The Far Shore (43 page)

‘The bodies were “discovered” this morning, by men of the First Century. Carnifex pinned it on two Maseene picked up just outside town yesterday. Procyon and Mutilus crucified them this morning. They’re hanging in the square.’

Indavara came closer. ‘Two warriors? Young men?’

‘Little more than boys. Some of the braver locals have protested to Governor Leon but he won’t do a damn thing.’

‘The two that attacked you?’ Cassius asked Indavara.

Indavara wandered over to the side-rail without a word.

‘Even neater than I thought,’ said Cassius.

‘The townspeople have swallowed it hook, line and sinker,’ said Noster. ‘They think they need Carnifex to protect them more than ever now.’

Indavara spat into the water.

‘Eborius hasn’t told me what you’re going to do,’ said Noster, ‘but whatever it is, I’ll be praying to Jupiter that it works.’

The crosses had been put up close to the ruined forum. One boy’s head had settled to the left, the other to the right. Cassius was thankful that their eyes were closed. He guessed they might have been dead before they were nailed up; their tunics were riven with holes, their lean frames covered with gashes and gouges. The blood from the nail-wounds in their palms had dried in dark streaks upon their skin and the wood. Splintered bone splayed out from the large nail that had been driven through one boy’s ankles.

‘By the gods, how foul.’

Indavara looked at Cassius. ‘Is that all you can say? The poor bastards were running round the streets this time yesterday. Can’t you offer a prayer or something?’

‘Considering what we’re about to do, I’d concentrate on your own fate. Come on.’

Indavara didn’t move. ‘Corbulo.’

Cassius stopped. ‘You don’t even share a god.’

‘Just say something. You’re good with words.’

Cassius let out a long breath before speaking.

‘These warriors died young. Too young. May their gods honour their memories and … watch over their families.’

Indavara clasped his hands together and nodded at the dead youths in turn.

‘Didn’t they try to kill you?’ asked Cassius.

Indavara looked at a trio of legionaries on the other side of the square. ‘Only because they thought I was one of
them
.’

Cassius didn’t recognise any of the men and concluded they were with the First Century. ‘We should go.’

‘Lead on,’ said Indavara. ‘I’m looking forward to this.’

The last person they saw in Darnis was Maro, working alone at the timber yard. They took care to stay away from the gate; the fewer people who saw them the better. After a mile or so, the slabs of stone underfoot came to an end and the Via Roma became a wide track of compacted mud. They saw no one at work in the fields, only a distant goatherd watching over his charges as they grazed across a water meadow.

According to Eborius, the road led eventually to Carnifex’s headquarters. Cassius had a story ready if they did encounter any of his legionaries, but even being seen in the area might prove costly considering what they were about to attempt. Eborius felt it was worth the risk of venturing beyond the town; Carnifex would be less wary close to his home ground.

‘What if he’s not alone?’ asked Indavara.

‘He will be.’

Indavara scowled. ‘Last night didn’t exactly go as planned, did it? Who do I have to back me up? You and a drunk.’

‘Just do your job and take the son of a bitch down quickly. He’ll never know what hit him.’

‘My pleasure.’

A mile further down the road they came to a bridge.

‘Not far now,’ said Cassius.

‘I thought there were no rivers here,’ said Indavara.

‘There aren’t. Look – it’s just a gorge. According to Noster the hole at the bottom widened during the earthquake.’

The bridge was about thirty yards wide: a single arch composed of large blocks of a reddish stone. The surface seemed to be in good condition but there was a painted sign next to the road: BEWARE: BRIDGE DAMAGED. Close by was a stack of timber, a pile of rusting nails and some coils of rope.

As they started across, Cassius moved close to the left-hand wall and looked down at the gorge. The slope was shallow close to the top but then angled sharply down before reaching a dark fissure ten feet wide. ‘Gods, it looks as though it leads down to Hades itself.’

A piercing cry was his only reply and he watched a pair of large black birds swoop out from under the bridge, monitoring the series of burrows close to the top of the gorge. Cassius noted the forked tails and the grey flecks on their wings.

‘Eagles?’ asked Indavara.

‘Black kites. Like an eagle, but they’ll take anything – food from your hand, fish from the water.’

As they neared the far side of the bridge, Cassius looked back and belatedly understood the need for the sign. Much of the supporting brickwork under the arch on the northern side had been lost, and the structure was reinforced by a flimsy-looking lattice of timber. This formed a frame under the stone, which was in turn supported by six large wooden posts embedded in the slope. Whatever had been used to keep the timbers together evidently hadn’t been deemed sufficient; each joint was also held together by thick lengths of rope. Cassius quickened his pace.

Beyond the gorge the Via Roma followed an incline up to a ridge. Just before the top – and exactly as Eborius had described – was a track running at right angles to the road. They turned left and followed the track through a dense grove of olive trees.

Apart from the scuffing of their boots on the ground, and the constant buzzing of unseen insects, all was quiet. The track eventually curved to the right and reached a small clearing, in the middle of which was a long-dead tree stump, charred and grey. On the other side of the clearing, facing north, was a barn with two arched doorways.

‘There it is,’ said Cassius. He led the way across the clearing and into the building. The interior was dominated by a wide stone oil press. At either end were shelves occupied only by a few broken amphorae. Shrunken, bitter-smelling olives littered the floor.

Indavara pointed at the doorways in turn. ‘One of us here, one of us there?’

‘Makes sense.’

Cassius removed his canteen from his belt and took a long drink of water mixed with Asdribar’s strongest wine, then put it down on the ground out of the way – he didn’t want it clinking against something at the wrong moment. Indavara took off his pack and leant his stave against the wall next to it. Cassius walked outside and around to the rear of the barn. Standing there was a small cart with a pack similar to Indavara’s in the back. Cassius returned to the building to find Indavara checking the view through various gaps in the masonry.

‘It’s there?’ asked the bodyguard.

‘It is.’

Taking care to remain in the shadows, Cassius tucked his thumbs into his belt and looked out at the track.

The red sun was low in the sky and the olive grove shrouded in shadow when Eborius arrived. He dismounted, tied his horse to the tree stump and hurried into the barn, not saying a word until he was inside.

‘He’s early. Coming now. I saw him on the road.’

‘Alone?’ asked Indavara.

‘Yes.’

Eborius’s face was clammy and pale.

‘Good,’ said Cassius. ‘This won’t take long. Stay close to the building to give us the best chance.’

‘I can see him,’ said Indavara.

‘You better go,’ said Cassius. ‘We’re with you.’

Eborius took a deep breath, then walked outside. Indavara was positioned by the right-hand doorway. Cassius moved carefully to the left and found himself a decent spyhole. Eborius ventured only a few yards from the barn.

Centurion Carnifex guided his horse – a big, sturdy black stallion – into the clearing at a trot. Sitting back in the saddle, he brought it expertly to a stop five yards from Eborius. He was again clad in the bronze muscle cuirass and Cassius noted that even his helmet was of an old-fashioned design, also bronze, with angular panels to protect the cheeks and neck. The cut-off crest was a bizarre touch, especially as his entire kit was in pristine condition. He glared down at Eborius.

‘Got your message. What’s this bullshit about Procyon and Mutilus?’

‘It’s complicated. We need to talk.’

‘Reckon I said all I needed to say to you three months back. Thought you were seeing sense at last – staying out of my way.’

‘Believe me, I’d prefer not to talk to you, but what I heard today couldn’t wait.’

‘You really think I’m going to take your word over theirs? They’ve been with me since before you popped out your mother’s hole.’

‘They were overheard discussing these murders. Seemed to know a lot more about it than they should.’

This piqued Carnifex’s interest sufficiently to get him out of his saddle. With a grunt, he slid to the ground and tied his horse to the tree stump.

Cassius turned to Indavara. The bodyguard reached for his stave. Cassius put one hand on his sword handle, even though he wasn’t planning to use it. Face pressed against the cold stone, he watched the centurion flick his reins back over the saddle then approach Eborius. Though the younger officer was four or five inches taller, the breadth of Carnifex’s chest, shoulders and neck made him seem the bigger man.

Much to Cassius’s relief, Carnifex took off the helmet, wiping the sweat from his brow with one big paw. In the middle of his forehead was a deep, yellowish, circular scar; it looked like an arrow wound. There was a lumpen solidity to Carnifex’s face and his eyes shone with the contemptuous arrogance of a man with nothing to fear. Cassius now noted the cause of his limp: a messy pink scar running from his left knee down the side of his leg.

‘What are you saying?’ he growled.

‘It seems to me that if Procyon and Mutilus know something about these killings, maybe you do too.’

Carnifex took a step towards Eborius.

Sweat was running freely down Cassius’s flanks as he turned to Indavara again. He told himself that the bodyguard could handle the old centurion and walked out of the doorway.

Carnifex spun round to face him, his frown deepening.

Cassius surprised himself by managing to get some words out. ‘Good evening, Centurion.’

He forced himself to look at Carnifex, not Indavara, who was creeping up behind him.

‘Who—’

Sensing danger, Carnifex turned just as Indavara swung the stave at his head. He still had the helmet in his hand and threw his arm up. The stave glanced off the helmet but caught him on the back of the head with a solid crack.

Cassius was in no doubt that the blow would have been enough to knock most men into unconsciousness or worse. But even as the skin opened up and blood ran down the cropped grey hair, Carnifex stayed upright. He staggered, shot a fiery glare at Eborius and threw his helmet at him. The weighty lump of bronze struck the younger officer on the side of the head. He stumbled back into the barn then slumped to the ground.

Still reeling, Carnifex turned to face Indavara, who had the stave up high, ready to swing once more. The centurion mumbled something, then reached for his sword.

‘Hit him again!’ yelled Cassius.

Indavara moved to his right and swung a second time. This blow caught Carnifex on the base of his neck, just above the rim of his armour.