Standing there, he realised he was developing a genuine hatred of the mysterious band of men they had followed across the Syrian desert. It was their treatment of the legionaries, and Gregorius in particular, that enraged him. The man had simply been doing his duty, acting on the orders of the Emperor; but he had been captured, dragged around like a dog, then left to die, naked and mutilated. Cassius shuddered as he thought of him passing his last hours alone there. Had he been a family man? Was there some poor wife — children even — awaiting his return?
Cassius felt guilt too. He’d questioned the man’s loyalty yet it seemed that Abascantius’s unswerving faith had been justified. Even as he lay dying, Gregorius had recorded a crucial detail that might yet see his murderers caught. In a province where every other man was a sword-hand, two-fingered men were hardly unheard of, but it was something distinctive — something that might be remembered. A. Mallius Gregorius hadn’t died entirely in vain.
They left the mine road a few miles south of Chalcis, aiming to pick up the Antioch road heading west. The desert was behind them now, and the landscape was changing. Ahead were the limestone hills and rich, fertile land of north-western Syria. With the raised road visible in the distance, they passed through untended fields now overgrown by sprawling bushes.
Between two of these fields, they came across a rectangular area cut into the ground: fifty feet long, twenty wide. The horses seemed unnerved as they stepped down on to the shale surface of the cut. To the left, at the far end, was a dark, curiously shaped boulder. Strewn around it were animal remains and decaying flowers.
‘A sanctuary,’ said Simo, as they dismounted.
‘The rock has a face,’ said Indavara, walking towards the boulder.
‘Oh yes,’ replied the Gaul. ‘I’ve heard of these. Look — there’s the nose.’
Cassius knew there were very few such sanctuaries without a supply of water and he wasn’t disappointed. Behind the boulder was a wide stone basin full almost to the top.
‘Thank the gods. This one in particular.’
He had been desperate to clean himself properly since exiting the mine but they had only enough in their canteens to wash his hands. Discarding his sword belt, he knelt beside the basin. He was about to splash water on his face when Simo arrived with two empty canteens.
‘Please, sir. This place is sacred to whoever uses it. I don’t think you should wash here. We might take some water out though.’
Cassius paused. There was no sense in angering any gods — even local ones — if it could be avoided.
‘You’re right. Do so.’
Cassius took his satchel and sat down on the fringe of the sanctuary, which formed a convenient bench. The horses had been let free to graze. Indavara lay close by, dozing.
Once Simo had washed his hands, arms and face, Cassius took out the map and spread it across his knees. Theoretically, the cart and its precious cargo could have been taken anywhere from the mine, but Abascantius had seemed sure someone in Antioch had facilitated the theft; and for anyone wanting to ship, sell or deliver the treasure or the flag, it was the obvious destination. In any case, he needed to tell the agent what he’d found. Using his finger for scale, he estimated the remaining distance to the capital. About sixty miles.
They covered twenty-five of those that day. The going was slow to begin with — the River Chalos ran south from Chalcis, and two hours were wasted finding a circuitous route through a marsh — but by midday they were on the Antioch road, heading straight for the capital. They ate lunch at an inn, and Cassius paid one of the proprietor’s men to ride into Chalcis with Surex’s letter. He hoped the optio would get the help he needed.
On hearing that this section of road was generally viewed as safe, and that there were occupied inns every few miles or so, Cassius decided that they would continue on until dusk. With the beating their backsides and legs had taken, he and Simo even spent a couple of hours on foot with Indavara.
When they finally bedded down that night, Cassius had cause to be glad of his exhaustion. For when Simo put out his lamp, he found it impossible not to think of cold, dark tunnels, and the fate of poor Gregorius.
XVII
They set off just after dawn, across the plain of Chalcis, through a tapestry of fields and olive groves demarked by low walls. There was no unworked land here; all the wheat had been harvested, and the olive farmers tended carefully to their crop. The road was busy too; the trio passed priests and merchants, pedlars and beggars. They lost count of the goat-herders and shepherds, and became used to the chime of the bells tied around their animals’ necks.
Just after midday they met a century of the Sixteenth Legion marching to Chalcis. The centurion, a grey-haired veteran brandishing a long cane, was reluctant to stop but when Cassius told of him of Surex’s predicament he ordered the men to rest and listened intently, pressing Cassius for a full appraisal of the situation at Androna. It turned out that he knew Surex well and his century had been ordered to Chalcis as reinforcements. He let the men get some water down, then led them off to the east at a prodigious pace.
Cassius turned round several times to watch the departing column. As a youngster he had loved to watch marching troops. He found the sense of power and purpose intoxicating, and had longed to be part of it. His father’s ambiguity on the subject had confused him at the time; Corbulo senior had been proud of his son’s yearnings yet wary of encouraging his only male heir to join the legions. But as Cassius grew older, his fascination with the army declined, replaced by his interest in academia and the fairer sex. But then circumstances (or, rather, his own misdeeds) had found him taking the oath after all. Training had been detestable, those few days at Alauran terrifying, then he had been in Cyzicus, and now working for Abascantius; and in truth he had never felt like a proper soldier at all.
Cassius was a little ashamed by that, but he knew himself well enough to acknowledge he didn’t have the stomach for the legions. He might have got by as a tribune — like the young men he’d seen with Venator at Palmyra — but overall he was better off with the Service. A soldier could find himself thrown into battle at any moment, his fate decided by a throw of the dice or the whim of the gods. Cassius could not live like that. It was already clear that working for Abascantius was rarely going to be anything other than difficult and dangerous; but he at least had a degree of autonomy. He would have to learn quickly, and he would have to deliver; but if he could make himself useful, there was a chance he might just survive the rest of his term in exile. And then life could begin anew.
They reached the edge of the plain that afternoon, and the road continued west through low, rolling hills. Close by was Immae, the site of Aurelian’s first great clash with Zenobia’s forces earlier in the summer, just weeks before the decisive battle at Emesa. Here the Emperor had defeated the forces of the Palmyran general Zabdas; and his wily tactics had already become the stuff of legend. Well aware of the formidable reputation of the Palmyran cavalry, Aurelian had instructed his lightly armed riders to fake a withdrawal, successfully drawing the Palmyrans into a long pursuit. The heavily armoured enemy were soon exhausted, and when the Romans finally turned on them, could put up little resistance. Few of Zenobia’s warriors survived.
There was only one sign on the road that the battle had occurred so close by: a young trader with a stock of Palmyran swords, helmets and armour. Indavara took a quick look but didn’t buy anything.
As afternoon became evening, the road descended through vineyards and yet more olive groves to the River Orontes. Though relieved to get there, Cassius was rather disappointed by what he saw. There was an impressive bridge with eight arches but water flowed under only one of them.