The Earthly Gods Read online

  ‘Gods, you look terrible.’

  Aulus Celatus Abascantius ushered Cassius into the room. Already inside was his attendant Shostra, who was leaning against the wall. As usual, the hulking ex-wrestler offered no greeting, merely an implacable gaze.

  ‘Excuse the venue,’ said Abascantius, ‘it’s the only empty space I could find.’

  Antioch’s legionary fortress was now flooded with troops returning – like Abascantius – from the Emperor Aurelian’s campaign to put down a revolt in Egypt. Many, including the veteran agent, had arrived yesterday with a column containing hundreds of troops and other assorted personnel.

  As they sat, Cassius glanced around. The room seemed to have been reserved for storage. Apart from the table and chairs, the rest of the floor was covered with wooden chests, amphoras and woven baskets. Shostra was standing between a pile of shields and a collection of damaged spears.

  ‘Nothing to eat or drink either, I’m afraid. I thought perhaps you could come for dinner at my place tonight. Don’t worry, Shostra’s not cooking; I sent word ahead to my housekeeper.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  Abascantius ran his fingers through his thinning hair, which was now more grey than brown. Weeks on the road had darkened his skin, which partially hid the pockmarks that were responsible for the nickname used across the eastern provinces: Pitface.

  ‘Still nothing?’

  Cassius shook his head.

  ‘What about Pietas Julia – you thought there might be some connection to his time as a fighter?’

  ‘Nothing yet. Sir, I’m glad you’re here: we need to step things up. I would like a squad of men; eight will do. We can start back at Bertyus. Someone has to know something.’

  ‘Your letter said that the magistrate and the army there did everything they could to help. The trail is cold now. What makes you think you’d get anywhere?’

  Cassius tried not to let this response put him off. ‘If we don’t we can move on to Pietas Julia. It would be quickest to hire a ship – then I can stay mobile. If you’re to remain here for a while, sir, you can monitor the post – see if anything comes in.’

  Abascantius cleared his throat then aimed a thumb at the door. Shostra obediently left. Cassius did not consider this a good sign.

  ‘Corbulo, even if there was money for that – which there isn’t – I can’t just remove you from your normal duties for an indefinite period. I am gathering all my officers here next week and I have urgent work for them all – including you. The Emperor made it very clear to me that he does not want to have to return to the East again. Apart from the Egyptians, there are the Palmyrans to keep an eye on, the Arabians—’

  ‘I should have known.’

  As Abascantius shifted backwards, the legs of his chair scraped across the stone floor. ‘What?’

  ‘I should have known you wouldn’t care.’

  Abascantius rolled his tongue around his mouth and held the younger man’s stare.

  Cassius could see no reason to hold back any longer. ‘Do I have to remind you what he’s done for the Service? For you? The flag, Africa, the black stone! By the gods, he and I have brought you victory after victory.’

  Cassius half-expected Abascantius to spring at him; it wouldn’t have been the first time. If the consequences weren’t so dire, he would have enjoyed landing a blow on that fat, ugly face.

  ‘Not quite.’

  When he understood what his superior meant, Cassius simply shook his head in disbelief; how typical of the man to concentrate on his only failure to date.

  ‘Indavara has risked his life time and again for me; and for you.’ Cassius barely realised that he was leaning forward, pointing at Abascantius. ‘Without him, we would have failed on every occasion. You know it as well as I do and now you just—’

  A knock on the door.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘What is it?’ snapped the agent.

  Shostra opened the door. ‘Sir, Tribune Autronius is asking for you. He wants to go over the briefing before your meeting with the governor.’

  ‘Very well. I’ll be along presently.’

  Shostra shut the door.

  The agent drew in a long breath through his nose. ‘This interruption might be propitious. I suggest you calm down, young man, and remember that it was I who recruited him. If there is anything we can feasibly do, we will do it. But I think we both know that the situation is not looking good. We have to be realistic.’

  Abascantius stood. He straightened his tunic and adjusted the sheathed dagger upon his belt. ‘We’ll talk later. Let’s say the twelfth hour. That’s not an invitation, it’s an order.’

  Cassius picked up his horse from a nearby stable and rode back to the inn. The busy city was nothing but a noisy blur. With his crested helmet and cloak, he didn’t even need to speak; anyone in his way got out of it quickly.

  Throwing his reins to the lad on duty at the inn’s courtyard, he removed his helmet and strode inside. He and Simo were occupying the hostelry’s largest room, which was on the ground floor and had exclusive access to a flower garden. Cassius had spent hours there over the last few weeks and was currently interested in doing nothing else – as long as he had a mug of wine for company.

  He found the room locked and cursed Simo as he fetched the key from his money bag. Once inside, he dropped his cloak on to a chair and pulled off his boots. He grabbed a pail of water, briefly dunked his aching feet then walked over to the jug of wine. Despite his later appointment, he filled his mug and did not dilute it.

  Considering the central position of the inn, the flower garden always seemed remarkably peaceful. Cassius took a pillow from the bed and walked out to his favoured position in the corner. Well-shaded but warm, he could lie on the grass and see only the flowers, the ivy-covered walls and the blue skies above. He had come to consider the place a haven; where he found more solace than any temple could offer.

  As he lay there, sipping the wine, he tried not to think about the meeting. But before long the thoughts crept in. As he recalled Abascantius’s words, his fingers moved on to a red tile that had come loose from the wall. He gripped the edge and smashed it into the ground, leaving half of it in his hand. He continued to smash it until he was damaging only his own flesh.

  ‘What have you done to yourself, sir?’

  Groggy from the wine, Cassius looked up to see Simo standing over him.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re bleeding, sir.’

  The big Gaul always carried a handkerchief tucked into his belt. He knelt beside Cassius and gently examined his hand. ‘You’ve cut it quite badly. I’ll get a bandage.’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘Later.’

  ‘How was the meeting?’

  ‘Sit. Let’s talk.’

  Simo sat down on the grass. Cassius had never seen him so thin; and with a recent haircut that had chopped off most of his thick black hair, he looked five years younger.

  At first, the attendant had been the one who had struggled to cope with the loss of Indavara. The two had grown increasingly close over the years and neither had a better friend. While Cassius had thrown himself into the search, Simo had become so desperate that he had even questioned his faith. He found it almost impossible to accept that poor Indavara could be put through so much suffering. But now, back in Antioch, with his father and old friends close by, he had rallied.

  Cassius was relieved at first, but now he realised that Simo’s renewed strength had allowed him to weaken. And he had seldom felt weaker.

  It did not take him long to summarise the short meeting with Abascantius.

  Noting that the top of the cross around his neck was showing, Simo pulled up his tunic. ‘Perhaps you will be able to persuade him tonight, sir.’

  Cassius sat up and leant back against the wall. He looked down at his hand; the trickle of blood had run all the way down his forearm and dried.

  ‘Simo, he doesn’t care. I doubt
if he would be particularly concerned if I or any other of his agents went missing. He’ll simply find some other poor bastard to do his bidding – risk their necks so that he doesn’t have to.’

  Simo cupped a nearby yellow flower in his hand. They had both held out hope that the return of Abascantius would signal a change in their fortunes.

  ‘However,’ said Cassius, trying to somehow remain optimistic, ‘I must do what I can. We need him. And we certainly need the power and reach of the Service. I know nothing’s come in but I just try to think of all those letters we sent out: at least people know, they’ll be keeping an eye out.’

  ‘He is quite hard to miss,’ said Simo, ‘what with all those scars.’

  ‘And that mangled ear. In a few weeks, I can send out more letters – keep it fresh in people’s minds.’

  ‘He has only us in the world, sir.’

  ‘I know. I wonder what he must think of his precious Fortuna now. I wonder if he believes she has forsaken him.’

  Later, Cassius accompanied Simo when he went to check on Patch. The durable, good-natured donkey had been with them since the hunt for the black stone in Arabia. Though Cassius had often mocked Indavara and Simo for the care they lavished on the beast, he now found that he had developed some affection for it too.

  ‘Poor thing – I really believe it misses him,’ he said as he stroked the donkey’s neck.

  ‘There’s no question about it, sir. He only recovered his appetite in the last week or so.’

  Simo lifted up the pail of vegetable offcuts he had obtained from the inn’s kitchen. Patch sniffed it a couple of times then pushed his snout in and started chewing.

  ‘Oh, sir – I didn’t tell you. Some good news. Mahalie did very well on her first day. My father said Mistress Helena was very happy with her needlework.’

  ‘Excellent. You’ve done well for the girl, Simo.’

  ‘It was my father who arranged the job, sir.’

  Cassius felt guilty that he had done little to assist. Mahalie had been so distraught in the days following Indavara’s capture and their trip north to Antioch that he had kept his distance.

  ‘Well, Indavara will be grateful. As am I. How is your father?’

  ‘He seems happy enough, sir. The congregation has grown since I’ve been away. Elder Nura is very popular in the city.’

  ‘Listen, I don’t know how long we’ll be here but if you want to continue your studies, you should.’

  ‘Perhaps not now, sir. We might have to leave at any time.’

  ‘True enough, I suppose. Simo, there was another of those notes. You do understand that normally I would meet with Kabir – I’d like to help. But we have to put all our energies into … into finding him.’

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  ‘Master Corbulo?’ The innkeeper’s son appeared outside the stable. ‘Message for you.’

  He ushered a young lad forward who handed over a small, rolled page tied with twine. While Simo reached into his money bag and gave the lad a coin, Cassius opened the letter and read it.

  When he had done so, he tapped the page against his leg and considered its contents.

  ‘Everything all right, sir?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  II

  Abascantius’s villa – or rather the villa he had liberated from a Palmyran collaborator the previous year – was much as Cassius remembered it: secluded and spacious but rather basic and impersonal. The agent was, however, clearly determined to give his subordinate a pleasant evening. The housekeeper served spiced wine just after Cassius arrived and Abascantius asked about his current accommodation on the way out to the terrace. There were even some big soft cushions on the stone benches they sat on.

  As the older man selected some dates from a bowl, Cassius glanced inside. His ceremonial spearhead – which marked him out as a Service agent – was lying on a table. Abascantius’s note had asked him to bring it.

  Fairly certain that some of the later conversation might be less than cordial, he thought it wise to build some bridges. ‘I gather the campaign in Egypt went well, sir?’

  ‘Exceptionally. The Emperor has run out of patience with these bloody uprisings dragging him away from Rome and the situation in the West. The leaders were caught and killed with some speed. Several centuries have been left behind to reinforce Trajan’s Legion. There’ll be no more trouble from that quarter for a while; or Palmyra; or Arabia. It is my job to make sure of it – I have been promoted to the position previously occupied by Memor, with control over the Service in all the provinces east of Byzantium.’

  ‘Congratulations, sir,’ said Cassius, holding up his glass and hoping he had hidden his true reaction well. He felt sure this development would not work in his favour; the man who had already sent him on four treacherous missions now had even more power over his fate.

  Abascantius held up his glass too. ‘Thank you, Corbulo. And not only for your sentiment. Whatever you may think, I am aware that your successes have done nothing to harm my reputation with the Emperor and Marshal Marcellinus.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry we were unable to deliver another success in Berytus, sir.’

  ‘It seems this brother and sister were a capable pair. At least you disrupted their operation. You sent out the report as I instructed?’

  ‘Yes, sir – though the information on them is still very limited. We probably don’t even have their real names.’

  ‘At some point I will assign a significant force to investigate properly. For now, we have other priorities.’ Abascantius began munching through his dates.

  Cassius almost pressed him further: if the agent was going to try and send him off on some other mission, he wanted to know now.

  But it was the older man who spoke first. ‘You’re probably wondering why I asked you to bring the spearhead. It still identifies you as a member of the governor’s staff in Arabia. We need to change that to Syria – you won’t be spending all your time here but—’

  Shostra appeared in the doorway. ‘First course is ready.’

  ‘Are you addressing me?’ countered Abascantius.

  ‘Sir,’ grunted the Syrian.

  Cassius had long understood that the agent did not keep him around for his skills in the domestic realm. Shostra was simply a loyal thug who never asked twice when ordered to do his master’s dirty work.

  ‘Come, Corbulo. I don’t know about you but I’m starving.’

  Cassius wasn’t particularly hungry but he had to admit the housekeeper had done well. The first course was fresh sea bream, the second peppered lamb, dessert honey cakes and fig syrup. Cassius managed about half of each. When he finished his third glass of wine, he noted that his host did not request any more for the table.

  Abascantius also seemed keen to avoid – or at least delay – the inevitable clash. He talked mainly of events in Rome and the current state of affairs to the West, where the usurper Tetricus had held sway for several years. The attention of both the Emperor and the Senate was turning in that direction. After three years in power, Aurelian had finally subjugated the East; Tetricus represented the sole remaining serious threat to his rule. Cassius knew that his father and everyone else back home would be revelling in these successes and the first prospect of genuine stability for years. It should have meant a great deal to him too; yet he had given the situation barely a moment’s thought.

  When the housekeeper removed the plates, Abascantius planted his palms on the table and looked across at his guest. ‘I have made a provisional plan to promote you, Corbulo. You would be the senior man in Antioch, with command of all Service personnel in Syria. The role would keep you away from field operations and give you the break you need and deserve. Your pay will increase by a third; and you will be in charge of more than a dozen other agents, all of whom are some years older than you. Under the terms of your service, you have a year and a half left to serve. I would remind you – that is a fraction of what most of us must do. Unless a specific mission arose suited
to your particular skills, you would remain here in the capital before returning home.’

  Cassius considered his reply and took great care to remain calm. ‘I thank you, sir, sincerely. The post sounds … ideal. But I could not possibly commit to it at the moment. I do understand that I can’t continue the search indefinitely but I would ask for three months as a minimum.’

  Abascantius leaned back in his chair. ‘Six weeks have already passed. As you yourself admitted, there are no leads.’

  Cassius tried to interject but the agent continued. ‘Listen, if I honestly thought there was a reasonable chance of finding him, I would give you the time. But you’re better off working here. If anything solid comes in, I’ll let you go.’

  What annoyed, what hurt, Cassius the most, was that Abascantius wasn’t even using Indavara’s name; as if he had already forgotten him.

  ‘Sir, I simply cannot just wait. Indavara is out there somewhere. His only hope is that we find him.’

  ‘Corbulo, I’m sorry to have to say this but I think that’s unlikely. He was a gladiator. He killed, what, more than thirty men in the arena? And at least one other in Pietas Julia before I recruited him. There could be more we don’t know about. In all likelihood, this was a case of revenge.’

  ‘Then why not just kill him?’

  Abascantius didn’t give the answer, which was obvious: to torture him, punish him – slowly, painfully.

  ‘Unfortunately, I have dealt with similar cases before. Those in our trade have many enemies, those in his many more. His face and name were well known from his time in the arena; he could have been spotted anywhere. We have to accept that Indavara is probably dead.’

  Cassius felt tears forming in his eyes. The older man saw it and spared him by taking another drink. Cassius wiped his sleeve across his face.

  ‘There is another alternative for you,’ added Abascantius. ‘One that occurred to me after seeing the state of you this morning. Return home now. You’re due some leave, after all. You could spend a month in Ravenna with your family.’