sir. A local concoction – I believe there’s myrrh in it.’
Cassius took a long sip.
Simo examined his face. ‘Are you all right, sir?’
‘No, Simo, I’m not. I trust my bed’s ready?’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘Prepare my writing materials. Best ink and paper.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Simo hurried away.
‘Need me?’ asked Indavara.
‘No, go ahead.’
The bodyguard took his wine with him.
‘Well, sir?’ asked Clemens as he returned to the parlour.
Cassius gestured to the bench in front of the hearth. They sat down and he described what had occurred in Amyndios. Clemens looked aghast when he heard the grisly details and seemed stunned that such a thing could occur on the island.
Cassius instructed him to send a message to the magistrate, enquiring about what action he had taken so far and suggesting that he prevent any seagoing ships from leaving the port. Clemens was also to gather every available soldier and bring them to the way station. As was his right, Cassius intended to requisition the troops for as long as he needed them. All this was to be carried out within the first hour of the day.
‘How many legionaries will you be able to get?’ Cassius asked.
‘Only my century – the Fifth – is permanently stationed in the city, sir. The barracks are close to the citadel but most of them are away rebuilding a bridge down in Camiros. Perhaps a dozen or so.’
‘And the magistrate? How many sergeants does he have?’
‘Quite a few, but I wouldn’t rely on too much cooperation from that quarter.’
‘Why not?’
‘The magistrate is elected by the people; a sop to the Rhodian Assembly. His name is Nariad. Well connected but rather ineffectual, and he’s not known for considering demands from the army a priority.’
‘We’re talking about the murder of the Service’s second in command. He is bound by imperial law to assist me.’
‘Fair enough, sir. It’s just that the locals think a little differently here. They’re very fond of reminding us that Rhodes was a naval power before we knew one end of a ship from the other. I’ve had half a dozen different postings in my time and, believe me, it’s not your typical province.’
‘Well, as long as I can depend on you and your men. I shall give detailed instructions in the morning.’
‘Sir.’ Clemens laid his hands across his ample gut and stared into the burning coals of the fire. ‘Beheaded. By Mars.’
‘You’ve not heard of any disputes involving Memor?’
‘Not one. As I said, we hardly ever saw him unless he was leaving or returning. He used to send one of his men to collect the post. He always seemed a decent enough sort to me.’
‘Even for a “grain man”?’
Clemens glanced anxiously at his superior.
Cassius continued: ‘How were relations between Memor and the other officers here?’
‘I don’t know if Master Memor ever even visited the barracks. He certainly didn’t advertise his presence. I think he said to me once that’s why he liked it here – he was left alone to get on with his job.’
‘Yes. I think he’d come to feel very safe here. Too safe, in fact.’
Cassius stood up, took a last swig of wine and left the mug on the table. ‘Get some sleep, Clemens. I want you up before the sun.’
He walked out of the parlour and turned left. There were four small bedrooms in the way station. Indavara was sleeping in the one closest to the parlour, Cassius and Simo in the second. There was only one bed, so – not for the first time – Simo would have to make do with a pile of blankets on the floor.
The Gaul was sitting on the bed with a wooden writing board on his lap, mixing some ink. Beside him were two sheets of paper and Cassius’s best silver pen – a gift from his father for his sixteenth birthday. Cassius undid the clasp that held his cloak together, took it off and threw it on to a chair – the only other piece of furniture in the room. To this he added his sword belt, then his main
Cassius took a long sip.
Simo examined his face. ‘Are you all right, sir?’
‘No, Simo, I’m not. I trust my bed’s ready?’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘Prepare my writing materials. Best ink and paper.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Simo hurried away.
‘Need me?’ asked Indavara.
‘No, go ahead.’
The bodyguard took his wine with him.
‘Well, sir?’ asked Clemens as he returned to the parlour.
Cassius gestured to the bench in front of the hearth. They sat down and he described what had occurred in Amyndios. Clemens looked aghast when he heard the grisly details and seemed stunned that such a thing could occur on the island.
Cassius instructed him to send a message to the magistrate, enquiring about what action he had taken so far and suggesting that he prevent any seagoing ships from leaving the port. Clemens was also to gather every available soldier and bring them to the way station. As was his right, Cassius intended to requisition the troops for as long as he needed them. All this was to be carried out within the first hour of the day.
‘How many legionaries will you be able to get?’ Cassius asked.
‘Only my century – the Fifth – is permanently stationed in the city, sir. The barracks are close to the citadel but most of them are away rebuilding a bridge down in Camiros. Perhaps a dozen or so.’
‘And the magistrate? How many sergeants does he have?’
‘Quite a few, but I wouldn’t rely on too much cooperation from that quarter.’
‘Why not?’
‘The magistrate is elected by the people; a sop to the Rhodian Assembly. His name is Nariad. Well connected but rather ineffectual, and he’s not known for considering demands from the army a priority.’
‘We’re talking about the murder of the Service’s second in command. He is bound by imperial law to assist me.’
‘Fair enough, sir. It’s just that the locals think a little differently here. They’re very fond of reminding us that Rhodes was a naval power before we knew one end of a ship from the other. I’ve had half a dozen different postings in my time and, believe me, it’s not your typical province.’
‘Well, as long as I can depend on you and your men. I shall give detailed instructions in the morning.’
‘Sir.’ Clemens laid his hands across his ample gut and stared into the burning coals of the fire. ‘Beheaded. By Mars.’
‘You’ve not heard of any disputes involving Memor?’
‘Not one. As I said, we hardly ever saw him unless he was leaving or returning. He used to send one of his men to collect the post. He always seemed a decent enough sort to me.’
‘Even for a “grain man”?’
Clemens glanced anxiously at his superior.
Cassius continued: ‘How were relations between Memor and the other officers here?’
‘I don’t know if Master Memor ever even visited the barracks. He certainly didn’t advertise his presence. I think he said to me once that’s why he liked it here – he was left alone to get on with his job.’
‘Yes. I think he’d come to feel very safe here. Too safe, in fact.’
Cassius stood up, took a last swig of wine and left the mug on the table. ‘Get some sleep, Clemens. I want you up before the sun.’
He walked out of the parlour and turned left. There were four small bedrooms in the way station. Indavara was sleeping in the one closest to the parlour, Cassius and Simo in the second. There was only one bed, so – not for the first time – Simo would have to make do with a pile of blankets on the floor.
The Gaul was sitting on the bed with a wooden writing board on his lap, mixing some ink. Beside him were two sheets of paper and Cassius’s best silver pen – a gift from his father for his sixteenth birthday. Cassius undid the clasp that held his cloak together, took it off and threw it on to a chair – the only other piece of furniture in the room. To this he added his sword belt, then his main
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