‘From Chief Pulcher,’ said the agent.
Despite his fears, Cassius couldn’t ignore the slight tingle of excitement. The commander of the Imperial Security Service was not known for readily doling out praise but even a brief glance at the letter revealed its tone of genuine gratitude.
‘An official commendation,’ continued Abascantius. ‘For your efforts in tracking down those responsible for the death of Deputy Chief Memor.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Your report was very detailed. That murdering piece of shit Carnifex sounds like quite a foe. You did remarkably well.’
‘I had a lot of help, sir.’
Abascantius replaced the folder on the table and retrieved his wine.
‘I must admit I didn’t expect a lot when I put you and our ex-gladiator friend together all those months ago, but you have proven yourself a potent combination. The affair with the flag must of course remain secret but this last investigation — Pulcher tells me there’s even been talk of it in the Senate.’
As Cassius placed the letter on the table, the tingle of excitement became a pulse. He took a long drink and wondered whether any of the talk had reached his father. At last, something for the old man to be truly proud of.
Abascantius raised his mug and gave a toothy grin. Excitement turned to trepidation once more as Cassius realised the flattery was purely to soften him up. Now the agent would work his way round to what he was really doing in Bostra. The Emperor himself was currently leading his legions east and would soon be arriving in Syria to deal with the second Palmyran revolt. What could be important enough to drag Abascantius away from his duties in Antioch?
The older man belched, then reached into a money bag on his belt. He took out a handful of coins then leaned towards the fire, looking for one in particular. When he found it, he threw it to Cassius. ‘Tell me what you see.’
Cassius put down his wine and shuffled along the bench so that he too could see it better. ‘An old denarius.’
The obverse was quite worn; he couldn’t read the legend around the portrait. ‘Not sure which emperor that is.’ He turned the coin over and examined the reverse. The image on this side was clearer — four horses leading a cart with a round object inside. Beneath was a single word. ELAGABAL.
‘Ah. Elagabalus. The Syrian boy priest who somehow ended up emperor. If memory serves he liked to wear women’s clothes and set up a brothel in the palace. Ended up dead in a sewer after four years in charge. My grandfather, and many other people, consider him to be one of the worst emperors of all time.’
‘And in the cart?’
‘The fabled black stone. He’d worshipped it as a child then took it with him from Emesa to Rome. A sacred rock that spoke with a voice from above.’ Cassius handed the coin back. ‘Or some such rubbish.’
‘Given the views of our current ruler, it might be wise to keep statements like that to yourself.’
‘It’s true, then, sir? Aurelian really does favour the solar religions of the east now?’
‘I don’t know about “favour”. He’s certainly interested in them, though unlike Elagabalus he’s too wise to elevate them above Jupiter and the other great gods. But he has recently set about acquiring the most notable icons associated with Sol or whatever name you wish to give him and placing them in the Palatine temple. The black stone is perhaps the most well known of them all. Aurelian intends — was intending — to add it to his collection.’
Cassius took a longer swig of wine to steady his nerves. ‘Something tells me that what comes next might bode ill for me. This is starting to remind me of our first conversation regarding a certain missing flag.’
Abascantius glared at him. ‘May I continue?’
‘Sorry.’
‘After the demise of Elagabalus the stone was returned to the great temple at Emesa. It has remained there for the last five decades, watched over by a brotherhood of priests. When the Emperor recently elected to lead the second campaign against Palmyra himself, he also decided to take the stone back with him to Rome. A detachment was assigned to guard the temple and await his arrival. When I left Antioch, the grand army had just crossed into Cilicia. The Emperor will reach Syria in a few weeks; and the attack on Palmyra will commence soon after. Once that is concluded, he will move on to Emesa. The unfortunate Governor Gordio will have to inform him that the stone is no longer there.’
Cassius’s headache had begun as soon as he entered the kitchen and was worsening by the moment. He closed his eyes and massaged his brow.
‘You needn’t despair just yet, Corbulo. I know where it is.’
Cassius put down his hand.
‘Here,’ added Abascantius. ‘In Arabia. Where exactly I’m not sure, but I know a man who does.’
‘Sir, please. I beg you not to continue. There must be someone else who can take this on.’
‘I haven’t told you what I want you to do yet.’
‘Find the stone?’
‘Well, yes, but-’
Cassius could control himself no longer. He shot to his feet and lashed his boot back onto the bench. It hovered for a moment, then crashed noisily to the floor.
Abascantius looked up at him, stunned. ‘What in Hades do you think you’re doing, you little turd? Sit down!’
Cassius heard himself say, ‘No.’
‘What?’ The agent put down his wine.
‘Sir, this is simply not fair. You have asked me to shoulder a great deal already. I do not see why I should be responsible for sorting out every single problem that-’
Despite his size, Abascantius moved with surprising speed. He leaped out of the chair, grabbed Cassius’s tunic and pushed him back against the wall beside the hearth.
‘It seems I shall have to remind you of a few things, Corbulo. First — you do not question me. Understood? Don’t say anything, just nod.’
Cassius nodded; and tried not to inhale any of Abascantius’s putrid breath. The agent’s fingers scraped across his chest, pulling his tunic tight around his neck.
‘Second — recall that you are still a man making up for lost time — the two years you spent avoiding your Service duties by hiding in Cyzicus.’
It had actually been twenty months, but Cassius wasn’t about to quibble.
‘You may have covered yourself in glory of late but things change. Things can always change.’
Abascantius let go and took a step backwards. He flattened Cassius’s tunic down and placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘Look at me.’
Cassius did so. ‘Profound apologies, sir. I didn’t-’
‘Just listen, lad. I have two words for you. One is deserter. The other is hero. Which do you prefer?’
‘Certainly not the former, sir. But I am no hero.’
‘False modesty doesn’t suit you. Sit down.’
Abascantius took Cassius’s drink and pushed it into his hand, then coaxed him down onto the bench.
Muranda looked in through the doorway.
‘It’s all right,’ said Cassius shakily. ‘On with your work.’
Abascantius sat down. ‘And for the record, I’ve only actually given you one assignment that turned out to be dangerous. You took on the Memor investigation yourself.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Why?’
Cassius shrugged. ‘The local magistrate was an idiot. Memor’s family were bereft. Somebody had to do something.’
‘There, what did I tell you? A hero. By Mars, Corbulo, you even have the looks for it — especially now you’re starting to roughen up around the edges.’
Cassius took another drink as Abascantius continued.
‘Believe me, I would take charge of this myself if I could but I must ride directly from here to a meeting with Prefect Venator. The Fourth Legion is to lead the counter-attack against the Palmyrans and Marshal Marcellinus has tasked me with the scouting operation.’
‘Sir, it’s just that I had begun to settle in here. The province has its own problems and the governor has given me the task of acquiring information on the tribal chieftains. Essential work.’