The Imperial Banner (53 page)

His fingers slid over the cold, tightly packed coins. He took one, then stood and held it up by the hatch. This coin was in excellent condition. Even in the moonlight, he could see both the crossed swords commemorating Artaxata and the portrait of Marcus Aurelius. Cassius put the coin in his money bag and smiled in the darkness. It was hard to resist the temptation to look for the banner, but he set off straight away.

He was halfway back to the main hatch when he heard footsteps and voices. The ship shifted slightly as several people came on board. Cassius ducked down by an oar but it soon became obvious the party were heading for the stern. He heard several items thump down on the deck and prayed to the great gods that the men would leave their loads and return to the villa. He carried on to the hatch and waited at the base of the steps, staring upward. He could hear them – servants by the sound of it.

‘Just here will do.’

‘Not that way up.’

‘Should we tie it on?’

‘Nah, that’s sailors’ work.’

‘Come on, let’s get back to the kitchen. That Helena’s bringing the vegetables tonight – I want to get another look at her.’

‘Hold on. I need a piss.’

Two men passed the hatch. Cassius heard them step off the galley, then heard the third man relieving himself into the river.

‘Hey!’

The servant stumbled back past the hatch and jumped on to the dock.

‘There’s a boat there!’ he shouted. ‘Guards! There’s a boat there. And a man!’

Cassius charged up towards the deck. He was almost at the top when one of his feet fell between two steps. He recovered himself and clambered out of the hatch. The guard at the stern had just climbed on to the galley.

‘One here too!’

He ran at Cassius, blade up.

Cassius didn’t move. If he could get out of the way of the sword, the man’s speed might take him down into the hatch. Crouching low, he was ready to dive out of the way when something struck the guard in the face. The man’s feet went from under him and he landed on his back right in front of Cassius.

‘He’s yours!’

Major sprang past as the second guard jumped up on to the galley. The three servants were running up the path to the villa, shouting for help.

Cassius smashed his fist down into where he thought the guard’s stomach was and connected with yielding flesh. The guard grunted but was still able to bring up his sword. As Cassius scrabbled forward to take it off him, his right hand brushed against a hard, rounded object lying on the deck. Major’s cudgel – the object he’d thrown at the guard.

Trying to ignore the clanging of swords to his left, Cassius picked up the cudgel and slammed it down – again into the stomach. The guard’s breath flew from his mouth but he struggled on. Cassius struck again, lower this time. The guard groaned, and rolled over on to his side.

Cassius plucked the sword from the guard’s fingers. He stood and stepped over him.

Major jabbed his blade at the second guard. His foe parried, then swung himself but he slipped and pitched forward, knocking Major’s sword aside. Too close to use their blades, the men grappled, grunting as they slid on the slippery deck.

With the sword in one hand, the cudgel in the other, Cassius looked for a way to help Major, but the struggling pair lurched away from him.

Shouts from the path. The men who’d been with Scaurus were out in front. They reached into their bags as they ran and pulled out long, heavy clubs, then cast the bags aside.

Cassius was about to take a swipe with the cudgel at the guard’s head when the battling pair crashed to the deck. Major recovered first. He smashed his sword handle down on to the man’s head, knocking him out cold.

‘Let’s go,’ he said between breaths.

Major still hadn’t seen the advancing men. He stood up.

‘Major, look out!’

The first of the club-men launched himself off the dock and leapt clean over the side rail. Boots thudding across the deck, he swung the weapon just as Major turned. The bodyguard didn’t even have time to get his arm up.

Bloody flesh splattered Cassius’s face as the club connected, virtually decapitating Major. Head lolling from his neck at forty-five degrees, his limp form collapsed, blood spewing from the gaping wound. Cassius stood there, frozen.

The club-man glanced at him then looked down at his handiwork. One of his comrades came to a halt next to him. He looked down at what was left of Major and said something. They laughed.

Cassius retreated, wiping a soggy chunk of skin from the side of his mouth. He turned and ran. He was almost at the side rail when something struck his legs. He fell; and heard the crack of his head striking the deck. He pressed his hands against the timbers, trying to push himself up, but he couldn’t move an inch. Pain seared his head. Dazzling white. Then nothing.

By taking a route he knew would be largely clear of revellers, Simo made good time, arriving at Abascantius’s villa in three-quarters of an hour. He wiped his wet brow as he rang the bell and waited. A little way up the street stood a carriage. A young lad was feeding the two horses from a bag of hay.

Shostra emerged from the shadows with his hand on his dagger. Simo could see a woman behind him, her face obscured by a hood.

‘You,’ said Shostra. ‘Where’s your master?’

‘I don’t know exactly. But I need to see Master Abascantius.’

Shostra unlocked the gate, then opened it. ‘You better come with us.’

As the woman hurried past Simo, he glimpsed a young, fair face. Once Shostra had locked the gate, he and Simo joined her in the carriage. Talking to the horses in Aramaic, the lad jumped up and took hold of the reins.

‘On we go, boy,’ Shostra said over his shoulder. ‘To the island.’ He turned to Simo as they set off. ‘Well? What’s going on?’

‘I think I’m supposed only to talk to Master Abascantius.’

‘That may be easier said than done. Word’s just come to me that he’s been taken to the prison tower.’

‘What? Why?’

‘None of your concern. What’s happened to that young fool
you
call master?’

Though mention of the prison inevitably sparked thoughts of his father, Simo forced himself to concentrate and began with the visit to Pythion’s apartment. By the time he’d finished, they were crossing the Avenue of Herod and Tiberius.

‘It’s lucky you got back before we left,’ said Shostra. ‘Master Abascantius must hear of this immediately.’

‘But how will you get word to him?’

Shostra gave a lascivious grin and glanced at the young woman beside him. ‘There are ways.’

Indavara sat at the rear of the cell, with nothing to look forward to but a beating. Herminius had gone to get his fingers attended to, promising revenge when he returned. Indavara was certain of one thing. When the guards came at him again, more of them would get hurt.

A few moments earlier, Abascantius had been brought in by the centurion from the mint, along with two legionaries and a clerk carrying a leather case. The five men were now in the same little room Corbulo had used the previous day. Salvian and the other two operatives stood close together at the front of the cell, deep in discussion.

Indavara was so lost in his thoughts that he barely noticed Simo’s father had walked over to him.

‘You were here with my son.’

Indavara nodded as Abito sat down.

‘Do you know where my boy is?’

‘No.’

‘Why have they thrown you in here?’

Indavara shrugged. ‘I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. As usual.’

‘I’m sure your Master Corbulo will have you out of here in no time.’

‘He’s not my master.’

‘Friend, then.’

‘Nor that.’

Indavara tapped the wall above his head. ‘The plaster around the window – looks pretty weak, yes?’

‘It does.’

‘As if it might easily be pried away?’

‘This whole place is falling apart. But even if one could take it off, there’s a sixty-foot drop outside.’

Indavara shrugged. ‘There is that.’

‘What was your name, again?’

Indavara told him.

‘Unusual. Where does it come from?’

Abito received no reply.

‘Will you pray with me, Indavara? We both need a little help, I think.’

‘To your god?’

‘We believe there is only one.’

‘Would he listen to me? Help me?’

‘He listens to all men.’

‘Then why has he punished you?’

Abito looked over at the other Christians. The only lantern was close to the guards’ room, casting a dim glow over the men. They lay in a line; some asleep, others staring up at the ceiling.

‘I don’t think he is punishing us. Testing us, perhaps.’

‘Testing what?’

‘Our faith in him.’

Indavara tilted his head back against the wall. ‘If he won’t help you, he definitely won’t help me.’

Abito picked at the crumbling clay floor with his fingers. ‘Perhaps this is not his work. Perhaps it is the beast Satan.’

‘Satan?’

‘Our Lord’s enemy. His demons are loose in the world – they are the ones that unleash pain and cruelty on us.’

‘Are they men? These demons?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Abito quietly.

‘I think they’re men.’

Half an hour later, the door to the little room opened. First out were the centurion and his clerk, followed by Abascantius, then the two legionaries. While the clerk and the soldiers waited, the centurion led Abascantius over to the cell and ordered the guards to open up.

One of the prisoners sitting to Indavara’s right got to his feet. Despite the fact that most of the others were sleeping, he clapped his hands.

‘Gods be praised! If it isn’t Pitface himself. Perhaps there is a little justice to be found in Antioch after all.’

Some of the other prisoners stirred, looking on as Abascantius entered the cell.

‘Have a good night,’ the centurion said drily as he and his men left.

As Abascantius turned from the bars, the loud-mouthed man came towards him.

‘So all your underhand tricks and lies have caught up with you at last,’ he said smugly.

‘Hello, Dexippus,’ Abascantius replied. ‘Haven’t they hanged you yet?’

‘Now that you find yourself in here, perhaps you will beat me to the noose. Tell me, who did you set up this time? Whose life did you ruin?’

Salvian moved forward to cut off Dexippus, but Abascantius waved him away.

‘Do yourself a favour, Dexippus. Shut up and sit down. I’m not in the mood.’

‘Oh, you’re not in the mood? Well, I wasn’t particularly in the mood for having my life destroyed. I wasn’t particularly in the mood for—’

Abascantius took one step forward and landed a solid boot between Dexippus’s legs. The man hit the ground hard, squirming and groaning.

‘Never did know when to keep his mouth shut,’ muttered Abascantius as he joined his men. They stood between the Christians and Indavara, and had only just started talking when Herminius came up the stairs, his fingers now bound. He walked straight into the guards’ room and emerged brandishing a long, thick cane in his good hand. He came close to the bars and peered into the gloomy cell.

‘You, One Ear. Come here.’

Indavara stared back at him.

‘All right,’ Herminius said, nodding at the door. ‘Bring him out.’

Two of the guards grabbed their spears. Another took the key from a hook.

Abascantius came over to Indavara. ‘I’m assuming you’re responsible for that bandaged hand?’

Indavara nodded.

Abascantius walked back to the door and faced the chief guard through the bars. He glanced down at Herminius’s hand and shrugged. ‘He can be a little excitable at times.’

Herminius tapped the cane against the floor. ‘Me too. As he’s about to find out.’

‘The thing is,’ replied Abascantius, ‘I really can’t have you attacking my men. I could perhaps offer you a little compensation for the pain, but that’s all you’ll get. Put the cane down, have a bit of wine.’

The man with the key still hadn’t unlocked the door. Herminius exchanged glances with him and the other guards, then turned back to Abascantius.

‘I must confess I didn’t expect ever to see you here but you
are
my prisoner, Master Abascantius. As is your young friend.’