‘At a guess, I’d say a swordfish,’ replied Cassius.
‘Quite right, sir,’ said Simo. ‘Very tasty with some lemon and a few herbs.’
‘Perhaps we can get some for dinner,’ said Cassius, heading across the road to the way station with something of a spring in his step. Cilicia had been difficult and tiring, the sea crossing equally arduous, and he was glad both were behind him. He’d always hoped to visit Rhodes at some point in his life and it felt good to be in a new city, hopefully with a little time to explore.
The way station was marked by a solid bronze plaque engraved with the legend ‘SPQR’. Without being told, Simo retrieved Cassius’s ceremonial spearhead from a saddlebag and handed it to him.
‘Wait here a moment,’ he told the others as he hurried inside. Ahead of him was a long corridor. Immediately to the right was a shadowy room where a young clerk sat slumped at an empty desk. He had clearly been dozing but stood up with creditable speed as Cassius strode in.
‘Officer Corbulo.’
‘Yes, sir. Good afternoon, sir.’
The clerk — who was no more than sixteen — looked at the three-foot spearhead, which identified Cassius as a member of a governor’s staff. The fact that the title engraved on the badge was that of the Governor of Syria was irrelevant; any man in possession of a spearhead was considered to be of a rank equivalent to a centurion.
Cassius heard someone marching down the corridor towards them.
‘I require lodgings for three,’ he told the clerk, removing his helmet. ‘Tonight and possibly longer. Is there space here?’
‘Er, yes, sir. Yes, that should be fine.’
‘Afternoon, sir.’
Cassius turned to find a broad, middle-aged soldier behind him.
‘Optio Clemens, sir. The lad will go and get the maid to prepare those rooms for you.’
The clerk warily rounded them and jogged along the corridor. Clemens glanced at the spearhead. ‘Might I ask why you’re here, sir?’
‘I’m with Imperial Security,’ Cassius replied, smoothing down his hair. ‘Here to see Master Augustus Marius Memor. Can you direct me to his villa?’
Not many people would have noticed the subtle change in Clemens’s expression once he heard the young officer before him was a ‘grain man’. Legionaries generally maintained a dim view of the Service, believing it to be a corrupt organisation full of liars and thieves not courageous or honourable enough for real soldiering. Cassius did notice.
‘I can,’ Clemens answered evenly. ‘He likes to keep himself to himself as a rule — for obvious reasons. We get plenty of post for him.’
‘Nothing for me, by the way?’
‘No, sir.’
Apart from accommodating and assisting army officers, the key function of a way station was to facilitate the delivery of the imperial post.
‘Here, sir, I can show you the way?’
Clemens reached under the desk and pulled out a roll of thick paper. ‘You came in on that freighter, I presume?’
‘Indeed.’
Clemens gestured towards the grilled window. ‘This is known as the Great Harbour. The one to the north is the Little Harbour, though they’re actually about the same size now.’
Clemens pointed at the map. ‘The road out front runs all the way along the sea wall. Follow it to the east. Then, when you reach the edge of the harbour here, turn south — inland along the Via Alexandria. You’ll eventually reach the village of Amyndios about here. Memor’s place is a hundred yards short of the square. There’s no plaque on the gate but it’s the biggest villa there and has an orchard of peach trees.’
‘How far?’
‘Four miles or so.’
‘How many hours of light left?’
Clemens hurried to the doorway and looked out. ‘Perhaps three.’
The optio glanced at the others and the pile of bags.
‘We’ll need some horses,’ said Cassius, now behind him in the corridor.
‘Let’s get your men and your gear inside, sir, then I’ll take you through to the stables.’
Leaving Simo to settle in, Cassius and Indavara were soon heading back past the fish market, this time on horseback. Clemens only had one legionary with him at the way station but they’d swiftly saddled up the mounts and the optio assured Cassius that their rooms would be ready within the hour.
Cassius always tried to be as reasonable as possible with common soldiers — especially when he was dependent on their cooperation — but it was usually an uphill battle. Their suspicion of the Service was deeply ingrained — with some justification he knew — but it pained him to be repeatedly judged so harshly by men he’d just met. All things considered, Clemens had been exceptionally polite and helpful. Cassius wondered what he and the legionary would be saying now.
‘So who’s this man we’re going to see?’ Indavara asked as they passed a little fishing boat coming in alongside the quay.
Cassius shook his head. ‘Do you remember anything I’ve taught you? Straighten your back and ease your grip on the reins. You’ll pull the poor thing’s teeth out if you’re not careful.’
Indavara rolled his eyes.
‘Open your fingers — you’re not holding a sword.’
Cassius waited for him to comply before answering the question. ‘We are going to visit Augustus Marius Memor — the Service’s second in command beneath Chief Pulcher. As I understand it, he’s in charge of affairs in Africa and the East. We’re to take some documents to Abascantius back in Antioch. I imagine he’s keen to get them before winter sets in.’
‘Africa is close to here?’
‘South — a few hundred miles. In fact I believe the god Helios was Egyptian.’
‘Why do so many wild animals come from Africa?’
Cassius sighed. He often felt like a teacher when talking to Indavara. ‘I’ve no idea. Fewer people perhaps. More space and food for them.’
‘I’d like to see a lion,’ said Indavara.
‘You never had to fight one?’ Cassius asked.
‘No.’
‘I saw one once, but it was in a menagerie. Mangy old thing.’
‘I’d like to see a crocodile too,’ Indavara continued. ‘And a rhinoceros. I once heard of a fight between a rhinoceros and three bulls. They chained them together.’
‘People do love to see animals tear bits out of each other.’
Cassius pointed towards a patch of beach where twenty or so men stood in a circle, watching a pair of fighting cocks. Outside the circle were other birds in cages. Feathers shed by the anxious creatures covered the sand.
‘Not only animals,’ Indavara said as they came to the end of the sea wall.
‘Here’s the turn.’
Cassius led the way as they rounded a corner and headed up a slight incline along the Via Alexandria. This was an area of warehouses and boatyards and fishermen’s huts. A pair of old women sat on a bench, stitching a thick net as they watched the riders pass.
‘What was it like? The arena?’ Cassius asked. ‘You never really talk about it.’
Indavara cast a weary sideways glance at him but eventually relented. ‘Quick. It was always over so quick. For months you’d just wait and train. Then suddenly you were told you were fighting — in a few days, or even the next day. You had to be ready. And not just your body.’ Indavara tapped his head. ‘I saw men shout at themselves for hours before a contest, even bang their skulls against the wall until the blood ran. Others would just sit and cry. By the time they had to actually fight, they had nothing left in them. I remember one man killed himself just before he was to go up. Shoved a latrine sponge down his throat.’
‘By the gods. And you — how did you prepare?’
‘Did as little as I could. The night before there was always a big meal — drink too if you wanted it. I never even went. Once the day came, I’d try and sleep, do a few exercises just before I was taken up.’
‘Sleep? How could you sleep?’
‘As long as I’m not on a boat I can always sleep.’
‘But thinking about it, what you faced …’
Indavara shrugged. ‘It was coming — whatever I thought. Nothing I could do except try to get through it. One old boy, he said to me: “They’re the cats. We’re the mice. They’ll play with us, then leave us in pieces, bleeding on the ground.”’