Nick Brown - The Imperial Banner

Indavara gave a brief look over his shoulder and nodded an acknowledgement.

Cassius glanced at Simo and rolled his eyes. He was curious what exactly this man had been doing for Abascantius. Before he could ask him about it, Indavara picked up his bow and quiver.

‘Do you need me here?’ he asked.

‘No. But I will in an hour or so. Are you going somewhere?’

Indavara held up the bow. ‘There’s a range close by. Looked empty.’

‘Do you have any documentation from Abascantius? An authorisation or something? In case someone asks who you are.’

Indavara reached into his bag. He produced a worn half-page of papyrus and handed it over. It was a simple written statement, confirming that he was a bodyguard in the employ of the Governor’s Office of Syria. There was also a small stamp and Abascantius’s signature.

‘Are you a good shot?’ Cassius asked, handing the sheet back.

‘Not bad.’

‘Make sure of it. I think we’ve had enough excitement for one day.’

Indavara left without another word.

‘By Mars, he’s hard work,’ said Cassius. ‘I’ve had better conversations with my grandmother’s cat.’

Simo nodded as he continued to unpack. It always amazed Cassius to see just how much the Gaul could stuff into their saddlebags. There were his tunics, a toga, riding breeches, capes and hoods; wash-cloths, towels, sheets, a pillow; a spare pair of sandals, a pair of felt slippers; plus a rack of oils and lotions that Cassius also deemed essential.

‘He is rather quiet, sir.’

‘You didn’t manage to get anything out of him?’

‘Not a lot.’

‘You saw the state of his horse’s mouth, and his saddle?’

‘I did, sir. I don’t think he’s had much experience of riding. I offered to help but he didn’t seem too interested.’

‘He seems a bit of a dullard, Simo. Handy with his fists though. Dealt with those big Celts easily enough. For the time being we shall simply have to endure his company.’

Cassius neared the small pile of clothes Indavara had left on his bed. He bent over and sniffed them.

‘Gods! And his stench. I thought it was this stuff on my neck. Simo, be sure to keep this place well ventilated. Move my bed further away from his — we have the space. And don’t forget to spread some perfume around before we retire for the night.’

The western quarter of the sky glowed orange and pink as the sun set over Palmyra. Cassius and Quartermaster Lollius marched along the middle of the road that led from the encampment to the Damascus Gate, with Indavara and Simo a few paces behind.

Cassius found it difficult to reconcile the scene in front of him with the image of the great siege conjured by Legionary Gerardus back at the way-station. The southern side of Palmyra was protected only by a six-foot mud-brick wall with many damaged sections; and there were no towers or fortified gates.

‘The defences were like this when our forces arrived?’ Cassius asked.

‘Pretty much,’ said Lollius. ‘But their queen had tens of thousands of warriors in there. The city is large and spread out, and many of the people stayed. If we’d gone in there house to house it would have been a bloodbath. The Emperor played it well. A victory without a battle is the best victory of all.’

Lollius nodded to the right and the four of them turned down a narrower road that ran parallel to the city walls. At the end of it was a large temple. Two legionaries stood guard. A third shot to his feet when alerted by his fellows.

‘Indeed,’ said Cassius. ‘The Emperor’s policy of clemency does seem wise.’

‘And he even spared the dogs this time.’

‘What’s that, sir?’

Although the question of rank was again complex, Cassius thought it circumspect to show Lollius the utmost respect.

‘The first city to resist him was Tyana in Cappadocia,’ explained the quartermaster. ‘The Emperor was livid that the inhabitants had sided with the Palmyrans, so he swore he wouldn’t leave even a dog alive. But then there were the usual negotiations and he ended up sparing the town just like he did here. The men were disappointed — they’d expected a good sack. So he told them he would fulfil his oath — and ordered them to kill all the dogs. They took it in good spirit and did so.’

‘One way to keep the streets clean, I suppose.’

In front of the temple was a wide courtyard. It was overgrown with grass and weeds and in places bricks had been removed from the walls. In the centre of the space was a large altar. Carved into the middle of it were channels to drain the blood of sacrificed beasts.

‘Whichever god this was dedicated to, he seems to have fallen out of favour,’ remarked Cassius.

‘I forget the name,’ replied Lollius. ‘There are so many out here and they all sound the same to me. I heard the followers belonged to a group that somehow offended the queen. Hasn’t been used as anything other than an armoury for many a year.’

Though dilapidated, the temple maintained an imposing grandeur. The walls were constructed of huge limestone blocks; the front was dominated by four thick, weathered columns; and high, wide steps led up to a hefty wooden door. At the base of the steps stood the three legionaries, arms by their sides.

Lollius took a key on a chain from around his neck and threw it to the oldest of them.

‘Open up.’

The quartermaster then looked at the man who’d been late getting to his feet.

‘Name?’

‘Legionary Decius Herius Faustus, sir.’

‘Faustus, eh — the lucky.’

The legionary grimaced; he knew what was coming.

‘Well, not tonight. If you want to lounge around like some slovenly easterner, I shall find you a useful occupation.’

Lollius looked back at the courtyard.

‘You know what my wife makes me do when I’m home on leave? She has me pull up all the weeds on our terrace. Every tiny shoot. Right pain in the arse — the back too after a while. But that shouldn’t be a problem for a young buck like you, especially after you’ve had a nice little break. Get to it then! I don’t want to see anything green left in this courtyard.’

The legionary leant his spear against the nearest column, removed his helmet and bent down in front of the nearest clump of weeds.

After three failed attempts, the older legionary had finally managed to turn the key in the stiff iron lock. He heaved the creaking door open. Lollius took the oil lantern he had given Simo to carry and stepped inside.

‘You two wait here,’ Cassius told Simo and Indavara.

With only a high line of small apertures to admit the fading light, the temple was almost pitch black, and Cassius stayed close to Lollius as the quartermaster stalked along the central corridor, footsteps echoing on the flagstones. Cassius had expected a voluminous space but, as the light of the lamp splashed across the interior, he saw that each side of the temple was divided into small chambers. Every one was full. There were barrels stuffed with spears and swords, stacks of helmets and armour; even huge stone balls a yard across — ammunition for siege engines.

‘Some of this was already here,’ said Lollius. ‘The rest we took off the Palmyrans after the surrender.’

At the end of the corridor was a steep set of steps that led up to a wide platform. To the right of the platform was a doorway leading to a large chamber. Cassius had seen this arrangement before in the eastern provinces. It was here that the cult image would be kept; the devotees wouldn’t want the sacred object to be visible from outside. As he climbed the steps — still close behind Lollius — he could make out depressions made by the knees of prostrate worshippers.

The walls of the chamber were dotted with empty niches, and in the middle of the floor was a square gap with soil below; presumably a former resting place for another altar. Cassius followed Lollius over to the far left corner. Here, a dozen stone blocks had been piled next to a low arched doorway. Beyond the doorway, steps led downward.