Nick Brown - The Imperial Banner

Cassius shrugged and pressed on. The street widened out into a square occupied by a few dozen legionaries and villagers. Traders had laid out their wares around a big date palm that leaned alarmingly to one side. Beyond the tree were two roads: one led east, the other south. Cassius stopped beside a smaller tree and looped his reins around a branch. Simo did the same, then stood with hands on his hips, breathing heavily.

‘We shall at least both be a good deal fitter after this affair,’ Cassius said as he reached for his canteen. ‘Stay here. I shall try to find this inn.’

Ignoring the curious glances that greeted him as he walked towards the traders, Cassius sipped from the canteen and nodded to any of the legionaries who looked his way. Even when off-duty, they were easily spotted, with their short hair, thick military belts and hobnailed boots.

Whatever the villagers’ attitude to their Roman occupiers, they clearly weren’t averse to profiting from trade with the soldiers. As well as food and clothing, there was glass and fine ware, building tools, firewood, blankets, sheets, cushions, riding equipment, and the ever-present local trinkets and cheap religious icons. Several legionaries were involved in protracted bouts of haggling. One of those looking on was a soldier carrying two folded sheets and chewing on a bread roll.

‘Morning, legionary,’ said Cassius.

‘Sir.’

‘Can you tell me where I might find The Goat’s Leg?’

‘You sure you want to go there, sir?’

‘Yes.’

‘Because that’s a soldiers’ inn, sir. Not an officers’ inn.’

‘Just tell me where it is, man.’

The legionary pointed to the southern road.

‘Down the hill there, sir.’

Cassius headed off down the slope and gestured for Simo to follow with the horses. There were only six buildings on the street, three on each side, and it soon petered out into a dusty, palm-lined path. The inn was easily the biggest structure: three storeys high with an arched doorway. On either side of it were amateurish murals showing wine jars and girls wrapped in vine leaves.

Cassius caught a glimpse of watching eyes from a window and in moments a straggly-haired woman of about fifty had appeared at the doorway.

‘Hello, handsome. Looking for some local hospitality?’

‘Possibly.’

Cassius stopped and waited for Simo to catch up.

The woman moved aside to allow a bulky, large-headed man out, who then stalked down the steps and crossed his arms. Tucked into his belt was a thick cudgel.

‘Don’t mind him,’ said the woman, switching to Latin.

‘Quite the linguist,’ said Cassius.

‘I know a Roman officer when I see one. Not that we get many down here. My husband’s an ex-legionary. Why don’t you come in and meet him? We’ve got dancing girls and the finest selection of wines this side of the city.’

‘A moment, woman. Will your man watch the horses for us?’

‘Stable’s closed. And you’ll have to leave your weapons with your servant, or at the door. And you must buy at least one drink.’ She pointed to a worn papyrus sheet mounted in a frame. ‘Rules of the house.’

Cassius turned to Simo and shook his head as he undid his sword belt.

‘The delights of the provinces. This won’t take a moment, Simo. If the man I’m supposed to meet is here we shall depart at once, if not I shall leave a message and we’ll head up to the camp.’

Cassius touched his tunic just above his belt, checking that the small bag of money he’d counted out that morning was there. The rest of the coins were in his saddlebag.

‘Perhaps you should wait down there,’ he suggested. Beyond the final house was a patch of unused land where Simo could remain safely out of sight.

‘Very well. Careful in there, sir.’

Cassius removed his dagger and handed it to Simo with the sword belt. Greeted by a smile from the woman and a frown from the doorman, he stepped up through the doorway. Nearby was a large wooden chest with a few sheathed swords and daggers inside. Four bows (too long for the chest) had been leant against the wall, along with four quivers. The woman bustled ahead of him and pulled back a heavy curtain. Although he could hear voices, Cassius was surprised to find the room empty. There was a bar but no furniture.

‘We’re using the back room. Fire.’ The woman pointed to the hearth. Black streaks of soot covered most of the wall and roof. ‘Take your cape?’ she asked.

Cassius shook his head as he undid the clasp himself and dropped the cape over his arm.

‘Just through there.’ She pointed at an open door, then returned to the window and took up some sewing.

Cassius walked warily through the doorway. There were two groups inside. Gathered at the bar directly in front of him were six dark-skinned men with long, black hair. Auxiliaries, Cassius guessed; probably Cilician or Galatian. They were talking to an older man behind the bar. A couple of them threw a quick glance towards Cassius then returned to their conversation.

To the right, four men sat by an empty hearth, too occupied with three serving girls to notice the new arrival. They were all fair-haired and broad in the shoulders and chest; certainly the owners of the bows. Also auxiliaries — Celts perhaps.

Cassius waited for a moment to see if anyone might come forward but not one of them had given him a second look. In any case, he was certain they were all soldiers. He checked the tables to the left; they were empty.

Continuing to the bar, he kept well clear of the auxiliaries and sat down on a stool. There was a shrill call in Aramaic from a hatch. The barkeep nodded a greeting to Cassius, then picked up two steaming wooden plates. He delivered the food to the men then returned to Cassius, slapping his hands down on the bar. He had a weathered, ruddy face and an unusual mark on his chin; Cassius couldn’t decide if it was a dimple or a scar.

‘Good-day, sir. Not seen you in here before.’

‘Just arrived.’

‘Which cohort you with?’

‘None. I’m with the governor’s staff.’

‘Is that right? I’m Telesinus. I own this place.’

‘Ah, yes. I just met your wife.’

‘Still out there, is she?’

‘Yes.’

‘Not been struck by lightning?’

‘No,’ Cassius answered with a curious grin. ‘Why?’

‘I’ve been begging the gods for twenty years — it has to happen one day.’

Cassius laughed; and wondered how many times a day Telesinus trotted that one out.

‘What are you drinking, sir?’

‘Well, I don’t really have the time but I suppose I must follow the rules of the house. Half and half. Something decent. Hot.’

‘Coming up.’

Telesinus wiped his hands on his apron and selected a wine bottle from a long shelf, then tipped some into a wooden mug. Finding the hatch untended, he reached inside and topped the wine up with hot water.

‘There you go, sir — a light Galician. Some sausage? Goes well.’

Cassius investigated the plate Telesinus had retrieved from behind the bar. The meat looked edible but his policy was always to let Simo make or choose his food.

‘No thank you. Listen, I’m supposed to be meeting someone here. Any strangers been in?’

‘Just you,’ said the owner with a grin, moving off.

Though he didn’t want to leave Simo alone outside for long, Cassius took a moment to enjoy being still. He sampled the wine. Bitter but passable. He glanced over at the auxiliaries and saw a legend engraved on one of their mugs: Fill it up again! Judging by their inability to form coherent sentences, Telesinus had obliged. Cassius felt a light touch on his shoulder, and turned to find one of the serving girls beside him.

‘Hello,’ she said in Greek. Her voice was soft, her accent hard.