The Earthly Gods Read online

The thought had never been so tempting. He had been away for three years. If not for Indavara, Cassius would have jumped at the chance. His last contact with his parents had been an exchange of letters a month ago; Cassius had confided that he didn’t know exactly what the future held. He had mentioned the counterfeiting investigation. He had not mentioned Indavara.

  ‘And after that?’

  ‘Though he has not met you, Chief Pulcher is well aware of your achievements. We will now see far more operations in Gaul and the surrounding provinces as the Emperor prepares to deal with Tetricus. I’m sure Pulcher could find something for you. If it were field work, we would of course find another bodyguard.’

  Not like him. There is no one like him.

  Cassius doubted he would have survived any of the assignments he’d been given without Indavara beside him. Could he even countenance continuing in the Service without him?

  Abascantius gave a half-smile, exposing his crooked, yellow teeth. ‘Cassius, as I said, we are not giving up on him.’

  That is exactly what you are doing.

  I will not. Not ever.

  ‘If we hear something – anything – worthy of investigation; you’ll be excused duty.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Take some time to think about what you want to do – remain here or return to Italy. But don’t take too long.’

  Cassius did not go straight home. Having made his excuses soon after the meal, he called in at The Sea Sprite, a superior tavern which – oddly – was some distance from any body of water. Using a trick he’d often employed, Cassius removed his cloak and stuffed it into his helmet, which he then held by the crest. Inside the gloomy tavern, only the most observant would notice there was an army officer present.

  The innkeeper had told him about The Sea Sprite, which was only a five-minute walk away. Cassius had made his enquiries subtly; he didn’t enjoy the judgemental looks Simo deployed when he knew his master had been out drinking and whoring. He often wondered what the Gaul would think if he knew Cassius now spent more time talking to the girls than bedding them. In fact, Cassius had not felt such bodily urges in weeks. He put this down to a combination of his drinking and his mental state. Compared to his other concerns, it didn’t worry him.

  Apart from its proximity and the quality of the girls, The Sea Sprite also boasted numerous private booths. Once ensconced, Cassius ordered a jug of Falernian and gave the serving-girl three sesterces to sit with him. He guessed at least two of these would go to the proprietors: a husband and wife team who at least seemed less avaricious than most of their kind.

  He had spoken to Isidora several times before. She was Thracian; a well-proportioned girl with a pleasant – if unexceptional – face. More importantly for Cassius, especially on this particular night, she was cheerful and knew enough of the world to make conversation worthwhile.

  Isidora allowed Cassius to pour her some wine, even though she was supposed to take it with water. They sat beside each other on one side of a booth, well away from the other patrons.

  ‘How was your day, Cassius?’

  He was glad she’d remembered not to call him ‘sir’.

  ‘Not very good.’ He swatted at an insect hovering close to the light. The oil lamp on the table was of a type he had seen before: bronze, with a well-rendered mouse forming part of the handle. It had been designed so that the creature appeared to have leaped on to the lamp.

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘You remember I told you about my friend?’

  ‘Yes. Any news?’

  ‘None. And worse, a man I thought would help doesn’t seem to want to.’

  ‘Is he a friend too?’

  ‘No. I don’t think he has any friends, to be honest.’

  ‘Is he a soldier?’

  ‘Yes. My superior.’

  ‘Soldiers usually come here in groups. Even officers.’

  ‘Our work is different. We’re not really soldiers at all.’

  They drank.

  Cassius put his hand on her knee and ran it up under her tunic until the flesh beneath his fingers became pleasingly soft.

  ‘Will we go upstairs later?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Apart from anything else, he couldn’t really spare the money. Most of his last wage payment from Abascantius was gone and Simo had mentioned that they were running short. He would have to look into it in the morning.

  He kissed her on the cheek then emptied his mug and refilled it.

  Isidora picked up the lamp – by the mouse – and moved it closer to him. She leaned forward and examined his face.

  ‘Most men have a better side. Not you.’ She made a small adjustment to his hair, which had grown quite long, with an unruly tuft at the front. ‘Taura says you are the most handsome man who ever walked into the Sprite.’

  ‘Who’s that – the leggy girl? No, the Carthaginian?’

  ‘The owner’s wife.’

  ‘Clearly a woman of great taste. And what do you think?’

  ‘Honestly, you’re a bit skinny for me. But if we put a wig on you and fixed your nose, you’d probably make more money than I do.’

  Cassius would have laughed if not for the mention of his nose. He pointed at it.

  ‘Do you know how that happened? I was in Africa – a prisoner of a centurion, would you believe? I was tied up. He just held it and twisted his hand and broke it. Snapped like a twig.’

  Isidora made a face then put down her wine and held his arm. She always wore the same pair of earrings – brass squares with a ‘jewel’ of green glass.

  Cassius added, ‘That’s the type of work I do.’

  ‘What happened? How did you get away?’

  ‘My friend killed him.’ Cassius drank more. ‘I wish you could see him. He is not very tall but he’s as strong as an ox. I’ve seen him take on four men and win. I’ve seen him face down a lion. He never takes a backwards step, never gives in. And he’s saved my life more times than I can count.’

  Isidora gave Cassius his wine. He drank, forced a smile and put an arm around her. ‘Last time you were telling me about your village.’

  ‘Yes, a boy disappeared from there too. I must have been around ten. Nobody could understand it. His family didn’t know anything; or his friends. He went to fetch water from a well and just didn’t come back.’

  She looked at Cassius. ‘I … sorry.’

  ‘It’s all right. They never found him?’

  She didn’t need to reply for him to know the answer.

  Having drunk nine tenths of the jug of Falernian, Cassius lurched out of The Sea Sprite and took two wrong turns off the Avenue of Herod and Tiberius before finding the right side street. Antioch was generally an easy place to navigate – with its copious street lighting and numerous landmarks – but what should have been a five-minute journey had already taken what he estimated to be … well, a long time.

  He had just decided to relieve himself against a wall when two watchmen came around a corner. Cassius put his hand up to block the glare of their lantern. He could see nothing of their faces beyond the light.

  ‘Where you headed, mate?’ The man with the lantern stepped forward.

  ‘Get that bloody thing out of my face!’

  He reached for the man’s arm but missed.

  When the other watchman clutched his wrist, Cassius shook it off. ‘Unhand me, you dolt.’

  ‘You best calm down, mate,’ said the first man, his accent as rough as Cassius had heard.

  When fingers gripped his shoulder, he lashed out with his fist. To his surprise, he connected with something soft. The fingers let go.

  He thought the clanging noise that followed must have been the watchman’s lantern. Then he realised the light was still there, though now several feet further away.

  ‘Right, you, my friend, are going to get a damn good—’

  ‘Hang on, Plancus. Look there – what he dropped.’

  ‘Shit. A crest. And a red cloak too.’

&nbs
p; The lantern was at last lowered. Their faces seemed blurred and unclear.

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ said one. ‘Centurion, is it?’

  ‘Officer,’ replied Cassius. He had to think quite hard to add anything more. ‘Imp … Imperial Security.’

  ‘Double shit.’

  ‘Sincere apologies, sir.’

  ‘From me too, sir. Here’s your helmet and cloak.’

  ‘Can we help you get home, sir?’

  III

  Cassius awoke on the floor of the inn’s parlour.

  When his eyes finally cleared, he spied Simo sitting on a chair, watching him, a mug of water ready in his hand. The Gaul informed his master that, late the previous night, he’d been summoned by the innkeeper to find Cassius slumped outside the front door. Between them they’d only managed to get him this far before he started vomiting. Once Simo had cleaned him up, they’d decided it was best to leave him there. The attendant had remained with him throughout the night.

  Once on his feet, Cassius apologised to both him and the innkeeper. He spent the remainder of the day in bed and the only three notable events occurred late on.

  The first was a check of the monetary situation. If all the accounts – including the inn and stable – were paid off, they would be left with less than fifty denarii. When Simo confided that he had not taken his allowance for that month, Cassius instructed him to do so immediately. He planned to ask Abascantius for an advance; he had used up his pay.

  The other two events involved post. The first letter was from the agent – reminding Cassius to let his superior know his decision swiftly. The second was from the basilica: another note from Kabir, identical to the others. As the sun set, Cassius wrote a reply to Abascantius, requesting the money and asking for a little more time to decide.

  He and Simo were awoken at dawn the following day, when the innkeeper knocked on the door and told Cassius that he had a visitor: and his name was Kabir.

  ‘How in Hades did he get this address?’

  ‘No idea, sir,’ said Simo as he pulled on his tunic.

  ‘Did you tell him I’m here?’ demanded Cassius of the innkeeper.

  The man shrugged. ‘I told him I’d ask if you’d see him.’

  ‘Gods.’ Cassius put his head in his hands. He really didn’t have the strength to deal with this now. Refusing Kabir’s help face to face would be extremely awkward.

  ‘Tell him I’m ill. Very ill. Close to death, in fact.’

  The innkeeper sighed.

  ‘Come on,’ said Cassius. ‘Can’t be the first time you’ve lied for a guest. There’s an extra two denarii in it for you if you get him to leave. Tell him I’m infectious. Very infectious.’

  ‘With what?’

  ‘Simo?’

  The big Gaul was not one for deceit. He wrung his hands as he considered his answer. ‘Er …’

  ‘Just say I’m delirious,’ said Cassius. ‘And coughing up blood. With a terrible rash. And my hair’s falling out. That should do it.’

  The innkeeper shook his head, then left, closing the door behind him.

  ‘Pitiful effort, Simo,’ said Cassius as he got up, clad only in his sleeveless sleeping tunic. ‘All that medical knowledge and you’re as useful as a candle in a snowstorm.’

  ‘Sir, excuse my impertinence but it might be easier to just see Kabir.’

  ‘You really think I should get involved? With all I’m dealing with? Simo, I know you and your kind believe it is a man’s duty to help every single person with every single problem but it’s simply not poss—’

  Cassius heard a loud thud from outside, like something landing on the ground. He walked over to the door and looked out into the flower garden. A tall, lean, brown-skinned man wearing a black tunic was walking towards him. Tucked into his belt was a long knife. His face was quite horrifying: a pale scar ran from his left eyebrow to the right side of his mouth. He didn’t really have a nose: just a pink mess of bone and flesh.

  His name was Idan; and Cassius had last seen him three years ago. Though his Latin was not good, he made himself very clear.

  ‘Enough lies, Roman. You will see Chief Kabir. If you wish to refuse him, at least have the courage to do so man to man.’

  ‘Good morning, Idan. I see you haven’t lost your powers of persuasion.’

  The appearance of Kabir was, to Cassius, far more shocking than that of his lieutenant. His long hair – tied with twine like the others – was now white where it had once been as black as the tunics the nomads wore. Though still striking, the feline green eyes had also lost much of their lustre.

  It was to the Syrian’s great credit that, after all Cassius’s efforts to avoid him, he still summoned a polite greeting and a handshake. He and Idan also greeted Simo warmly, with Kabir complimenting him on his loss of weight. The four had spent less than a week together but it had been under the most trying of circumstances. They had depended on each other and belonged to a select group – those who had survived the siege of Alauran. After losing virtually his entire force of auxiliaries, the nomad leader had pledged to never fight for Rome again.

  With him were two younger men, who Kabir introduced as his eldest son and his nephew. Both offered nothing more than grim glares through the doorway. When Cassius invited Kabir inside, the chief instructed the pair to wait outside in the inn’s main courtyard. All four Syrians seemed rather out of place in the city, with their long hair and the large, hooped rings they wore in their left ears.

  While Simo put some chairs out in the garden, Cassius spoke to Kabir. ‘My apologies for the lies. I would call my actions inexcusable but there is a reason why I did not reply. I have never forgotten what you did for me and for the garrison but … well, we’ve had some problems of our own. If you would allow me to explain?’

  Kabir nodded. The garden darkened as the sun was temporarily obscured by cloud. The two nomads sat down opposite Cassius. Somewhere beyond the inn, a group of labourers were lustily reciting a work song.

  Cassius described the events as swiftly as he could, making sure that Kabir understood what a debt he owed Indavara; and how his disappearance had affected both him and Simo. Shortly after he finished, the sun reappeared.

  As light filled the little space, both Kabir and Idan clasped their hands and spoke a brief invocation. They worshipped a Syrian sun god that Cassius had only ever heard them refer to as ‘The Glorious Fire’.

  Kabir ran a hand across his hair, then hunched forward. ‘Officer Corbulo, when I sent Idan over the wall I was angry. I know three years have passed but I felt I had the measure of you; and I was sure you would help. I could not understand why you would avoid me. Now I do.’

  Kabir’s Latin was flawless. Cassius recalled that his father had insisted he learn it, believing it was essential for trade.

  ‘Call me Cassius, please.’

  ‘Very well. I understand your situation because I face something similar and I too have been unable to think of anything else. My daughter was taken three months ago; along with two other girls. They had been sent to a market to fetch fruit. Our camp was less than a mile away from the town. We had dozens out searching as soon as we learned what had happened. For three days we remained there and I believe we spoke to every single man and woman. The town was not well known to us but we eventually learned that a gang of slave traders had been in the area. They were preying exclusively on young, attractive girls. The only name that we heard, and we heard it several times, was that of a man known only as Hood – because he always hides his face. The town was to the east, not far from Beroea. We knew they would most likely be taken west, away from those that knew them – to where they can be … used.’

  Idan put a hand on his chief’s shoulder.

  Kabir took a moment to compose himself before continuing. ‘We arrived here two weeks ago and paid another Roman officer we had fought with to look into it. He’s only an optio but he discovered that this “Hood” is known to the authorities – his true name is Tychon.’

 
; ‘Is that how you found me?’

  ‘The optio told me to ask at the basilica. When you didn’t reply, I paid a servant who works there to find out where you were staying.’

  ‘It is fortuitous in a way,’ said Cassius. ‘I have only been back in Antioch for a few weeks. This Tychon – do you know where he is now?’

  ‘We do. But we can’t get to him. You are our last chance. He is in the prison tower. He will be executed tomorrow.’

  Cassius ordered Simo to bring out some wine; and also to give mugs to the pair waiting outside.

  Kabir explained that though Tychon’s involvement in the illegal slave trade was known, his punishment was unrelated. He had been sentenced to execution on account of two charges of murder. Once back in Antioch, he had broken into the home of a long-standing enemy and killed both the man and his wife in their bed. Unfortunately for him, a dog had raised the alarm and he had run from the dwelling straight into a pair of watchmen. They came off best. Tychon still had the incriminating bloodstained knife stuck into his belt. The magistrate had been pursuing him for some time and the judicial prefect had taken only minutes to review the evidence and make his decision.

  ‘Well, can you do anything?’ asked Kabir.

  ‘Probably. In theory, I should request permission from the magistrate but I doubt they’ll put up much resistance at the tower if I want to see a condemned man.’

  This would not be the first time Cassius had visited the place where Antioch’s prisoners were held: during the affair of the imperial banner, Simo’s father had been incarcerated for assisting the controversial bishop, Paul of Samosata.

  ‘Do you know for sure that he and his associates took your daughter?’

  ‘No. But this is all we have. With so much time having passed, Aikaterine could be anywhere.’

  ‘How old is she?’

  ‘Seventeen. The others too. My wife, her sisters … they …’

  ‘I can imagine. Kabir, I am truly sorry that I did not answer you sooner. You do understand that they will not let you into the tower?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘In fact, it’s probably best if I go alone. You have to trust me – if there’s anything useful to be had from this Tychon, I will get it.’