‘Were you invited?’
Abascantius laughed bitterly. ‘Me? No. My presence would spoil the festival spirit — put the guests off their food. Ah, the man himself.’
Cassius peered down through the grille. A plump individual in an ostentatious purple and gold cloak was jogging down the steps. He had a round, ruddy face and a voluminous head of curly black hair. As two particularly decorous ladies disembarked from an open carriage, Scaurus bowed low, then kissed each hand in turn. He turned his attention to their menfolk, smiling broadly and gripping their forearms with overt enthusiasm.
‘Still trying too hard, I see,’ said Abascantius. ‘Will he never learn?’
‘Something of an aspirant?’
‘The very definition. Mother was a Jew, father a legionary. Made his fortune in slaves and money-lending. He’s been trying to buy his way into the provincial assembly for years. Doesn’t seem to understand that unless he marries into one of a handful of families or wins the favour of Marcellinus, those doors will remain for ever closed.’
‘The same people hold power now? Even after the occupation?’
‘Most were sensible enough to keep their heads down and their mouths shut — wait until the storm passed. Antiochenes are rather adept at that. A few ran into trouble with the Palmyrans of course, but I doubt today’s guest list will be that different from a couple of years ago.’
Three ranks of spear-carrying cavalrymen had just arrived in front of the villa. Between them was a diminutive figure on a pale grey horse.
‘Ah. The first of our council members. General Julius Ulpian, commander of the Antioch garrison.’
A swift boot from Scaurus sent a slave boy scurrying towards the general with a little box to help him dismount. As another slave held his horse’s reins, Ulpian descended. Scaurus offered a hand but the general waved it away. As he made his way up the steps, a huge African legionary fell into step behind him. Ulpian removed his helmet to reveal a sparse head of grey hair and a lined, leathery face.
‘He’s old, even for a general,’ observed Cassius.
‘Sixty-five, I think. In truth, his has been a nominal title for the last few years. The Palmyrans let him stay, but every last century had already been withdrawn. He’s got a full cohort again now though.’
‘A suspect?’
‘Possible but unlikely. He’s had to watch himself ever since a nasty incident a few years back. He became obsessed with one of his tribune’s wives, and was none too subtle about it. He was warned off several times, but couldn’t help himself. Eventually he sent the tribune away on some pointless errand, then went round to his house and raped the girl.’
‘Gods.’
‘He tried to cover it up but it got back to me eventually. I told Chief Pulcher and he told the Emperor. Claudius decided that Ulpian could keep his job on condition he keep his nose clean until he retired. As far as I know, he has.’
‘He was lucky.’
‘It wasn’t just luck. He’s a war hero. Finest cavalry commander in the province in his day. Fought two wars against Shapur.’
‘Then he must hate the Persians.’ Cassius glanced at Abascantius. ‘Enough to stop us signing a treaty with them?’
‘I don’t see it. Like you said — he’s old. I doubt he has the energy for criminal intrigues. Probably more interested in getting his end away as many times as he can before he finally keels over.’
The procession of guests seemed endless. Some men came alone on horseback, their steeds swiftly removed by Scaurus’s slaves. Women, couples or groups used open carriages drawn by mules. Others emerged from litters carried by four or six slaves, and one elderly lady arrived in a luxurious carriage complete with miniature marble columns supporting a purple canopy.
A crowd was developing in front of the villa: guests watching other guests arrive. Scaurus threw up his hands in dismay and corralled them back inside the house. One of his servants alerted him to another carriage pulling up and he hurried back towards the street, lifting the folds of his cloak as he descended the steps once more.
‘This must be someone important,’ said Cassius.
Abascantius leaned forward as a tall, slender man stepped gracefully down to the ground before turning to lend his female companion a hand.
‘Our esteemed governor, no less. I give you Titus Fabius Gordio. The politician’s politician.’
‘How so?’
‘Not many men could manage to be governor before an occupation, during an occupation and after an occupation. He somehow managed to smooth the way with the Palmyrans and protect his consituents’ interests.’
‘An intelligent man, then.’
‘They don’t come much brighter. It’s said that he charmed Zenobia into no end of concessions, and that she politely bade him farewell as she fled the city. And he’s been able to hide the fact that he’s in love with his clerk from his wife for more than a decade. I’m not sure which is the more impressive achievement.’
Gordio accepted Scaurus’s low bow, then took his wife’s hand. The elegant couple ascended the steps, nodding to the other guests.
‘Could he be involved?’
‘Up until a few days ago I would have said no, but some new information has come to light.’
Abascantius was evidently reluctant to explain further.
‘But after surviving for so long,’ said Cassius, ‘what possible motive would he have to endanger the treaty?’
‘None I can think of. But what if he is being manipulated by others — with motives of their own?’
‘Blackmail?’
‘It’s all supposition at the moment.’ Abascantius sat back and let out a sigh. ‘Unless I have proof I daren’t make a single move against him. He’s close to Marcellinus, and we’ve crossed swords many times in the past.’
Abascantius nodded down at the street again. ‘Here’s number three.’
Next up the steps was a younger man in his thirties. He was alone, dressed modestly, with a pale green cloak over his tunic. He seemed somewhat out of place; bookish and reserved.
‘Looks pretty harmless.’
‘Procurator Gallio Novius Octobrianus.’
‘He’s done well to make procurator at his age. He survived the occupation too?’
‘Positively flourished. He’d just been appointed deputy procurator when the revolt began. If what I’ve been told is true, he was quick to exploit the situation to his advantage. The Palmyrans compiled a list of troublemakers — those who would not accede to their authority under any circumstances. I’ve heard it said more than once that Octobrianus helped them compile it. One of the first names on the list was that of Docillus: the previous procurator. Octobrianus’s immediate superior.’
‘How convenient.’
‘Quite. Many of the other men on that list didn’t get out in time, and they were either removed from their posts or killed. Docillus was lucky. He left a week before the city was taken. A day or two before me, as I recall.’
Cassius turned to Abascantius.
The agent nodded. ‘I was on the list too. Somewhere close to the top, I imagine.’
Cassius looked back at the villa. Octobrianus had disappeared inside.
‘He may still have connections to the Palmyrans, then?’
‘Possibly.’
‘But how can such a man still be in charge of the city’s finances? I understand the Emperor’s attitude — a fresh start and all that — but if it’s true Octobrianus deserves to hang.’
‘You’ll hear no argument from me. But the key word is if. I’ve heard about him and this list from three different sources; but none of them would speak openly of it, and there’s no other proof. He covered his tracks too well. Another survivor.’
‘Assuming for a moment that he’s still in league with them, who of the Palmyran leadership remains? Zenobia is on her way to Rome and her lackeys were all executed.’