The Imperial Banner (52 page)

‘Stay here a moment, sir.’

‘Those men with staves—’

‘Wait to catch your breath, sir.’

Cassius tried to stand, at least to try and point, but Simo put two hands on his shoulders.

‘No – Simo – They could be –’ Cassius bent forward, wincing at the pain as he took deep breaths.

‘That’s it, sir.’

After a moment, Cassius raised his head and looked down at the jetty. Moored against a pontoon twenty yards away was a long rowing boat. At the end of the pontoon, three lanterns had been hooked on to a wooden post. Below it, four men were kneeling, washing their hands in the river. They were identically attired in black loose-fitting trousers and sleeveless tunics.

‘That’s it, sir,’ said Simo. ‘Slow, deep breaths.’

One of the men had taken off his boots. He dunked them in the water, wiped the soles with his hand, then put them on again. He stood up and joined the others as they clambered down into the rowing boat. All had heavy sacks across their shoulders which they deposited in the bottom of the boat before grabbing an oar.

Cassius stood up.

‘Sir? What is it?’

Ignoring Simo – and with his hand pressed against his aching gut – Cassius hurried along the wall towards the pontoon.

Two of the men had taken lanterns with them into the boat. The last was lifted off the post by a fifth figure, who waited for the others to get settled, then climbed down into the stern. The men untied the mooring ropes and pushed off. They then took up their oars and gently propelled the boat away from the jetty.

The fifth man was holding the lantern on his lap, and even as the boat neared the main stream of the river, Cassius could still see his face quite clearly.

‘Kaeso Scaurus.’

The covered cart was stuffy and hot. The legionary sitting to Indavara’s right was dozing, the man to his left drinking noisily from his canteen. Abascantius’s men sat in a row opposite him. They had barely stopped talking since leaving the mint.

‘Ten years I’ve worked in this province. And this is my reward?’

‘I reckon old Pitface has lost it this time. I told you we were looking in the wrong place. Octobrianus doesn’t have the balls for something like this.’

‘Enough, you two,’ said Salvian, who as well as being the largest of the three, was also the oldest. ‘This isn’t over yet by a long way. Gordio’s overstepped the mark.’

‘I’m not so sure. Aba used up all his favours a long time ago. Marcellinus and the rest will be more than happy to see him disgraced. And where does that leave us?’

Salvian spoke up again: ‘I’ve known him a lot longer than you. He’s come through worse than this. I reckon he’ll have us back on the streets by dawn. Now shut it.’

Indavara took heart from this last comment, but when the cart stopped and they were manhandled outside, he realised he was back at the tower where Simo’s father was being kept. As they were escorted up the stairs with spears at their backs, he felt a rising sense of panic. And when he smelled the foul stench of the prisoners and came close to the iron bars, he was suddenly sure that if he let himself be put inside that cell, he would not get out.

Herminius was on duty again. With a curious glance at Indavara – the last in line – he unlocked the door and opened it wide. The others went in quietly. A push in the back from one of the legionaries sent Indavara to within a foot of the cell. He turned round.

‘I’m not going in there.’

‘Don’t tell me: you’re an innocent man,’ said Herminius with a sneer.

‘I can’t.’ Indavara wiped away the sweat running down his forehead. ‘I can’t go in there.’

The guards laughed.

‘It’s funny, you don’t look the craven type,’ added Herminius. ‘Get in.’

‘I tell you I can’t.’

Another of the guards jabbed his spear towards his face. ‘You heard the man.’

Herminius shoved Indavara in the shoulder. He didn’t move an inch.

‘I’ll take pity on you and assume that because you’ve only the one ear, you don’t hear so well. Last chance. Inside!’

Herminius lashed out again. This time Indavara grabbed his hand, or, more precisely, two of his fingers. With a single flick of his wrist, he bent the fingers back on themselves, snapping them just below the knuckle.

Herminius loosed an agonised screech and staggered away, staring down at his hand.

Two of the guards struck out with their spears. Indavara had nowhere else to go but back. He tripped over the bottom of the gate, and fell into the cell. One of the guards swung the door. As it clanged shut, another man came forward and locked it.

‘You one-eared whore-son,’ Herminius spat. ‘You’ll pay for that. By the wrath of the gods you’ll pay!’

Indavara got to his feet. He barely noticed the other prisoners as he retreated across the cell to the window. He turned and looked out at the black sky.

‘Caesar’s balls,’ said Cassius. ‘Then we’ll just have to steal one.’

Having dispatched Simo with orders to find Abascantius and tell him everything they’d seen, Cassius and Major had spent the last few moments scouring the jetty for a manned boat, but to no avail.

Alongside the last pontoon was a rowing tender about twelve feet long. Cassius ran over to it and knelt down, searching for oars. He found a pair stowed under the middle of the three seats.

‘No rowlocks but it’ll do. Major, untie that rope.’

Cassius climbed down and pulled out the oars from under the seat. The bodyguard threw in the rope then clambered in after it. Cassius pushed off and passed an oar back to Major.

‘We shall have to paddle – you take the right.’

The little boat lurched alarmingly as the two men got settled, Cassius on the forward seat, Major to the rear. Realising his sword belt would hinder him, Cassius wrenched it off over his head.

Then he took up his oar and dug deep, propelling the boat out into the river. He was relieved to see the tide was ebbing; it would have been a struggle to row against the water and keep pace with Scaurus’s craft. Cassius reckoned the boat was about a hundred yards away but with the lanterns still alight it wouldn’t be difficult to follow.

On they went, until Cassius could feel his arms burning and sweat on his back. To their left were high banks of reeds, to their right the scattered lights of the city. Occasionally a snatch of singing would drift across the water towards them.

Kaeso Scaurus. He could hardly believe it. The ostenatious host, this vulgar, almost comical man – a robber and murderer? Cassius reminded himself that Scaurus was a slave-trader. It hardly defied belief that he held human life in such low regard, or that he might be prepared to use anyone – and dispose of anyone – to get his way. There had been that moment at the dinner party with the young slave when his cruel nature had been there for all to see. And Antonia felt he had given up on obtaining office in the city, been unusually rude and impolitic; had he known his days in Antioch were numbered?

And what of the banner? If he was acting alone, did he even understand the true significance of the object in his possession? If he was working with others, why did they want it?

Forcing himself to focus on the job in hand, Cassius put in a few wide strokes to keep them on course. Major was powering them along well from the rear, and he had to keep his concentration to compensate.

They passed an area of the river bank lined with sections of the old city walls, then followed the eastern channel as the Orontes split around the island. Once or twice, Cassius heard heavy splashes close to the shore – rats, he guessed. He looked up and saw that Scaurus’s boat was pulling away. He increased his stroke.

Soon they were passing under the arches of the closest bridge, past the smelly, salty weed that clung to its bricks. Now there were more river craft: a few rich types being rowed home by their attendants, and some noisy drunks on a moored barge.

Then the broad arches of Hadrian’s Bridge loomed out of the darkness. Cassius slowed down and watched Scaurus’s boat clear the bridge, then put in next to the galley at his private dock. Cassius nodded to the left; and they made for the wall of the nearest arch. He shipped his oar and put out his hands. His fingers touched only slick stone covered with weed, but then he found an iron ring which he used to pull the boat in. He soon realised there was a line of the rings, and he and Major hauled the little vessel along to the front of the arch. Leaning forward over the bow, Cassius peered out at the dock.

It was well lit by more than a dozen lanterns. Scaurus was already out of the boat. He had a brief conversation with a guard standing close to the bow of the
Radians
, then strode towards the House of the Dolphins. The other four – still with their heavy bags over their shoulders – weren’t far behind.

Cassius turned round. ‘Let’s take a closer look.’

They cast off from the bridge and let the tide take them down past the dock, using the oars only to keep away from the main stream. Cassius examined the galley. He guessed the
Radians
was eighty feet long, perhaps twenty wide. The sail and the yard were lying on the deck and eight ranks of oars now rested in their holes. Several barrels had been tied down behind the deckhouse. The galley looked ready to sail.

As they drifted past the stern, Cassius spied a second guard. Sculling gently with his oar, holding the boat in place, he stared hard at the hull. Were there other barrels below decks? The eighteen small, heavy barrels he had tracked across Syria?

‘We shall go alongside,’ he whispered.

‘What?’ replied Major.

Cassius almost wavered then. It would be so easy to let the boat float away downstream. Major certainly wouldn’t complain. But the same determination that had possessed him at the villa was with him again. If he could confirm the banner and the treasure were aboard the
Radians
, this whole affair might be resolved in a matter of hours. He had to know.

Cassius dug his oar in deep again and made for the ship. Major let out a long breath but did his part. They approached the galley slowly, easing closer until they were just yards away from the high hull. Manoeuvring between two of the long oars, they came alongside with a slight bump. Cassius reached for the rope and tied it around the oar just above his head. He indicated that Major should hold them off with his arm, to avoid the hulls banging together.

Cassius looked down at his sword belt and thought about putting it on, but he knew it would get in the way or knock against something. He still had his dagger. He clambered back to the middle seat, facing Major.

‘If anything goes wrong, tap on the hull,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll get back here as soon as I can.’

Cassius stood up on the seat, a hand on the galley to steady him. He placed one boot into the oar-hole, launched himself upward and gripped the side rail with both hands. He then climbed over it and hunched down on the deck. It was still wet from the rain.

He had come aboard close to the mast. He stood up for a moment and saw that the guards were still keeping station at either end of the ship. Towards the stern, in the middle of the deck, was a dark square: the main hatch, he guessed. He got down on his hands and knees and crawled towards it, feeling ahead for any obstacles.

Once there, he raised his head and looked along the lighted path that led to the southern wing of the villa. Away to the right, the grass sloped down to where he had stood just days ago, watching Scaurus’s antics and talking to the governor’s daughters.

Ducking down, he rounded the edge of the hatch. Reaching the first of the wide steps, he descended slowly on his backside, step by step. He could smell pitch; perhaps the galley’s hull had been freshly lined for a long journey.

By the time he reached the bottom, he could see barely a yard in front of his face. But as he crawled towards the bow and his eyes adjusted, he found he could use the dim light from the oar-holes to measure his progress. Beyond the last pair was a short set of steps leading downward. He continued on and saw an open hatch that admitted enough moonlight to illuminate the forward hold. He got to his feet and began his search.

He moved slowly and carefully, so as not to dislodge anything and make a noise. To the left of the hold he found only sailing gear: spars, rope, blocks, piles of sailcloth. By the bow were water barrels and trays of food. There could be no doubt now: the
Radians
was going somewhere.

To the right a large square of canvas had been laid over something. Cassius gently pulled it away and knelt down in front of the objects underneath. He put out his hands and found the first of the small barrels. It seemed about the right size. He gripped each side and tried to move it. Heavy. Very heavy.

He tried the lid but it had been nailed down. There were more barrels behind it and to the side. He counted as he touched each in turn and was up to ten when he found one with a loose lid. He tried to open it with his fingers but a few nails were still in place. He pulled out his dagger and finished the job, slowly prising up half the lid. When he had an inch of clear space, he wedged the lid open with his knife and put his other hand inside.