‘I tell you you’re wrong,’ repeated Nennius.
‘Do you know what that is, legionary?’ asked Cassius, aiming a thumb at Simo.
The Gaul held the spear-head up. It took Nennius a while to process this new development. He looked back at Papus. The younger man shrugged.
‘I see you do,’ Cassius continued. ‘Tomorrow I am to meet with the commander of your legion, Prefect Venator. I’m sure he’ll be most interested to hear of this encounter. Optio Rullus too.’
Now Nennius moved his hand towards his sword.
Cassius swiftly decided on a different approach.
‘However, if you three get on your horses and leave at once, this need go no further.’
Nennius let out an anxious sigh. Papus — at least aware that he was too drunk to make a decision — shrugged again.
After what seemed an eternity, Nennius nodded slowly, then scratched at his nose.
‘Come out, Vulso!’
Cassius heard a door open inside, then soft footsteps. The tall, wiry legionary who appeared was carrying his boots in one hand, his belts and weapons in the other. His state of inebriation seemed to be somewhere between the other two. There were livid scratches on his neck and face.
‘Morning,’ Cassius said evenly. Another thing he had learned in the last two years was the value of civil formality, even when dealing with infantrymen.
Cassius would have preferred to take on the other two than Vulso alone. Despite the drink, Cassius noted the immaculate state of his belt and scabbard. He looked like a man who loved his weapons; and men who loved their weapons usually loved using them.
‘You lads were involved in the fighting, I expect,’ Cassius said.
Silence.
‘Emesa? Immae?’
‘Both,’ said Nennius.
‘And quite rightly you feel entitled to a little reward. Fair enough. But that’s what whore-houses are for. I’m sure Palmyra has its share.’
Vulso nodded towards the building. ‘You haven’t seen her.’
‘To the victor the spoils, sir,’ offered Nennius.
‘The spoils of war do not extend to indiscriminate rape. Not among the armies of Rome at least. But if you go now, you have my word that news of this will not reach your superiors.’
Nennius and Vulso exchanged glances, then shrugged. Vulso bent over and put his boots on, then he and Nennius walked away towards the stable.
‘I don’t get a turn?’ asked Papus.
‘I didn’t even get mine,’ Vulso replied over his shoulder. ‘Was hard enough to get the feisty little bitch on the ground.’
It seemed to take forever for the three legionaries to mount up. Whenever they exchanged a word, Cassius feared one of them was pointing out that it was two against three; that they could easily do away with the young officer and his servant, then do as they pleased and hide the evidence of their crimes.
But after a few wary looks at Cassius, they eventually rode out of the courtyard.
As soon as the cart disappeared, Simo hurried into the building. Cassius led both horses over to a trough by the stable. He was sweating heavily. He looked down at the moist cotton under his arms. He hated sweating.
Once the horses had had their fill, he took a drink from his canteen and went to fetch Simo. Behind the door was an empty storeroom. The old woman was kneeling over the girl, Simo beside her. The girl was indeed pretty, though no more than thirteen or fourteen; and Cassius realised that she was in fact the old woman’s granddaughter. Her face was marked around her mouth, her nose bloodied. She was whimpering; and when she caught sight of Cassius, she pulled her knees up under her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs.
‘Come, Simo,’ said Cassius.
‘She needs help, sir,’ said the Gaul.
‘Her grandmother can help her.’
‘Just a few moments more, sir.’
‘No. Not one moment more.’
Simo spoke a few more words of Aramaic, then stood. Cassius was almost outside when the old woman scuttled after him, threw herself at his feet again and grabbed his tunic. Simo put a hand to her shoulder and spoke to her but the old woman wouldn’t move, instead twisting the material in her hands, staring up at Cassius as she pleaded.
‘Simo, just tell her we can do no more for the girl, we must-’
‘She’s not talking about the girl, sir. She asks you to recover the grain. Those bags are all they have. Months of work. She doesn’t know how they will survive. They-’
Cassius couldn’t believe Simo was bothering to translate the old crone’s every word.
‘Get her off me, damn you!’
Simo grabbed both the old woman’s shoulders but her grip was surprisingly strong. Cassius tried to drag his legs free but she still wouldn’t budge. Only when he gripped both her hands and wrenched them away could he finally move.
‘By the gods!’
Cassius’s kick almost knocked the door off its hinges. It bounced back and narrowly missed him as he stalked outside.
‘Get on your horse, Simo. We are leaving.’
Cassius strode over to his mount and leapt up on to the saddle. After a couple of steps it veered left, earning itself a vicious kick.
‘Why I must be dragged down into the shit like this I will never know!’ Cassius hissed between clenched teeth.
Simo was hurrying towards his own steed, the old woman not far behind.
Cassius caught sight of the young girl. She was on her feet, holding on to the door to keep herself up. Cassius hadn’t noticed before, but mounted above the entrance were three stone carvings; religious icons placed there to protect the home and the people within.
‘Your gods have failed you,’ he muttered bitterly.
He yanked the reins and kicked down hard, sending his horse charging round the stable and up the slope.
IV
They passed the boundary line in the middle of the afternoon. Later, as the sky darkened around them, Cassius had long realised they wouldn’t reach Palmyra. The road remained eerily quiet and — apart from a few merchants heading west — the only other traveller they’d encountered was an imperial courier. He had charged round a bend, his galloping steed kicking up swathes of dust, only stopping because of Cassius’s frantic waving. Pausing for a few breathy words, the courier advised them to seek shelter at an occupied way-station on the road about ten miles west of Palmyra.
Now, as they urged their weary mounts up a hill, Cassius hoped that the smudge of yellow light ahead was coming from that very building. He looked back at Simo. The Gaul’s horse had earlier turned a hoof on a stone and was now limping up the slope, Simo dragging it along by the reins. Cassius sat up straight, tightened his grip and concentrated on keeping his steed away from the road-edge.
The final moments of the journey were interminable, and when they finally dismounted, he let out a mighty breath.
‘Thank Jupiter that’s done.’
The way-station was built of smooth limestone blocks. On each side of a solid-looking wooden door were shuttered windows. Hanging from a hook was a lantern that cast a faint yellow glow.
Cassius flicked his reins over the saddle and approached the door, cursing with every painful step. He knocked and waited. A small hatch slid open and a square of young, narrow face stared out at them.
‘Who’s there?’
Simo held up the spear-head as his master spoke.
‘Cassius Quintius Corbulo, Governor’s Office. I’m to meet with Prefect Venator of the Fourth Legion tomorrow and require lodgings for the night.’
Beckoning fingers appeared so Simo brought the spear-head closer. Peering at the badge, the man made a neutral sound then withdrew. Two bolts were drawn and the door opened.
The legionary standing before them was a skinny individual whose belt hung loosely around his waist. One of his boot laces trailed along the ground as he walked past them into the middle of the road. He looked east, then west.