The Far Shore (40 page)

Cassius found Indavara with Simo in the cabin. He too had his cloak on and a pack ready by his feet.

‘Got the rope?’

Indavara pointed at the pack. ‘In there. Squint cut it up for me. I put in some cloth for gags too. Don’t want them calling out, do we?’

‘Good thinking.’

Cassius spied his canteen. ‘Throw that in too, would you, Simo? Don’t want it knocking against my sword.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Cassius picked up the sword belt from the bed where Simo had laid it out.

‘Sure you want to bother?’ said Indavara. ‘Might be best to travel light.’

Cassius hung the belt over his shoulder. ‘Wouldn’t make a very good impression with our friends from the Second Century, would it?’

‘You think they care? Their officer is a drunk.’

Cassius said nothing as Simo helped him adjust the belt so that the eagle’s head hung just over his hip.

‘You hadn’t noticed?’ Indavara continued.

‘A man who likes a drink isn’t necessarily a drunk.’

‘Korinth spoke to some other people in the town. They said Eborius’s men didn’t leave him because of money. They left him because he’s weak. Because he couldn’t do the job.’

‘I told you what’s gone on here since the earthquake. If I was in his situation, I’d probably have been driven to drink too.’

‘The way I heard it he was like that when he got here.’

‘What do you mean, “when he got here”? I got the impression he’d lived here all his life.’

‘No. He
was born close to here and he joined the army here, but he ended up with a big job with some legion in La … La-something.’

‘Lambaesis. The headquarters of the Third Augustan Legion.’

‘That’s it. He was sent back here because he couldn’t cut it.’

‘What’s your point?’

‘These men we’re going after – people who were put here as a punishment. What do you call them again?’

‘Exiles.’

‘If Eborius was sent back here, doesn’t that make him an exile too?’

The path ran along the old Phoenician wall to the western edge of town before turning towards the shore. The next half-mile meandered through low, undulating dunes topped by thorny bushes. The path then sloped up above a small cove and the sand beneath their feet became solid rock. Despite the relative calm of the sea, booming echoes sounded in unseen caverns below.

The group of eight walked on in silence, hoods up. Cassius kept his eyes on the murky ground ahead of him – there were only a couple of yards between the path and a sheer drop to the right. Leading the way ahead of him was Eborius. What Indavara had found out hardly inspired confidence; clearly the man had been through a difficult few years. The centurion’s past was not Cassius’s concern, however, the investigation was, and the progress made since arriving in Darnis would have been impossible without him. For that reason alone, Cassius was prepared to trust him – not that there was any workable alternative.

Eborius had introduced the five legionaries to Cassius and Indavara by name and told them that the men they might soon be arresting were responsible for the murder of what he called a ‘very high-ranking army officer’. Cassius appreciated the fact that he hadn’t mentioned Memor had been deputy commander of the Service; most legionaries might even have viewed such a killing as a public service. Cassius had also given each of the legionaries an aureus – ‘special payment’, he’d called it.

Eborius kept up his customary swift pace. The moon was shrouded now but the cloud was thin, and he clearly wanted everyone in place well before there was any chance of the conspirators arriving. The path turned inland and became steeper, zigzagging through sharp rocky outcrops until they were a hundred feet above the sea.

The big centurion stopped and waited until Cassius, Indavara and the soldiers were gathered behind him. ‘We’re close,’ came the deep voice. ‘There is grass for cover but we must keep low or anyone looking up will see us.’

The last section of the path was even steeper, and Cassius had to grab the gnarled rock on either side to stop himself sliding back with every step. He was out of breath by the time he reached the top and took his place beside the crouching Eborius. Again, the centurion waited for the others before speaking.

‘Twenty yards in, then we stop. Don’t go past me. The sides of the quarry are vertical.’

Cassius followed Eborius inland. The grass was so thick that he had to hold the long scabbard up to stop it getting caught. Eborius paused once, then continued on a few yards and stopped. They knelt down.

The edge of the quarry was no more than five yards in front of them. Cassius could see nothing of its interior, just an inky bowl carved out of the rock, perhaps a hundred yards wide. He gazed out beyond the quarry, at the scattered lights of Darnis to the east, and the handful dotted along the Via Cyrenaica.

Eborius shuffled closer. ‘The entrance is directly opposite us. Narrow and high-sided.’

Indavara moved up to listen in.

‘We could skirt around to there but the view will be poor. I suggest stationing my men there, hidden but close to the path. The only other way in or out is a steep cut just around to the right from here. We can stay here where we can see everything, then come down via the cut when you give the shout. My men can block off any attempted escape.’

Cassius couldn’t fault the plan; and he was also relieved not to detect any trace of wine on Eborius’s breath. ‘Agreed.’

‘We should still have an hour or two. I’ll get the men in position. Keep your eyes to the rear. Noster will come up from the shore.’

Eborius spoke to his men and the six of them moved quickly away to the left around the edge of the quarry.

‘Has your faith been restored?’ Cassius asked Indavara. ‘I’d say he’s doing rather well.’

‘So far. I’m going to check on this cut. Make sure we know where it is when we move.’

‘Very well.’

As Indavara disappeared into the gloom, Cassius pulled the edge of his cloak under him and sat down. Rearranging the sword belt until he was comfortable, he stared into the quarry but still couldn’t make out a single feature or shape. Glancing over at Darnis, he pictured Dio’s villa. Was the assassin already on his way? And the others – Nepos and Frugi? Would they come alone or with attendants, bodyguards? And most important of all – what of the third man?

Indavara returned. He sat down and lowered his hood. ‘It’s steep but safe enough. We should be able to get down there pretty quick.’

‘Good.’

Indavara took the canteen from the pack and drank, then passed it to Cassius. Now there was nothing to do but wait, the grass swaying around them, the sea rumbling far below.

An hour passed and still Eborius hadn’t returned.

‘Where in Hades is he?’ said Cassius.

‘Perhaps they ran into—’

Indavara’s head snapped round.

‘What is it?’

Indavara slid out his sword and got to his feet.

Cassius turned towards the sea. He could hear something too. ‘It’s probably Noster.’

‘Let’s hope so.’

Indavara moved away through the grass, staying low. Leaving the pack as a marker, Cassius drew his own sword and followed him back to the cliff where the moonlit water beyond helped them see the path. Indavara stationed himself in front of it and directed Cassius to the side.

There was definitely more than one man approaching, though how many more Cassius couldn’t tell. Boots scraped on rock.

Indavara eased his sword back, ready to swing if he had to.

The whisper was barely audible above the wind and the rustling grass. ‘Noster coming up.’

Indavara lowered the sword.

‘Go ahead,’ said Cassius.

The veteran came up the path, breathing hard. With a glance at Indavara, he crouched down in front of Cassius. The second legionary – despite being about a decade younger than Noster – sat at the edge of the path, panting like a dog.

‘When did Dio leave?’ asked Cassius.

‘About three-quarters of an hour ago. Alone, on horseback, one pack on his saddle, heading west out of town. I thought he’d be here by now. Where’s Eborius?’

‘Good question,’ said Indavara.

‘He went off to place the rest of the men near the entrance,’ Cassius explained. ‘But that was more than an hour ago. Come on.’

Sheathing his blade, he led the others back to the pack. While the second legionary lay out on the grass, still recovering, the other three sat there, eyes fixed on the shadowy depths of the quarry.

‘What do you think might have happened?’ Cassius asked Noster. ‘Might they have run into Maseene?’

‘Unlikely, but I’ve given up counting things out in Darnis.’

Cassius kept quiet, preoccupied with all the possible scenarios that might have unfolded in the darkness below. After a while, Noster rose up on his knees and turned his head to one side.

‘Horse,’ whispered Indavara.

‘Horses,’ added Noster.

The second legionary sat up behind them.

Whoever was riding them, the mounts were moving slowly, but the noise of the hooves striking the ground rolled into the cavernous quarry and drifted up to the watchers above. Cassius glimpsed the flicker of eyes and moonlight glinting off metal.

‘Two or more,’ said Noster.

They heard voices, low and urgent.

‘Where is he?’ said Cassius. ‘The whole idea was to get set before anybody arrived.’

‘Don’t worry, sir,’ said Noster. ‘Eborius knows this area like the back of his hand. He’ll be here.’

From below, the unmistakable clink of a fire-striker hitting a flint. A speck of orange in the darkness, then another, then a torch burst into flame – so quickly that the man holding it had to stretch out his arm. Laughter from a second man, who held out his own torch to be lit. The pair then walked over to the quarry wall, and each found a crevice in which to place his torch.

‘Frugi and Nepos,’ said Noster. ‘Frugi’s the fat one.’

Frugi was indeed fat, with a large gut that sat unpleasantly over a tight belt, pushing aside his cloak. He waddled over to his horse and retrieved a bottle from a saddlebag. He took a long swig, belched, then offered the bottle to Nepos.

The taller man shook his head and rubbed his arms to keep warm.

Both men suddenly turned towards the entrance.

‘Here comes someone else,’ said Noster.

The rider approached slowly. Frugi and Nepos drew closer to each other. Even after he had stopped and dismounted, the new arrival stayed in the shadows, beyond the reach of the torchlight. Frugi and Nepos listened to him, nodding as he spoke. Cassius could hear them but couldn’t quite make out the words. Frugi and Nepos collected the torches from the wall and took up their horses’ reins. The other man led them further into the gloom. The three of them came to a stop after fifty feet or so, still on the right side of the quarry.

‘Closer to the cut,’ Noster whispered to Cassius. ‘Easier for us.’

‘Only if your centurion ever gets back here. This could all be over soon.’

Once the horses were tied to a rock and the torches set, the new arrival showed himself. Unlike the others, Dio wasn’t wearing a cloak, just a long-sleeved tunic. He was armed with a sword and holding a small sack in one hand. He remained utterly unremarkable.

‘Is that it?’ asked Frugi, pointing at the sack. Now that they were closer, the words were quite clear. Dio ignored him. He leant back against the quarry wall close to one of the torches and dropped the sack.

‘Is that what?’ Noster asked Cassius.

‘I have a fairly good idea.’

Nepos spoke up: ‘All went to plan?’

Dio cast a tired look at him before replying. ‘Let’s not talk until we’re all here.’

As the silent moments passed, Cassius gazed down at the assassin. He imagined him striding up the path through the peach trees to the villa on Rhodes, greeting the doorman, cutting his throat as he turned, walking into the study, creeping up behind Memor, pulling his chin up, drawing the blade across his neck …

Indavara came close to Cassius. ‘What if the soldiers aren’t covering the way out? We might not get a better chance at this.’

‘We have to wait. The third man.’

‘And then what? Watch as they ride back out? We don’t even have mounts.’