The Imperial Banner (34 page)

‘I shall remember that.’

Antonia put her hand on his face again, and turned him towards her. She kissed him full on the lips, and flicked her tongue inside his mouth.

‘Goodnight, Cassius.’

‘Goodnight, Lady Antonia.’

‘Vedrix will drive you home.’

A note arrived just as Cassius was dressing the next morning: Abascantius wanted to see him at his villa at the tenth hour and suggested he spend the day investigating whatever else he considered to be a priority. Taking an apple from a fruit bowl in the atrium as he passed, Cassius wandered outside and found Simo and Indavara already in the courtyard. The Gaul was sweeping dust out of the corners. Indavara was exercising; he was wearing only a loincloth and doing press-ups at a frankly ridiculous speed.

‘Morning,’ said Cassius.

Indavara nodded as he sprang to his feet and embarked on a series of stretches.

‘How was the dinner party, sir?’ asked Simo.

‘Rather entertaining actually; drummers from Ethiopia, dancing girls from Cadiz. And the food’ – he nodded at Indavara – ‘well, you’d certainly have enjoyed yourself.’

Indavara shook his head. ‘I have to eat less. I’m putting on weight.’

‘You’re thickset, that’s all.’

‘I’m getting fat. Weak too.’

‘Weak? Gods, man, you look like you’re carved out of rock compared to me.’

Indavara continued to stretch as he spoke. ‘When I was in Pietas Julia, all we did was train, eat and rest. Every day that passes I get fatter, slower. I’ve no one to practise with, no way of staying sharp.’ He looked genuinely depressed.

‘Well, you can start by getting dressed and fetching your sword,’ said Cassius. ‘We’ve a busy morning ahead.’

Indavara went inside.

‘Simo, when you’re done with your jobs here, feel free to take some time for yourself. I’m sure you’re eager to visit your father. I shall take the spare keys, just make sure you lock up properly and be back by dusk.’

The Gaul grinned and went about his sweeping with a new vigour.

Cassius had three leads in mind, and he hoped to make initial enquiries regarding each of them before meeting Abascantius. First stop was Antioch’s basilica. It was on the eastern side of the city’s central plaza, where the Avenue of Herod and Tiberius met the other colonnaded street that ran west to Hadrian’s Bridge. The plaza was oval, two hundred yards across at its widest point, and also housed the forum, the meeting hall for the provincial assembly, and the capital’s largest theatre. In an open area on one side of the forum, a class of teenage students sat on benches, listening attentively to their teacher.

The centre of the plaza was dominated by three enormous statues: one of the beloved Tyche, one of Tiberius and one of Caesar. The Tyche was surrounded by locals, either on their knees praying or leaving offerings at the statue’s base. Market stalls had been set up too, though Cassius noted they were highly regimented and monitored by a dozen of Quarto’s sergeants.

He and Indavara jogged up the wide steps and under the open arched doorway of the basilica. The two legionaries flanking the entrance nodded respectfully to Cassius, who was in full uniform, including his helmet and scarlet cloak. This was unquestionably an occasion for formality.

Inside the rectangular, well-lit hall, scores of administrators worked at tables on either side of the central aisle. There was a quiet sense of urgency about the place; a few senior men in togas strolled up and down while the clerks bent over their work. Cassius was afforded gracious assistance by the first man he approached, who told him where to find Antioch’s military records office: it was housed in anteroom number eighteen at the rear of the basilica itself. Outside the room was a single legionary who took a long look at the spear-head and an even longer look at Indavara before allowing Cassius to enter. Indavara had to wait outside.

The room was in complete chaos. Mounted on three of the walls were scores of empty wooden racks and the tiled floor was covered with piles of boxes, writing tablets and rolls of papyrus. The clerk on duty sat in the middle of it all, facing away from Cassius.

‘Morning.’

The clerk turned round, then stood up. He was about thirty; a thin man with dark, wavy hair and an angular chin.

‘Corbulo, Imperial Security.’

‘Petronax. Archivist.’

‘With plenty to archive, I see.’

‘It’s a disaster. The Palmyrans had their people in here – made a right mess of everything. Nothing’s where it should be and I’m not getting any help until next week. Anyway, what can I help you with, sir?’

‘It’s a bit of a long shot. I’m after a man missing his thumb and two fingers on his right hand. It occurred to me that if he is or was a legionary, there might be a record of it.’

‘It’s possible, sir, but if he was injured like that, he would probably have left service.’

‘But some injured men stay on, if they’re able to continue other duties. And if he was invalided out, a record of the injury might have been made.’

‘True.’

‘What records do you have here?’

‘I’m told that everything in here is from the Third and Sixteenth Legions – last twenty years.’

‘And there’d be a file on every legionary?’

‘There should be. But some officers are more conscientious than others. It’s likely that every soldier’s name would crop up somewhere: when recruited, if given special duties, or when retired or killed. But to find something on injuries or distinguishing marks you’d need their personal file.’

‘And those are here?’

‘Some. Mostly copies. The originals stay with the legion. These are for the governor and the provincial administration.’ The clerk pointed to a wooden tablet just like the ones Cassius had seen in Palmyra. ‘Usually on these.’

‘So there must be thousands of them.’

‘Oh yes. We’ve a full room next door too.’

‘And how are they organised?’

‘By cohort and by century.’

‘Then I’d have to go through them one by one.’

‘I’m afraid so.’

Cassius stood there for a moment, looking at the mountains of tablets and papers. He felt Petronax’s eyes on him. When he glanced back at him, the clerk looked away.

‘All right, I don’t think there’s much point in pursuing this at the moment. Just do this for me, would you: keep the personal files separate from the rest. I may well come back to check what you have.’

‘Of course, sir.’

‘Thank you.’

‘It was my pleasure,’ said Petronax with a rather suggestive smile.

This wasn’t the first time Cassius had had such an encounter and he doubted it would be the last. Well, if the clerk thought him attractive, so what? He might well need his help again.

Second stop was the Beroea Gate. After some more enquiries at the basilica, Cassius discovered that Tribune Bonafatius – the officer who could authorise a check on the gatehouse records – had an office in the forum next door. Cassius found him there, snowed under with paperwork, and – once he’d seen the spear-head – Bonafatius hurriedly scribbled the authorisation, not even bothering to ask the purpose of his enquiry.

As they marched back along the Avenue of Herod and Tiberius, Indavara pronounced himself hungry and bought some dates.

‘I thought you were watching your waistline,’ Cassius remarked, following the bodyguard as he shoved his way through a crowd of onlookers watching a juggler.

‘Fruit’s all right,’ replied Indavara, turning round.

As he turned back, the stave slung across his shoulders struck a man on the head. Unfortunately, the man was a city sergeant.

‘Watch yourself, idiot!’

He was a burly individual with a boxer’s nose and arms to match.

‘What’s that?’ Indavara enquired calmly as people moved out of the way.

‘I told you to watch yourself,’ the sergeant snarled. ‘Oh, perhaps you didn’t hear me.’ He stared at Indavara’s mutilated ear and grinned. Someone else in the crowd laughed. The sergeant slapped the club into his spare hand.

Cassius hurried forward but before he could say anything, another sergeant – an older man – pushed through the crowd.

‘That’ll do, Libo. It’s not worth the trouble.’

Cassius reckoned it was a good look at Indavara that persuaded the sergeant to restrain his friend. Libo was quite a brute, and a good ten years older than the bodyguard, but Indavara showed not the slightest sign of concern. He simply stared back at the man, chewing on a date.

‘Come on,’ said the second sergeant, putting a hand on his colleague’s shoulder.

Libo lowered his club with a frustrated grunt.

‘Very wise,’ Cassius said as he passed him.

The sergeant was about to retort until he realised he’d been spoken to by an army officer.

Indavara was still eyeballing Libo.

‘Let’s go,’ said Cassius. He made sure Indavara was following him, then hurried away, smiling to himself. The bodyguard was a miserable sod and an appalling conversationalist, but there was something both reassuring and enjoyable about having the tough ex-gladiator at his side.

Centurion Turpo wasn’t on duty. The man in charge at the gatehouse was a cooperative young optio. He read the authorisation, offered Cassius a chair, then pointed at the stack of logbooks.

‘Everything from the last few months is here, sir.’

Cassius sat down and glanced at Indavara, who was lurking by the doorway, still munching his way through the dates.

‘You can’t read, can you?’

‘No.’

Cassius examined the log for September. ‘Nothing? Not even in your own language?’

Indavara shook his head.

‘How’s your Greek, by the way?’

‘I can get by.’

‘And arithmetic? Can you count?’

‘I think so.’

‘What’s four plus nine?’

Indavara stopped chewing for a moment and thought about this. The optio and another legionary were listening in.

‘I’ll consider that a no,’ said Cassius. He turned to the soldiers. ‘I’d prefer to do this in private, if you don’t mind.’

The optio nodded and they went outside. Indavara leaned back against the wall and threw a bad date to the floor.

‘You like making fun of me, don’t you?’

‘On some occasions, though that wasn’t one of them.’

‘It’s not my fault. I haven’t been taught.’

‘I didn’t say it was.’ Cassius was examining the first few pages of the log but saw out of the corner of his eye that Indavara was still shaking his head. ‘Don’t be so sensitive. We all have our strengths and weaknesses. I can recite hundred-line declamations I learned five years ago but my swordplay is still an utter embarrassment.’

‘What’s a declamation?’

‘Often a futile exercise in repetition and pretentiousness, if you must know.’

‘I can help you with your sword-work,’ said Indavara.

‘I appreciate the offer,’ Cassius replied, looking up, ‘but the truth is I’ve never felt comfortable around sharp objects; six months of training and two years in the army haven’t helped, so I doubt very much you’ll be able to.’

Cassius turned back to the book. He’d already worked out the dates he wanted to check. Gregorius and the legionaries had left Palmyra on the night of August 31st, which meant they had been attacked on September 1st. By consulting the map and taking into account his own journey time, he thought it impossible the flag could have reached Antioch before the 7th, so he started on that page.