Outside it had grown dark. The other three were inside: Simo had an oil lamp lit and was taking food out of a sack; Indavara and the Syrian were setting up their beds.
‘Ah, you’re awake, sir,’ said the Gaul. ‘What do you think about a fire? Nice to have something hot — I’ve a pot of stew here. I can warm you some wine too.’
‘I don’t see why not. The other party did.’
‘Perhaps that was their first mistake,’ observed Indavara.
‘Go ahead, Simo,’ said Cassius. ‘We’ve not seen anyone for hours.’
Simo nodded and reached into the little bag where he kept his fire-starting equipment. The old man said something, stood up and walked outside.
‘He’s checking on the horses,’ explained Simo as he laid some kindling — dry grass and bark — in a circle next to his firewood.
‘Tell him to make sure they’re well roped,’ said Cassius. As the Gaul did so, Indavara picked up his quiver and moved close to the oil lamp. He selected an arrow and began checking the shaft and feathering. Cassius sat down next to him.
‘Those men said they’d seen you fight at Pietas Julia. That’s where you won your freedom?’
‘Yes.’
‘How?’ asked Cassius, looking on as Simo wrapped a square of char-cloth around one end of a knapped flint.
‘It was promised that any fighter who survived twenty matches would be set free.’
‘Twenty. That’s a lot, isn’t it?’
Cassius didn’t know much about the games; his family rather disapproved of them. He shared their view that it was a barbaric practice but he’d always been curious about what went on inside the arena.
‘It is,’ replied Indavara.
Simo now brought out the fire-striker: a c-shaped implement made of iron.
‘When was this?’ Cassius asked.
‘About a year and a half ago.’
‘And how did you end up in Syria?’
At last Indavara met Cassius’s gaze. ‘Why are you asking me so many questions?’
Simo set himself, then brought the striker down against the flint. He got a good spark, but the char-cloth didn’t take light and it eventually took him five attempts to get a flame. He delicately set light to the kindling and was soon adding the first pieces of wood.
Cassius answered: ‘It seems we shall be spending a good deal of time together. Perhaps it would be nice to know a little about each other. You may ask questions of me if you wish.’
Indavara thought about this for a moment. He ran two fingers down the arrow’s feathers to straighten them.
‘At the inn yesterday. Why did those men attack you?’
‘There was a misunderstanding.’
Indavara frowned. ‘Must have been a big one.’
‘It’s complicated,’ Cassius replied, thinking that a genuine explanation of what had occurred would make him seem extremely foolish.
Simo was now setting up the arrangement of iron rods that would support the spit above the fire.
‘They can be dangerous,’ said Indavara.
‘Who? Celts?’
‘No. Inns.’
‘Occasionally.’
‘That’s why I had to leave Pietas.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The inns.’
Exasperated, Cassius threw up his hands. ‘Stop speaking in riddles, man. Explain yourself.’
Indavara frowned and rubbed the back of his neck but then continued: ‘The inns. Every time I went in one, somebody would want to fight me.’
‘Ah, I see — to prove themselves. Test you. You grew tired of it.’
‘Yes. And I killed a man.’
Cassius only just managed not to look at Simo.
‘Go on.’
‘I didn’t mean to. But there were four of them. I was in a corner. Nobody would help. Other people were betting money on who would win. Afterwards, the magistrate’s men came looking for me.’
‘So you left, headed east?’
‘I used up what money I had to get to Byzantium.’
‘And what happened there?’
‘A man recognised me from the games. Said he had a job for me.’
‘Abascantius?’
‘No, someone else. I worked for him for a few months. He recommended me to Abascantius. From Byzantium we went to Tarsus, then Aleppo. I had to guard a man and his wife at their villa. That job finished. Then I was sent to meet you.’
‘How do you like it? The work?’
‘Usually it’s easy.’
‘Apart from when you have to ride.’
Indavara shrugged. He replaced the arrow in the quiver, then took out another.
‘How is it that you’ve never learned to ride?’ asked Cassius. ‘What about before? Were you taken as a prisoner?’
Indavara said nothing.
‘I assume that’s how you came to be a gladiator?’
Indavara ran his fingers along the arrow.
‘Well?’
‘How hungry are we all?’ asked Simo. ‘Sir?’
Cassius dragged his eyes away from Indavara, who was holding the arrow just inches from his face. Simo showed him a large glass jar full of stew.
‘What’s in it?’
‘Lamb and vegetables, sir. Made just yesterday.’
‘Plenty for me.’
Simo turned towards Indavara. ‘Sir?’
‘You don’t have to call him sir, Simo. It’s Indavara to you.’
Indavara seemed utterly uninterested in how he was to be addressed; he was staring at the stew.
‘As much as you have.’
Simo emptied the entire jar into a deep pan, then hooked the handle on to the spit over the fire.
Cassius glanced at Indavara again. He thought about persisting but decided against it. At least he knew something now.
‘So what about that riding lesson in the morning?’
Indavara was wrapping twine around the end of the arrow. After a while, he nodded.
Cassius awoke in the middle of the night, struck by a sudden thirst. The blankets fell from him as he stood and went in search of a drink. The fire had almost died; just a few grey logs smoking in the dark. Cassius stepped past the snoring Syrian and saw a gourd lying next to Simo. He picked it up and was about to drink when he noticed Indavara had gone.
Then he heard horses. Many horses, moving quickly.
He stepped outside but could see nothing. The sandy ground was cold and rough on his bare feet as he moved beyond the doorway. The noise seemed to be coming from the west. He hurried to the corner of the farmhouse and looked out at the plain. There were four smears of light: torches, moving north to south. The pounding hooves seemed to grow louder; he was surprised the others could sleep through it.
There was no sign of Indavara.
Then the noise of the horses began to fade. He continued to watch the torches until he could hear nothing at all. Only then did he return to the doorway. He found Simo there, holding the oil lamp.
‘There you are, sir.’
‘Horses to the west. Moving away now.’
‘Where’s Indavara, sir?’
‘Good question. Best check the money, Simo.’
‘Has his horse gone, sir?’
‘Would he even take it?’
Cassius walked inside to where Indavara had been sleeping. The blanket was there but none of his other possessions.
‘Gods, his gear’s gone too. The money, Simo. Quickly!’
The goat-herder sat up and mumbled something.
‘Your money’s safe,’ came a voice from outside. Indavara appeared out of the darkness and strode through the doorway. He had his boots on and was holding his bow and quiver. He stared at Cassius, his black hair almost covering his eyes.
‘Ah, Indavara. You’re still here.’
‘I was watching the riders. I am not a thief.’
‘No, no. I just — I woke up and heard the horses. Your gear — ’
Indavara knelt down and lifted up one of the blankets Cassius had thrown aside ‘- is here.’
‘Ah.’
‘I am not a thief.’
Indavara began moving his things towards the door, as far away from Cassius as he could get.
XI
Cassius spent much of the next day watching clouds and looking back at the mountains. It wasn’t until dusk that he really felt they had made significant progress across the plain, estimating they were now thirty-five miles from Palmyra. There was little satisfaction to be had, however, because it was then that the rain began.