The Last Battle Read online

'Quite so. You hide your feelings better these days, Corbulo, but you do look fearful.'

  Abascantius was right about that. The two agents had spoken five times since the events in Byzantium of the previous year. Cassius had never seen or heard a hint that Abascantius knew of his role in eliminating a squad of corrupt Roman soldiers, not to mention a magistrate, a tribune and a centurion. But had the agent learned something new in the two months since Cassius had last seen him? Did he know what he had done?

  Cassius forced himself to concentrate on the here and now. 'A war is about to begin, sir, and it seems I am to be part of it. Honestly, I had expected to remain in Antioch until my five years was completed.'

  'That's all it is?'

  'What else would it be, sir?'

  Abascantius gave a neutral nod then ran a hand across his thinning, greying hair. 'The decision to order you here was not mine. Unfortunately for you, word of your successes continues to spread. And there is one man within the emperor's ranks who believes you might be of use to him. That is why you are here – it had nothing to do with me.'

  Before Cassius could construct a list of likely candidates, Abascantius continued.

  'Prefect Oppius Junius Venator.'

  Cassius was instantly struck by memories of Palmyra and the formidable, white-haired aristocrat. 'I knew he had taken over command of the Second Parthian Legion but what does he want with me?'

  'Chief Pulcher and the emperor have decided that each legion will be accompanied by a liaison from Imperial Security – to ensure that intelligence is collected, interpreted and disseminated as efficiently as possible. Venator was resistant to the idea but eventually conceded – on condition that the agent for the Second Parthian Legion be you.'

  Cassius let out a long breath. Being attached to a prefect's staff would be considerably less perilous than some of his previous missions. The Second was also one of the empire’s more prestigious legions, having distinguished itself during several recent campaigns. Cassius was determined to not show Abascantius his relief.

  'I see. I expect he imagines I will be easier to manipulate than an older officer.'

  'Possibly. But don't underestimate the effect of your previous exploits. And I daresay he harbours a modicum of gratitude for your recovery of the Persian banner. Both he and I would have faced some difficult questions had you not tracked it down.'

  'He's expecting me?'

  'The Second is currently stationed west of Axima. Even I am not party to the emperor's intentions but you should certainly proceed there with all haste. They are sure to move out before long. It is no more than fifty miles but the Greek Pass is slow going.'

  Cassius nodded, absorbing the news.

  'Could have been a lot worse, eh?' said his superior with a grin. 'Spare a thought for me, I shall probably spend most of the next few months riding between the legion commanders.'

  'Is Chief Pulcher with the emperor, sir?'

  'He is. Not bad at seventy-one.' Abasacantius leaned onto the table.

  'Where's Indavara?'

  'Not sure.'

  'Resting?'

  Cassius did not react.

  'I admire your loyalty, Corbulo, but this new assignment was the ideal opportunity to cut him loose.'

  'Why would I do that?'

  'How long since he was taken? Five months?'

  'About that,' said Cassius.

  'Long enough to recover. If he was going to.'

  'He is recovering.'

  Abascantius tapped a finger against the table. 'Listen, his survival was nothing short of miraculous, but you can't seriously believe that he's going to get back to where he was.'

  'Sir, I believe he will. But that's not the only reason he's with me. On our way here, we took the opportunity to stop in Pietas Julia. We visited the arena where he fought and made some enquiries. We tracked down the slaver who sold Indavara to his previous master. The slaver himself died two years ago but one of his clerks dug up the paperwork. We know that Indavara and the two others with him were purchased from another trader. The note of sale mentioned that they were originally captured in Narbonensis.'

  'And?'

  'When and if the opportunity arises, I would like to get him there; see if we can find out any more about his origins.'

  Abascantius frowned. 'What chance is there of finding someone who might remember him? How long since his capture?'

  'Eight years.'

  'There has been fighting there between Tetricus and our forces; and between the tribes themselves.'

  'Sir, Indavara remembers his family. Someone, somewhere is missing a son or a brother. We must try.'

  'Corbulo, if you wish to complete your remaining period of service, I suggest you concentrate on your own survival, not some wild goose chase. Do not imagine that because you are assigned to Venator's staff that you will be safe. The emperor faces the might of the entire Army of the Rhine and Venator leads from the front. He will in all likelihood have some difficult and dangerous duties for you. Are you really prepared to put your life in Indavara's hands?'

  'There is no one I trust more.'

  Abascantius leaned back in his chair and stared hard at his subordinate, chin settling into his fat neck. 'Loyalty is an admirable trait. But there is no place in the Service for sentiment. I leave for Viviscus at dawn. Send Indavara to see me before nightfall.'

  When Simo came into the stable, Indavara had already been there for a while. Unable to sleep but not wanting to run into Abascantius, he had nabbed some vegetable offcuts from the kitchen and slipped outside. Having given the three horses some of the food, he then led their donkey, Patch, out of his stall. Sitting against a wall, he fed Patch the remaining bits of carrot, cauliflower and broccoli. Always good-natured, the donkey ate patiently and slowly, occasionally nuzzling Indavara.

  'I assume he got the best bits?' said Simo as he entered the stable.

  'He's been with us a lot longer than the mounts,' replied Indavara.

  'True.' Simo bent over and examined the scarring where Patch had worn a harness. When they'd reclaimed him from the horse-dealer in Asia Minor, the donkey had been in a sorry state.

  Had Indavara not been in a similarly poor condition, he would have swung for the man. But both he and Patch had made it back to Antioch and recovered together.

  'It's healed well,' said Simo. 'I doubt he even feels it now.'

  With his meal over, Patch was sniffing Indavara's hand.

  'Corbulo’s in with him now, is he?'

  ‘Yes. And before you ask, no – I don't know what they're talking about.' Simo leaned back against an unoccupied stall and crossed his heavy arms across his equally heavy chest. Indavara had noticed the attendant put on weight during their settled five months in Antioch. He wished he'd been able to match him but his appetite had only recently returned.

  'Simo, how far is Narbonensis from here?'

  'Not far.'

  'And your people, where were they from?'

  'A long way away – Lugdunensis. Far to the north-east.'

  'You said you've been there.'

  'Just once,' replied Simo, 'with my former master, many years ago. A small town on the coast. Almost everyone is a fisherman, as were my ancestors. You do realise that Master Cassius will be given some sort of assignment – we may not be able to look for your home for some time.'

  'I know. But what if something happens? Before?'

  'Didn't he give you his word that he would help? He dug up that information in Pietas Julia.'

  'He did. But if I am no use to him …'

  'What do you mean?'

  Indavara looked away. He hated how Simo and Corbulo tried to pretend everything was the same; that he was the same. He turned his hands over and looked down at his arms. They still looked so thin; so weak. And both were laced with cuts where he had been bled by his captors.

  He had tried to begin something like his old fitness routine but he got tired so quickly. He could barely lift a small barrel with both hands and after a m
ile of running he was out of breath.

  Simo, who was the best friend Indavara had ever had, often seemed to know what he was thinking.

  'I told you it will take time – the surgeons said the same.'

  'Half a year, though?'

  'Dear Lord, grant me strength. Indavara, I have seen dead men. Hundreds of them. And when we found you on that island, I thought you were another. But you fought your way back to life. Your scars have healed, you are putting on weight. The rest will come.'

  Indavara couldn't find an answer. He had told himself the same but it wasn't just about how he looked on the outside, it was about how he felt within. He was not the same man. He was not sure that he ever would be. And it scared him more than any opponent he had ever faced.

  After dinner, Cassius took a walk, largely to clear his head and get away from Abascantius. A cold wind was blowing down from the mountains and he had to send Simo back to fetch his cloak. With twilight close, the streets were quiet. Having passed two watchmen haranguing an elderly woman shouting invocations to some obscure local goddess; and a dog unable to decide which of two cats it should chase, master and servant continued along the town's main avenue.

  'Simo, do you think I was wrong – to refuse to meet my father?'

  'Sir, I can see how after all this time seeing any member of your family would be difficult. I also think it would be wonderful for them; and for you.'

  'I don't disagree. But staying away – and keeping them away – has made it all a little easier to bear. If we can get through this, I will be back with them permanently within a matter of months. Bizarre though it is, I must admit I find the prospect rather frightening.'

  'You have known only the army since you were nineteen, sir.'

  'And you, Simo? Does the idea of freedom worry you?'

  'A little. I had settled on staying in Antioch but with my father passing away, now I can go anywhere. I am hoping for a sign from the Lord; for guidance on how best I can serve him.'

  'I don't even know what I want to do,’ admitted Cassius. ‘The first order of business will be to get that bloody book finished. I want to see it published and in the bookshops of Ravenna and Rome.’

  Cassius had been working on a translation of an obscure Greek military tome for two years. Progress had been patchy, to say the least.

  ‘Don’t give me that look, Simo – I'm going to finish it if it kills me.'

  Just as they reached the monolithic arch of Augustus, a century arrived. The legionaries looked weary but when their centurion announced that they were only half a mile from their night's accommodation, they followed him into the town at quite a trot. A few enterprising vendors were already on their trail, offering the usual selection of trinkets and local foodstuffs. The optio bringing up the rear nodded cordially to Cassius, who returned the gesture. As usual, he had been taken for a fellow infantry officer due to his red tunic and cloak. Cassius knew the acknowledgement would have been less likely had the officer known he was a member of the unpopular Imperial Security Service.

  He sighed as he sat upon the short wall surrounding a sanctuary close to the great arch. 'I shall soon be mixing with dozens of men like that once I join Venator's staff. And all of them shall know me for a 'grain-man' who takes orders from 'Pitface'. I don't suppose there'll be many invitations to drinks in the officers' tent.'

  'It sounds like the prefect thinks a great deal of you though, sir.'

  'Mmm. To be honest, I would prefer he forget me entirely. Remember Palmyra, Simo? I met Venator on the same day we met Indavara. If not for him I would have died at the hands of those drunken Celt bastards.' Cassius grinned. 'By the gods, half a minute it took him to put the four of them on their backsides.'

  'I do hope Master Abascantius isn't being too harsh on him.'

  'So do I.'

  Indavara was beginning to relax. He had drunk two mugs of wine and was relieved not to have faced the grilling he feared. Abascantius had visited him twice in Antioch and both times his questions had made Indavara feel uncomfortable. This was mainly because he knew he couldn't disclose anything about what Corbulo had done in Byzantium. The truth was that Indavara wasn't entirely sure himself, only that Corbulo didn't want his superior to know anything about it.

  Abascantius pushed a bowl of walnuts towards him. 'I didn’t want to mention it while you were bed-bound but I've often wondered what it was like for you on that island – being bled like some animal so that sick old bastard could drink your blood.'

  Indavara didn’t mind talking about it anymore. Simo had encouraged him to do so; he said it was for the best.

  'I didn't think anyone was coming. I didn't think I'd live.'

  'Corbulo thought I didn't care, of course.'

  'I know it was you that found out about the island, sir. I am grateful.'

  'The least I could do,' said Abascantius, swilling his wine around the mug. 'You must be excited – about what you discovered in Pietas Julia.'

  'Yes, sir. I didn't expect it.'

  'Quite remarkable – that those memories of your family should come back when you were in such a state.'

  'The only good that came of it, sir.'

  'Of course, when men lose a lot of blood, they are susceptible to hallucinations, delusions.'

  'They are memories, sir. Dreams fade. They are memories.'

  'If you say so. Of course, the Service will be happy for you to look into it at some point, but you do realise your duties come first?'

  Now they were in Gaul, Indavara had considered beginning the search for his family immediately. There were several reasons why he had not.

  'Yes, sir. I will stay on until Corbulo completes his term, as agreed.'

  'I must say, it's good see you looking better, young man. What training are you doing?'

  'The usual – weights, some running, some blade work.'

  'Any practice with others?' asked the agent.

  'Some.'

  'Who?'

  Indavara realised he had made a mistake even mentioning it.

  'Corbulo.'

  'Ah.' Abascantius leaned back and slurped down the rest of his wine.

  'He's really come on, actually,’ said Indavara. ‘Few more years and might be a half-decent swordsman.'

  'Really? Well, people change. You, for example, it's not just in your body. Your eyes are different.'

  Indavara shivered. He sometimes thought the same now when he saw his reflection. He’d even mentioned it to Simo, who said he was imagining things.

  'I was close to death, sir.'

  Abascantius slid his empty mug away and planted his arms on the table. 'There's no shame in it, you know.'

  'In what?'

  'In being different. In being changed. The gods know that what you went through would have finished off most people. But if the old you isn't coming back, we have a problem. I need to know you can still do what you need to. So does Corbulo. Maybe you're not ready yet. Or maybe you're never going to be.'

  Indavara emptied his mug. 'I'm fine.'

  Abascantius stared at him. Indavara tried to hold his gaze but he couldn't. He cursed himself for allowing himself to relax. The agent had been playing games.

  'Well, all right, then.' Abascantius turned and bellowed. 'Shostra – another jug!'

  'Sir, that's enough for me.'

  'It's early.'

  'I should do some practice.'

  'Ah, stay a while.'

  Shostra came in and put down a newly-filled jug. As he turned to leave, Abascantius uttered a phrase in a language Indavara didn't understand. Shostra replied with another unknown word and walked back around the table.

  Indavara had only just begun to register that this was strange when the attendant threw an arm around his neck and hauled him backwards. Indavara's boots scrabbled on the bench he had just been sitting on. He bucked to try and free himself but Shostra had long, thick arms and it was clear that – despite his age – his wrestler's strength had not deserted him. Indavara gripped the arm l
ocked around his neck but couldn't free it.

  Then he saw Abascantius: still sitting, calmly looking on.

  Indavara stopped struggling.

  Shostra loosened his arm enough to let him breathe; no more.

  'Get him off me.'

  'Why don't you get him off?' said Abascantius. 'He's fifty-one years old.'

  Indavara pushed off with his right foot, trying to unbalance Shostra. The veteran reacted quickly, pulling him back and tightening his hold. He gripped so hard that Indavara felt his throat being compressed. He tried to suck air in but it wouldn't come. He tried to speak; he couldn't.

  Abascantius stood up. 'Let him go.'

  Suddenly he was free. Indavara wanted to turn and smash a fist into Shostra's face but he staggered forward and had to hold himself up against the table.

  'All right, calm down,' said Abascantius.

  Slightly recovered, Indavara spun around.

  Shostra had retreated to the hearth. 'Don't do anything stupid, lad. Wasn't my idea.'

  'Sorry,' said Abascantius.

  Indavara turned back to face him.

  'But I needed to know. On the other side of those mountains is a war. You’re not ready. If you have any sense, you'll tell Corbulo that.'

  II

  As he waited outside the largest tent in the encampment, Volosus almost enjoyed the suspicious looks he received from the departing officers. He had known most of them for years but there were only a few nods and not a single smile. Such was the life of an intelligence agent. Only one of the officers had served the emperor as long as he had.

  Volosus turned to Bibulus. 'Make sure the horses get plenty of water and feed – we need to be in the city by midday.'

  'Yes, sir.' Bibulus jogged across the muddy avenue to the paddock where the mounts were kept. The officers and their assistants were now reclaiming their horses and would occupy the grooms for some time. The city of Andematunnum was ten miles away and Volosus had two essential appointments to keep.

  At last a smile. Galeo had been one of the emperor's senior attendants for many years and it was he that next exited the tent.

  'Officer Volosus,’ he said with a bow. ‘Always a pleasure.'