Nick Brown - The Imperial Banner

‘I said stand.’

Cassius slowly did so. Scaurus kept the blade where it was, then ran his other hand up Cassius’s thigh and between his legs. He left his hand there for a moment, then continued on, up his chest and neck. He reached Cassius’s mouth and pressed a single finger against his lips.

‘Perhaps you could be useful to me.’

Scaurus lowered the blade and stepped away. ‘But no, I mustn’t let myself get distracted. I’m not quite safe yet.’ He moved aside and gestured towards the door. ‘I shall slit your throat and drop you over the side. You should be grateful — a swift death.’

‘More than you’ll get,’ Cassius said as he passed him. ‘I hope they crucify you.’

‘What’s your name, pretty boy?’

Cassius raised his chin. ‘Cassius Quintius Corbulo.’

‘Well, Cassius Quintius Corbulo, I, Kaeso Scaurus, am going to kill you now.’

He opened the door and shoved Cassius outside, then placed the tip of the blade against his neck. Cassius heard him locking the door behind them. The cold blade pushed at his skin.

‘Up you go.’

Cassius went up the three steps and found himself staring at sixteen African slaves. Naked save for loincloths, the oarsmen were the darkest men he had ever seen. Though their upper bodies rippled with muscle, their legs seemed rather undeveloped in comparison. Each man was shackled to a longer chain that ran along the floor.

A seventeenth slave sat close to the hatch, beating out a slow rhythm on a drum between his legs. The oarsmen were taking long, steady breaths between strokes. Cassius could see they were an experienced, well-trained crew; though their chestnut skin shone with sweat, every man looked well within himself. A couple of them glanced curiously at him, then looked away.

An overseer with a long cane tucked into his belt was patrolling up and down the aisle between the slaves, sipping from a wooden mug. He made way for Cassius and looked him up and down as he and Scaurus passed. Next to the hatch, opposite the drummer, was a table around which four men sat, playing dice on a board and drinking wine.

The men from the jetty: the men who had slaughtered Major and laughed about it. The men who did Scaurus’s killing for him.

They looked to be from lands either east or south of Syria. One was older — bald, probably in his forties; the other three about Cassius’s age. All stocky and powerful, they were still wearing their black tunics and heavy leather boots. Propped up against the table were their four clubs. The head of one had been embellished by metal studs hammered into the wood. Another had two spikes sticking out of it. Cassius examined each face in turn but had no idea which of them had killed Major.

‘Need a hand there, sir?’ asked the older man casually, in passable Latin.

‘I think I can handle this one, Alikar,’ answered Scaurus. ‘Take it easy on the wine.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Cassius slowly made his way up the steps.

‘Palestinian mercenaries,’ explained Scaurus, his hand on Cassius’s arm. ‘I’ve bought and sold every kind of warrior imaginable. There are none better.’

Cassius stepped up on to the deck and bowed his head against the sunlight glinting off the river.

‘Come, grain man.’

Scaurus led him towards the stern. Two men were there, one with both hands on the tiller, the other standing beside him. They were both wearing a pale belted tunic with trousers — standard sailor attire. The older man had a vertical blue stripe on his tunic. He was standing next to the deckhouse, a solidly built shelter that offered protection from the elements when at sea.

‘Bit of rubbish,’ Scaurus said, nodding at Cassius. ‘Needs to be disposed of.’

The helmsman suddenly pointed forward. ‘Sir, look there.’

The captain stared along the river, then moved right to see around the mast. His jaw dropped open. He ran forward and bellowed down into the hatch.

‘Oars up! Oars up!’

Simo had prayed; and he believed God had answered.

Just half a mile downriver, he’d come across three old barges tied up to a decrepit jetty. One of the barges was full of water and listing badly, but the other two were still afloat. They were little more than wooden shells with posts close to the bow for a tow rope. The vessels were narrow but long — long enough for what Simo had in mind.

Having left the cart and the horses on the towpath, he’d cut some rope from the sunken barge, then used it to connect the other two via the towing posts. He then cut all the ropes except a line holding one of the barge’s bows against the jetty.

Seeing how close Scaurus’s galley was, he pushed the stern of the other craft out into the river. The ebbing tide did the rest, pulling both vessels out into the channel, until the far end of the second barge swung into the thick bank of reeds on the other side of the river. For one terrible moment, Simo thought the tide might pull it through but then both craft came to a rest, blocking the entire width of the river.

Now the big Gaul ran back along the jetty and jumped down on to the muddy path that led up to the road. He crouched down and peered through the reeds at the Radians , still cutting along the river at speed. Three sailors were running towards the bow.

‘Back the oars!’ yelled the captain. ‘Now!’

He held out his arm to the right. The helmsman hauled on the tiller.

Scaurus was still gripping Cassius by the arm. In his other hand was the knife.

Cassius watched the oars spin around, then drop into the water just as the galley struck the middle of the first barge. The entire ship shuddered as the prow smashed into the rotten timbers.

Unlike the sailors, Scaurus hadn’t taken the precaution of holding on to something solid and he and Cassius were thrown forward. Though his wrists were tied in front of him, Cassius at least managed to twist in the air so that he landed on his side. Scaurus fell too but swiftly scrambled back to his feet.

‘What in Hades?’ he yelled.

The captain ignored him. ‘Centre the rudder,’ he told the helmsman before striding forward.

Cassius lay where he was, his face an inch from the deck. He could smell the oil in the pitch-coated timbers. Next to the main hatch was a little square box affixed to the deck. Inside were two sponges, some lengths of cloth, and a rope-spike.

‘Very good. So now what?’

Simo turned to find Indavara standing behind him, breathing hard. The bodyguard took his bow and quiver from his shoulder and laid them carefully on the ground. He had also attached the sword and dagger to his belt. At the top of the path was an unsaddled horse. Simo stared at it.

‘Cost me every coin I had,’ Indavara explained. ‘Time to earn some more.’

The Gaul couldn’t help smiling. ‘Master Cassius is alive. He’s right there.’

‘I know. What’s the plan?’

Simo gestured towards the barges. ‘I hadn’t thought much further than this.’

Indavara came up next to him, and peered through the reeds at the galley. ‘I had a feeling you’d say that. Go and get Corbulo’s mail-shirt.’

Simo started back up the path, then stopped. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘There are a lot of men on that thing. Let’s see if we can even the odds.’

Cassius looked up at the helmsman. The sailor was staring forward and didn’t even notice when Cassius rolled over on to his front and crawled across the deck towards the box.

Indavara took three arrows from the quiver and examined the ship. He could see no sign of Corbulo at the stern now. In fact there seemed to be only one man there.

The prow of the galley had embedded itself in the barge. Small chunks of timber continued to fall off both vessels and float away. The other sailors were gathered there, leaning over the side rail, examining the damage. A chubby older man was walking along the deck towards them. He was holding a knife.