‘What’s the name again, mate?’ asked Ruso.
‘Indavara,’ answered Cassius.
The bodyguard shot him a glare.
‘That’s it!’ said Ruso, slapping his hand down on his saddle. ‘I doubled my money on him. Right tough bugger. So what you doing here, mate?’
Indavara shrugged.
Another cavalryman joined the duo. ‘Did you say Indavara? Everyone the other side of Byzantium’s heard of him. Won twenty bouts and his freedom. Killed a seven-foot German, then a bear — with only a dagger. My sister was there.’
‘Well, well,’ said Cassius.
Simo was now listening in too.
‘Here, mate, show us a move or something!’ said Sita.
‘No, no, he’s not that type,’ said the third man. ‘Just hard and quick. Crafty too.’
Indavara took up his reins, turned his horse around and walked away up the road.
‘Come on!’ shouted Ruso. ‘Just a trick or something!’
‘Miserable sod,’ muttered Sita when Indavara was safely out of earshot.
The third legionary turned his attention to Cassius. ‘Is he your bodyguard, sir?’
‘He is.’
‘Must be costing you a fortune.’
Sita grinned mischieviously. ‘Just don’t get on the wrong side of him, sir.’
The cavalrymen went on their way.
Cassius and Simo looked up the road. Indavara glanced back at them for a moment, then kept walking.
X
Following the trail turned out to be surprisingly easy. Gregorius had kept to the track and only on very dry, hard soil did the wheel marks become unclear. Simo knew enough Aramaic to communicate with the goat-herder, who seemed thrilled to have a pony to ride and kept up a good pace throughout the day.
As evening approached, the track edged past a mountain; the western flank of a range that stretched forty miles to the east. The steep sides of the crag were striated by horizontal bands of yellow, brown and black; and the top seemed to have been cut away, forming a huge escarpment.
Cassius looked up at a pair of broad-winged eagles, circling hundreds of feet above. He knew from his map that the Antioch road followed a pass through the mountains, then struck north for the town of Seriane. Gregorius’s route cut between this range and a smaller one to the west.
As his decision to follow the trail seemed to have turned out well, Cassius’s spirits had lifted throughout the afternoon. He’d even had time to read the records of the other four legionaries — some of the men who had walked this very path two weeks earlier. Again, nothing of note stood out: four more highly decorated Italian veterans and no reason to believe they were anything other than reliable, honest soldiers.
‘Well,’ he said, turning to Simo. ‘They got this far.’
‘Indeed, sir.’
Cassius had told Simo and Indavara only the basics. They knew nothing of the banner — only that they were following a group escorting a precious cargo.
‘Would you like your cape, sir? It is rather chilly now.’
‘No, no. I’m fine.’
Cassius looked at the sun. ‘Another two or three hours of light. If we see another suitable building we’ll stop there.’
Even though they were now venturing deep into the Syrian desert, there always seemed to be some kind of structure in view. They had already seen three hamlets and several isolated stone-built houses, all long since abandoned. There had been no time to arrange tents, nor was there space to carry them; one of these old buildings would have to provide shelter for the night.
Cassius nodded over his shoulder. ‘I don’t think our ex-gladiator friend is enjoying himself.’
Though they’d already noted his lack of riding ability, only now did Cassius and Simo realise just how uncomfortable Indavara was in the saddle. He constantly berated his horse, though he hardly ever struck it; and was often seen squirming around, unable to find a comfortable riding position. They’d both offered a few words of advice but it was evident he’d never been taught properly.
So now Indavara was walking, towing the horse by its reins, trudging along with his head down.
‘It’s quite common for gladiators to become bodyguards,’ Cassius continued. ‘Certainly explains a lot.’
‘The scars, you mean, sir.’
‘Not just that, Simo. His demeanour. He was probably a captured prisoner of war, or — if our bad luck’s still with us — a criminal. Those men are kept alive only to fight. They are utterly brutalised. And he’s not been out that long. Two years ago that soldier said he saw him in the arena. No wonder he struggles with the niceties of everyday life.’
‘I suppose he must have killed many men.’
‘There’s no suppose about it. And with great efficiency judging by what I saw at the inn. Gods, to think we’re to spend nights out here alone with him.’
‘Do you really fear him, sir? He did help you yesterday.’
‘Only when he knew he would receive his money. You must keep our coins well hidden, Simo. Be on your guard around him. He may seem quiet, shy even — but don’t forget what he is.’
A sudden gust of wind blew around the base of the mountain. Cassius shivered.
‘I think I’ll take that cape after all.’
As the sun sank close to the horizon, the track led past a small farmhouse. Its uneven walls were formed of dark basalt blocks. It might have been twenty years old or a hundred. As Cassius, Simo and the Syrian dismounted, the Gaul translated the old man’s words.
‘He says they stopped here too.’
Cassius examined the disturbed ground in front of the doorway.
‘So I see.’
Recalling that Gregorius had set off at dusk (and had intended only to travel during the night) Cassius imagined they stopped at dawn; the darkness and the cart would have slowed them. The two parties had covered the same distance on the first leg of their journey.
He wandered inside the farmhouse. In one corner, close to the only window, were the remains of a small fire. The dusty floor was criss-crossed by footprints. Cassius imagined it must have been a squeeze to get them all in. Despite the gloom, he took the time to inspect every inch of floor while there was still enough light. He found only a few crusts of bread.
Outside, the Syrian was distributing fodder to the horses. Simo had removed his and Cassius’s saddles and was unpacking them in front of the farmhouse. Indavara arrived, still on foot. He dropped the reins and left his horse where it was, then sat below the window and undid his boots.
After all the talk of his violent past, and his concerns about the man, Cassius decided he would feel happier if he could at least strike up some kind of rapport with him.
‘I’ll have to give you some proper riding lessons.’
Indavara pulled off one boot and examined a nasty set of blisters on his heel.
‘I’m serious,’ Cassius added, standing over him. ‘I need you fit and fresh, and we’ve many a mile to go. You have to learn some time.’
‘Not now.’
‘Of course not now.’
‘I mean I don’t want to talk about it now.’
Indavara pulled off the other boot.
Cassius shrugged, then headed back inside.
‘Well, a rude bodyguard I can accept. A lame one I cannot.’
Cassius grabbed two blankets and lay down in a corner while Simo brought in their gear. He thought again of the legionaries. So they all had spotless records. But what if they’d found out what they were guarding? A lot of men had died in the last few months. The campaign against the Palmyrans had been difficult and costly and — with the state the Empire was in — few legionaries could expect a peaceful life over the next few years. Had one of them seen an opportunity for a way out? And what of Gregorius? Had he been the one tempted or coerced into an act of betrayal? Perhaps they were all innocent; victims of some unforeseen raid.
Despite these dark thoughts, Cassius was weary and he soon dozed off, only waking when he heard the metallic clank of pans.