‘Give us your wet things and we’ll dry them as best we can,’ said Dacien, moving a wooden rack closer to the fireplace. As the others set about removing their outer garments, Cassius noticed the two boys peering around the doorway.
‘Good to see you’re educating them well.’
Dacien grinned. ‘I speak Latin to them, Greek to the wife, and when I’m not around the three of them use Aramaic — what a mess.’ He sat down on a stool opposite Cassius and nodded at the floor. ‘Take those boots off if you want, sir, warm your feet.’
Cassius began to undo his laces.
‘You needn’t call me sir. Your army days are over.’
‘You know what they say. Once a legionary. .’
Cassius shifted his chair closer to the fire.
‘You did your twenty-five years?’
‘I did. Got my plot of land and the house five years ago. All pretty peaceful until the Palmyrans started kicking up a fuss.’
‘You’re glad to see the queen gone?’
‘Of course. Good to have a proper army man as emperor too. Stability — that’s what we need. Though my wife would argue with me if she knew what I was saying.’
‘She favoured the Palmyrans?’
‘I think she just liked the idea of a woman being in charge.’
Cassius hunched over and stretched his hands towards the fire.
‘The men we’re looking for may have passed north of here. Are there any properties in that direction?’
‘Not occupied ones. But you’re in luck, in a way — being here today. The elders are holding a meeting at midday — village affairs. Boring as usual, I expect, but all the men will be there. Perhaps somebody saw these fellows you’re after. I can’t guarantee that they’ll all be falling over themselves to help a Roman officer but I have a good name here. I can speak for you.’
‘My thanks. I’ll be more than happy to reward anyone who can help.’
‘That’s settled then.’
Cassius was used to being looked at. He was taller and more handsome than most men; and his skin was at least three shades lighter than most people east of Rome. He was also often required to wear an officer’s helmet with a scarlet crest and — now — carry a three-foot ceremonial spear-head. Though neither was in evidence today, he was still being stared at long after the meeting had started.
On some occasions, the trappings of authority could be extremely useful. Rich, colourful clothing caught the eye and impressed the lower classes; and provincials in particular were often awed by anything that resembled a staff or rod, associating it as they did with the divine. But today Cassius wanted to seem as approachable as possible, and he was working hard to maintain a friendly, open expression on his face.
He’d hoped Dacien would speak right away but the village elders — a greying quartet who seemed to make their considered utterances at half speed — had insisted on waiting for a few latecomers. An argument had then ensued about the issues to be discussed; and this was only coming to an end now because everyone had been allowed their say.
At least fifty people — mostly men — had crowded into the courtyard of a house two along from Dacien’s. The elders sat on chairs facing the rest of the villagers. Cassius and Dacien stood to their left, waiting their turn. Simo, Indavara and the guide were leaning against the wall at the back.
At last, Dacien was permitted to speak. He stepped forward and began.
Cassius made no attempt to understand the Aramaic; he simply observed the reaction of the locals. There were a lot of frowns, more interrogative stares for him and a good many hushed conversations. When Dacien finished a few of the men shook their heads or shrugged. No one raised a hand or said anything. The ex-legionary waited a while longer then walked back to Cassius.
‘It may be that no one wants to speak here. They might come to us later.’
‘Or it may be that nobody saw anything,’ Cassius replied dourly.
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to take you out to the north — search for the trail?’
Cassius nodded at a large puddle in the corner of the courtyard.‘After that much rain? It lasted most of the night. The ground will be sodden for miles around.’
‘Let’s go back to the house. It’ll take a little time for you to pack up. You never know, someone might come along.’
‘The men I’m after were trying not to be seen,’ replied Cassius. ‘It shouldn’t surprise me that they weren’t.’
He and Dacien passed the rows of seated villagers. Indavara, Simo and the old Syrian followed them out under an archway to a paved area next to the house. Four teenage lads were sitting there, spinning coins to see whose would last longest. As Cassius passed them, two of the coins struck each other. One spun away and was caught. The other came to a stop by Cassius’s boot. It took him moment to register the fact that he’d seen two crossed swords. He took another pace before stopping.
The others halted as he picked up the coin. It was thin, brass and very familiar-looking.
‘Give me those others,’ he told the boys.
Dacien translated, then took the coins and showed them to Cassius. None featured the crossed swords. Cassius delved into the little cloth money bag he kept tied to his belt. It took him a while to find the coin from the crypt floor; it was buried under the larger and heavier denarii. He compared it to the boy’s coin. They were roughly the same size; but then again so were most sesterces.
The obverse of the new coin was again extremely worn, with only a trace of the Emperor’s neck and chin visible. But above the swords on the reverse, part of a word could be seen. The crossed swords clearly symbolised a victorious battle but this design was common on many denominations from many periods. He needed to know which battle it commemorated.
He held it up to the light. Much of the lettering was worn but both the first and last letters were A. The fifth letter was an X.
‘Artaxata — capital of Armenia. There were several battles there. But which?’
He looked again at the coin from the crypt. In the bright midday sun, he could just make out the last two letters of the Emperor’s name.
‘U — S.’
He showed it to Simo. ‘You agree?’
‘Yes, sir. U — S.’
‘Are you trying to work out the Emperor?’ asked Dacien.
Cassius didn’t answer. He was searching his memory; remembering his history lessons, and a papyrus sheet covered with nothing but dates and emperors’ names.
‘That coin’s at least fifty years old,’ continued Dacien. ‘Perhaps Macrinus? Pupenius? Balbinus? Could be any of them.’
‘It could,’ said Cassius. ‘But I think I know which it is.’
He held up the coin again.
‘See how small the U and the S are, how far they are around the side of the coin. A long name. Marcus Aurelius.’
Then he held up both coins.
‘These are actually over a hundred years old. They commemorate the capture of Artaxata under Marcus Aurelius. And when they were minted, they looked exactly the same.’
‘So what?’ said Indavara. ‘I thought we were hunting men, not coins.’
‘They had some of these with them,’ replied Cassius. ‘A lot actually. Dacien, ask the boys where they got this.’
The youngest lad spoke up.
‘He says the river,’ Dacien explained moments later. ‘But he means the old water channel.’
‘Where is it?’
‘North-west of the village.’
‘And when did he find it?’
‘This morning. Says the rain must have washed it down.’
‘How far away is this channel?’
‘Two or three miles.’
Cassius clinked the coins together, then looked at Indavara and grinned. ‘I’m glad I listened to you.’
XII
With the young lad running ahead, Cassius and his four companions rode over a low ridge and down towards level ground. They had packed up quickly and were only momentarily delayed by the boy’s father, who’d demanded payment for his son’s help. Only some harsh words from Dacien had stopped the rest of the local youngsters from trailing the party out of Ethusa. Cassius dropped back a little so he could watch Indavara. He had given him a few pointers that morning, and although the bodyguard had grumbled at almost every instruction, he was already sitting higher in the saddle and making better use of his reins.