The pain in Cassius’s neck suddenly seemed to double. It was alarming to see this noble, powerful man reduced to such statements. Venator was staring blankly down at a large puddle next to his horse as the rain continued to fall.
‘I remember once hearing some Persian prisoners talking about Faridun’s Banner. It means as much to them as a legion standard does to us. More even. Gods — if it can’t be recovered.’ Venator shook his head. ‘Abascantius. I should have known better than to help that fat slug.’ He cast a wary glance at Cassius, as if regretting his words.
Cassius realised that he still didn’t fully appreciate the reach and reputation of the Service. If a prefect acted like this around him, no wonder ordinary legionaries were so wary.
‘What do you think of your superior?’ asked Venator.
‘He’s quite a character, sir. I suppose “fat slug” makes a change from “Pitface”.’
Venator gave a grim smile. He ran an eye over Cassius.
‘I must say, you don’t seem like the Service type at all, Corbulo.’
‘Long story, sir.’
Venator’s horse was startled by something and backed off the road. The prefect swiftly got it under control and spoke softly to the animal, gently patting its neck.
‘What do you need from me?’
‘Everything you know, sir. The treasure and the flag, the men recruited from you, Gregorius’s plans.’
‘The first two I can help you with. The third I cannot. You can thank your paranoid friend Abascantius for that.’
Legion quartermaster was the pinnacle of achievement for a Roman soldier. Typically lifers with twenty years under their belt, they had a range of responsibility second only to the prefect. They made hundreds of decisions a day and were responsible for an organisation with a larger population than most towns and a budget to match. They were both the heart and backbone of a legion; but as well as being the peak of a legionary’s career, it was also the limit.
Only men from aristocratic families could expect to become tribunes or prefects. And though they were rarely avid supporters of the Imperial Security Service, the officers were political animals; and they understood the reasons for the Service’s existence, perhaps even viewing it as a necessary evil.
Quartermasters — like most career soldiers — usually held a different view. They saw the Service and its agents as little more than unprincipled liars and cheats; shadowy figures who held dear none of the army principles of unity, dedication and loyalty. Within moments of meeting Quartermaster Lollius of the Fourth Legion, Cassius knew he would not be one to break with tradition.
‘Corbulo,’ announced Venator. ‘He’s with Imperial Security.’
‘Good afternoon,’ said Cassius as he gripped the forearm of the burly quartermaster. He was ready for the squeeze but struggled not to wince as the thick fingers dug into his skin. He’d had quite enough manhandling for one day.
‘You shall of course cooperate fully and extend him every courtesy,’ added Venator.
‘Of course, sir,’ replied Lollius coolly.
They were standing inside a large, stuffy tent close to the main entrance. Upon finding Lollius there, Venator had ordered the half dozen clerks outside so that they might have some privacy. Lollius had dealt closely with Gregorius so Venator wanted him present to answer the questions he couldn’t.
The three men were surrounded by tables, most of which were covered with papers and writing equipment. Venator found himself a high-backed chair and sat down. Cassius and the quartermaster each located a stool.
‘Begin,’ said Venator, waving a hand at Cassius.
Slightly startled, Cassius realised he should have made a list of questions or at least brought Simo to take some notes. He nodded at a nearby stack of blank papyrus sheets.
‘May I?’
Venator nodded.
Cassius took a reed pen, two sheets of papyrus and a wooden tablet to lean on. There was an awkward moment as he tried to get the ink flowing. Shaking the pen, he noted Lollius’s disdainful stare. The pupil of the quartermaster’s left eye was surrounded by red instead of white. Cassius forced himself to look away.
At last ink dripped from the nib. Cassius reminded himself not to hurry the discussion; he might not get this opportunity again.
‘First, sir, how and when did the treasure and the banner come into your possession?’
‘Neither went west with the Emperor because it wasn’t with the rest of the booty at the palace,’ answered Venator, slumped sideways in the chair. ‘There’s a big abandoned temple to the south of the Damascus Gate which the Palmyrans used as an armoury. We took it after the surrender but the treasure wasn’t found for a few weeks because it was hidden in a secret crypt. After Aurelian had left. When, Lollius?’
The quartermaster consulted a thick, leather-bound tome: the legion logbook.
‘August 15th.’
‘If you say so,’ replied Venator. ‘You were there when Tarquinius found it, weren’t you?’
Lollius nodded. ‘We were looking for some storage space outside the city.’
Venator turned to Cassius. ‘Tarquinius is a centurion from the Third Cohort. Good man. Sensible.’
‘I’d like to see this crypt if possible,’ said Cassius.
‘Lollius can show you later.’
The quartermaster looked less than enthusiastic about doing so.
‘And what happened then, sir?’ asked Cassius.
‘I notified Marcellinus immediately by coded letter, including a list of everything we’d found and a description of the flag. Then we locked the crypt and posted a permanent eight-man guard there. None of them knew what they were guarding.’
‘I’ll need to speak to this Tarquinius too.’
‘Not possible,’ answered Venator, straightening the golden edging of his cloak. ‘His cohort’s back in Zeugma.’
‘Do you at least have a copy of his records here?’
‘No. They’ll be in Zeugma too.’
‘I’m afraid I must explore every eventuality,’ Cassius said quietly. The list of those who had to be considered suspects continued to grow. It now included Lollius, Tarquinius and Venator himself.
‘I received a note from Tarquinius yesterday,’ said the prefect. ‘Confirming that he and his cohort had arrived safely.’
‘And when did you hear back from Marcellinus?’
Lollius checked the logbook again.
‘Reply received August 24th.’
Venator continued: ‘He had found out what the standard was and discussed the matter with the Emperor. He said the Service was to deal with the return of the flag and the treasure. In the same pouch were instructions from Abascantius, saying this Gregorius was on his way.’
‘And when did Gregorius arrive?’
‘Last day of August,’ said Venator.
Lollius nodded without checking the book.
Cassius made a note, as he had for all the important dates.
‘Did anything unusual happen in the period between notifying Antioch and Gregorius’s arrival?’
‘Almost certainly, this is Palmyra,’ said Venator, leaning back and crossing his arms. ‘But nothing to do with this matter as I recall. We alternated the guard regularly. No one else was allowed inside.’ He shrugged. ‘I was away to the east a lot of the time.’
‘We followed the marshal’s instructions to the letter,’ affirmed Lollius. ‘A couple of days before Gregorius got here, Tarquinius and I wrapped up all the booty and packed it into small barrels. Low-value coins were scattered on top and the lids were nailed down. It took us a whole day.’
‘Just the two of you, sir?’ asked Cassius.
‘I’d have liked to have given the job to some of the lads, believe me, but we were told not to involve any more men than was necessary.’
‘How many barrels were there?’
‘Eighteen,’ stated Lollius, wiping his red eye, which was now weeping.
‘And what happened when Gregorius got here?’
‘He arrived early in the morning and I spoke to him right away,’ answered Venator. ‘He was desperate to see the flag. Had a sketch of it. We took him to the temple and he confirmed it was genuine. Then he told us he wanted to leave that night. Said he would provide the transport but that he’d need ten of our best men. Lollius here wasn’t particularly happy about it but Gregorius had his authorisation.’