courtyard!’
‘Yes, sir.’
Cassius ate the fig and washed it down with wine. ‘Bring those, would you?’
Indavara picked up a pile of small squares of paper from the table. Cassius pulled on his helmet, then checked his belt and straightened his cloak. He motioned for Indavara to go outside first, then stationed himself on the parlour doorstep while the legionaries filed into the courtyard. With a few swift orders, Clemens got the men into line.
Cassius stood with his feet well apart, hands on his belt, his chin high; the stance he always used when addressing troops. He counted eleven of them. There was no need for helmets or armour but their other equipment seemed in good repair; always an encouraging sign. There was no long hair, no bushy beards, and no evidence of drunkenness.
‘Good morning, men. I am Officer Cassius Quintius Corbulo, Imperial Security.’
To their credit, not one of the legionaries’ faces betrayed what Cassius imagined would be a colourful array of mental retorts.
‘You know now of the death of Master Augustus Marius Memor. This murder was carried out the night before last, and I believe the assassin left – or will be intending to leave – Rhodes as soon as possible. We must find out whatever we can about this man. We have at least established the following: he is probably left-handed, probably short, and he was seen wearing a hooded cloak and good-quality boots. He was also carrying a sack, and inside was what he used to disguise himself and carry out the killing – a centurion’s outfit. It’s likely he is a stranger here and that he arrived recently. You men know the city – you must scour the harbour, the inns, the taverns, the stores. Talk to captains, sailors, innkeepers – anyone and everyone. The main details of his appearance are written here, so there’s no excuse for forgetting them.’
While Indavara handed out the scraps of paper, some of the less subtle legionaries inspected his disfigured ear.
‘Remember,’ said Cassius. ‘Short, left-handed, hooded cloak, fine leather boots, carrying a sack. Can everyone read?’
‘Not me, sir,’ volunteered one of the men. ‘But I can remember it well enough,’ he added, before repeating the description verbatim.
‘Excellent.’
Though cooperative, the men didn’t seem particularly enamoured with their task, not that soldiers ever did, unless women, drink or treasure were involved.
‘An additional incentive for you,’ Cassius announced, ‘courtesy of Imperial Security. Ten denarii to any man who gives me information I can use. And tell the people on the streets they’ll get half as much for the same. If this man’s still here I want him found, and I want him found today. Clemens will divide you up and tell you which areas you are to cover. We shall reconvene later. Any questions? No? On your way then.’
The legionaries followed Clemens out of the courtyard, rather too slowly for Cassius’s liking. He clapped his hands together. ‘Let’s get to it then! A little more urgency, gentlemen!’
Clemens led the way with a trot, which the soldiers reluctantly matched.
‘We should be off too,’ Cassius told Indavara as they hurried back to their rooms. ‘See how Simo’s getting on.’
While Indavara went to fetch his weapons, Cassius grabbed the leather satchel Abascantius had given him in Syria. It was very well made (deer-hide according to Simo) and ideal for carrying papers and other essentials. Cassius insisted that Simo always kept a few key items inside: some paper and charcoal for making notes, a small fire-starting kit, a couple of candles and a miniature sundial. He’d also had the Gaul stitch in a secret pocket that contained five gold aurei, commenting, ‘You never know when you might need a good bribe.’ The satchel was also just about big enough to accommodate the spearhead, though the tip stuck out of one end. Cassius placed it inside and slung the satchel over his shoulder.
He sighed. One
‘Yes, sir.’
Cassius ate the fig and washed it down with wine. ‘Bring those, would you?’
Indavara picked up a pile of small squares of paper from the table. Cassius pulled on his helmet, then checked his belt and straightened his cloak. He motioned for Indavara to go outside first, then stationed himself on the parlour doorstep while the legionaries filed into the courtyard. With a few swift orders, Clemens got the men into line.
Cassius stood with his feet well apart, hands on his belt, his chin high; the stance he always used when addressing troops. He counted eleven of them. There was no need for helmets or armour but their other equipment seemed in good repair; always an encouraging sign. There was no long hair, no bushy beards, and no evidence of drunkenness.
‘Good morning, men. I am Officer Cassius Quintius Corbulo, Imperial Security.’
To their credit, not one of the legionaries’ faces betrayed what Cassius imagined would be a colourful array of mental retorts.
‘You know now of the death of Master Augustus Marius Memor. This murder was carried out the night before last, and I believe the assassin left – or will be intending to leave – Rhodes as soon as possible. We must find out whatever we can about this man. We have at least established the following: he is probably left-handed, probably short, and he was seen wearing a hooded cloak and good-quality boots. He was also carrying a sack, and inside was what he used to disguise himself and carry out the killing – a centurion’s outfit. It’s likely he is a stranger here and that he arrived recently. You men know the city – you must scour the harbour, the inns, the taverns, the stores. Talk to captains, sailors, innkeepers – anyone and everyone. The main details of his appearance are written here, so there’s no excuse for forgetting them.’
While Indavara handed out the scraps of paper, some of the less subtle legionaries inspected his disfigured ear.
‘Remember,’ said Cassius. ‘Short, left-handed, hooded cloak, fine leather boots, carrying a sack. Can everyone read?’
‘Not me, sir,’ volunteered one of the men. ‘But I can remember it well enough,’ he added, before repeating the description verbatim.
‘Excellent.’
Though cooperative, the men didn’t seem particularly enamoured with their task, not that soldiers ever did, unless women, drink or treasure were involved.
‘An additional incentive for you,’ Cassius announced, ‘courtesy of Imperial Security. Ten denarii to any man who gives me information I can use. And tell the people on the streets they’ll get half as much for the same. If this man’s still here I want him found, and I want him found today. Clemens will divide you up and tell you which areas you are to cover. We shall reconvene later. Any questions? No? On your way then.’
The legionaries followed Clemens out of the courtyard, rather too slowly for Cassius’s liking. He clapped his hands together. ‘Let’s get to it then! A little more urgency, gentlemen!’
Clemens led the way with a trot, which the soldiers reluctantly matched.
‘We should be off too,’ Cassius told Indavara as they hurried back to their rooms. ‘See how Simo’s getting on.’
While Indavara went to fetch his weapons, Cassius grabbed the leather satchel Abascantius had given him in Syria. It was very well made (deer-hide according to Simo) and ideal for carrying papers and other essentials. Cassius insisted that Simo always kept a few key items inside: some paper and charcoal for making notes, a small fire-starting kit, a couple of candles and a miniature sundial. He’d also had the Gaul stitch in a secret pocket that contained five gold aurei, commenting, ‘You never know when you might need a good bribe.’ The satchel was also just about big enough to accommodate the spearhead, though the tip stuck out of one end. Cassius placed it inside and slung the satchel over his shoulder.
He sighed. One
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