shoulder then slammed the door in his face.

Cassius spun round. One of the overzealous sergeants was by the side of the cart, clearly visible. He shrugged.

‘Idiot!’

Viator shouted from inside: ‘Where’s the key?’

Cassius grabbed the latch and lifted it, then pressed himself against the door. It opened six inches.

‘Get some weight on it, Simo.’

Overcoming his initial hesitation, the Gaul leant against the door. Cassius waved the sergeants forward.

Viator slammed back into the door and got the latch down.

‘Balls!’

Cassius pressed his fingers under the latch and tried to force it upward again. ‘Damn it, Simo, push harder!’

The sergeants arrived and swiftly took over, one knocking the latch up with his cudgel, the other bashing his shoulder into the door. As it momentarily swung open, he shoved his foot into the gap.

‘Got it!’

Cassius retreated, suddenly feeling rather useless. There was no way to see inside the villa – both windows at the front were shuttered. Simo picked up Cassius’s cloak, which had come off and fallen to the ground.

‘I’ll fetch the rest of your gear, sir,’ said the Gaul, pointing across the street.

‘Tell the others to come in the back, sir!’ shouted one of the sergeants, his face tight with effort as he leant against the door.

Cassius ran past the half-dozen people who’d stopped to watch the struggle and along the side of the sanctuary. Though the wall surrounding it was only knee-height, planted just inside were tall, closely packed conifers. Cassius reached the corner and turned left. The sanctuary faced a square with a few market stalls and a fountain. He’d just passed the arched entrance when one of the sergeants shouted, ‘We’re in!’

Cassius stopped, unsure whether to go forward or back.

‘Where is he?’ came another shout.

‘There – the window!’

Cassius pressed on to the far corner and looked along the road behind the villas; it was empty apart from a tethered mule at the rear of the bakery.

‘Indavara?’

No response. Cassius shouted louder. Because of his damaged left ear, Indavara’s hearing wasn’t always the best. Still no response.

But then came the slap-slap-slap of sandal on stone. Cassius turned and saw Viator sprint out of the sanctuary and across the square.

‘Out the side – of course,’ he muttered. ‘Shit.’

Tightening his belt two notches, he set off after him.

‘Here!’ he cried over his shoulder as he ran. ‘He’s here!’

Cassius still had his dagger on his belt and was relieved to see that the thief didn’t seem to have a weapon. He also had the advantage of his strong, well-worn-in boots, and though Viator’s loping stride suggested he wouldn’t be easily caught, his sandals would slow him down.

Skirting the busy market stalls, Cassius passed the fountain just as Viator nipped into a narrow alley between two apartment blocks. Moments before he reached it, Cassius took a quick look back across the square. He glimpsed two figures coming out of the sanctuary, but couldn’t tell who they were.

Shouts from the windows above echoed along the alley. Viator – arms and legs pumping – hadn’t taken a single look back. Glad he’d checked his boots before they approached the villa, Cassius lengthened his stride.

Viator charged past a sleeping mongrel. The dog woke, scrambled to its feet, chased him for a few yards, then gave up. It was still barking when Cassius leapt over the top of it, catching it on the ear. His leading foot landed on wet ground beneath a gutter and he skidded to a stop, only just maintaining his balance. Fully expecting to feel canine teeth sink into his trailing leg, he was relieved to get under way again unscathed.

Across a perpendicular alley and between two more blocks. Someone somewhere was yelling curses in Greek. More obstacles: rotting firewood piled up to the right, then a line of rusting braziers, several of which lay across the alley. Concentrating on his footing as he jumped over the last one, Cassius then looked forward. Viator had reached the next street, and a large obstacle of his own.

Two gentlemen in litters were being carried from right to left up the slope. Viator turned sideways as he ran, aiming to go between them. The toga-clad man lying in the first litter cursed at the thief as he splashed through an unexpectedly deep puddle, then stumbled into the two strapping slaves at the rear. Despite the impact, they each kept one hand on the litter and their master off the ground.

Viator didn’t fare so well. Bouncing off the bigger men, he pirouetted towards the slaves at the front of the second litter. One of them – a big African with arms wider than Viator’s legs – decided on a pre-emptive strike. He shoved the thief in the shoulder, sending him careering into the alley opposite. Viator finally lost his balance and fell.

The occupants of the now stationary litters were not happy.

‘Bloody disgrace!’

‘Never a sergeant around when you need one!’

Cassius reached the end of the alley. The stern frown of the gentleman in the first litter suddenly became a smile.

‘Oh. Good morning, Officer—’

‘Corbulo. Good morning, Gaius Vilsonius,’ said Cassius, recognising the helpful assemblyman they had met on their arrival at the Great Harbour.

Vilsonius’s frown returned as Cassius dropped to the ground in front of him then crawled under the litter. As his hands slid on the wet, grimy flagstones, Cassius looked up to see Viator back on his feet and running again. Dragging himself clear of the litter, Cassius bolted after him.

‘Hope you catch him!’ cried Vilsonius.

The next alley was wider, and in the distance were the great bronze legs and fallen body of the Helios. Closer, a swathe of people were swarming past the end of the alley, also heading uphill.

‘Look out!’ cried another toga-clad fellow as his retinue divided to let Cassius through.

‘Sorry!’

Twenty yards ahead, Viator had reached the crowd. There were men, women and children – three or four hundred at least – all wearing blue capes over their clothing and all holding bottles or jars in two hands. Viator squeezed his way into the mass of bodies.

The worshippers were reciting a chant after every beat of a drum. ‘All praise Poseidon, Mover of the Sea, God of the Deep.’

Cassius peered over their heads and caught a glimpse of Viator’s long hair. ‘Stop that man!’

There were a few curious looks but the worshippers were more interested in not spilling their libations. Cassius glanced to his left and saw that they were converging on the arched entrance of a high-walled temple.

‘I said stop him! I am an—’

Cassius belatedly realised he was just a man in a red tunic, with no sword or helmet to mark him out as an army officer.

‘All praise Poseidon, Mover of the Sea, God of the Deep.’

Though they spoke slowly and softly, the combined volume of the hundreds of voices was remarkably loud.

Mainly because of his height, Cassius was able to keep track of Viator, who was now about a third of the way through the crowd. A priest carrying a staff was glaring at the thief, but imploring the worshippers to continue their chant.

‘All praise Poseidon, Mover of the Sea, God of the Deep.’

‘Sorry,’ said Cassius, as he cut in front of a young girl. He darted forward again but then found himself in the middle of a group of rough-looking youths. Without a word – and without spilling a drop of their libations – they communicated their displeasure by knocking him forward with their shoulders.

‘I’m very sorry, but I must—’

An elbow in the ribs silenced him. He got his hands high and tried to wriggle free but was carried along by the human tide. A shove in his back spun him around and on towards the temple. It was a while before he could even turn long enough to catch sight of Viator.

The thief had somehow forced his way through; he was almost at the edge of the crowd.

Indavara stopped at the other end of the alley. With his rangy frame and brown hair, Cassius stood out amongst the locals, but he was soon lost from view as the worshippers pressed on up the hill.

The three sergeants arrived together.

‘We can cut around,’ said Auspex between breaths.

‘You two go that way,’ said Indavara pointing to the right, down the slope.

He and Auspex sprinted away to the left, nipping neatly past the two litters bearing Gaius Vilsonius and his friend.

‘Too late as usual!’

Indavara accelerated to get ahead of a line of water carriers filing out of a doorway.

‘Next right!’ yelled Auspex.

Indavara rounded the corner and found himself on a narrow street that led down to another entrance at the side of the temple complex. Beyond an iron gate were the sparkling white columns and imposing walls of the building itself. The gate was open but standing either side of it were two priests – one young, one old – wearing long white robes.

‘Coming through!’ shouted Indavara. To his surprise, the priests moved together, blocking his path. He only just stopped in time and Auspex almost ran into him.

Indavara turned to the young sergeant. ‘Tell them!’

‘Er, in the name of the magistrate, you must allow us past, we are chasing a criminal.’

‘Only the Purified can use this entrance,’ said the older of the two priests.

‘The what?’ said Indavara.

‘He means priests,’ said Auspex. ‘Perhaps we should find another way.’

‘No chance.’

Indavara walked straight at the priests.

The younger of the two turned aside to let him through but the older man stood his ground and grabbed Indavara by the arm.

‘You cannot enter by this gate.’

‘I’m not going to do anything bad,’ Indavara replied. ‘I just want to pass through. Let go, you old fool!’

‘This is outrageous.’ The grey-bearded priest turned to the sergeant. ‘Do something, you imbecile.’

Auspex shrugged.

‘Let go of my arm or I’ll kick you,’ said Indavara.

‘What?’

‘You heard me.’

‘How dare you threaten one of the Purified!’

Instead of letting go, the priest grabbed Indavara by both arms and shook him. ‘You are not pure. You shall not pass!’

Indavara kicked him on the shin just below his right knee. Not hard. But hard enough.