Nick Brown: The Black Stone

‘Good day to you, sir.’

‘Good day, Mistress Lepida.’

Cassius was all set to walk on when he saw a younger lady exiting the villa.

Lepida didn’t seem overly concerned by the speed at which he shifted his gaze. ‘May I introduce my cousin, Miss Helena Umbrenius.’

‘Miss Helena.’

Cassius stepped into the garden and took her hand; and a well-manicured hand it was too. She was rather short but slim with it; and far darker than Lepida. She looked like the local girls, in fact, with jet-black hair and remarkably white teeth.

‘Helena arrived from Qottein yesterday. She is staying with me for now because of the troubles. Any news, Officer? There’s talk that the rest of the legion might be recalled.’

‘I’m really not sure.’

‘I thought you were supposed to know about these things.’

‘As you know, I deal mainly with logistics.’ Cassius smiled. It was a running joke between them.

‘Come now, Officer.’

‘Cassius, please.’

‘Very well — Cassius. Enough of this pretence. I have been an army wife for more than ten years and I am fully aware that it is the job of the Service to know things before everyone else.’

‘I wish that were true,’ he replied honestly.

‘Officer Corbulo was born in Ravenna,’ Lepida told her cousin. ‘He hails from one of the old families and is related to Gnaes Domitius Corbulo, the great general.’

‘You are kind, Mistress Lepida, but I’m sure Miss Helena doesn’t want to hear about me.’

The look on the young lady’s face suggested otherwise. Cassius guessed she was around his age. Almost certainly unmarried or Lepida would have mentioned it by now.

He continued: ‘Tell me, have you had a chance to look around the city? The theatre is really quite impressive.’

‘Not yet,’ the girl replied shyly.

‘Are you attending the performance tonight?’ asked Lepida.

‘ Brutus ?’ replied Cassius. ‘I thought that had been cancelled.’

‘It’s back on. Apparently the governor gave specific instructions that all should continue as normal.’

‘Ah. Well, Accius has always been a bit broad for my tastes, but-’

‘Perhaps you would escort us?’ asked Lepida.

‘Why not?’

A bell rang out from the fortress, marking the start of the third hour.

‘Gods, sorry, I’d better be going.’

‘Is that an arrangement, then?’ asked Lepida.

‘Certainly. Shall I call in at the twelfth?’

‘Perfect.’

‘Good day, ladies.’

They answered together: ‘Good day.’

Feeling his spirits rising by the moment, Cassius placed a steadying hand on his sword and jogged away along the street. He didn’t like being seen to hurry in public but he liked being admonished for tardiness even less.

Up ahead, a double line of cavalry had just turned onto the road, bound for the fortress. They were trotting along at quite a speed and several locals had to take evasive action. One unfortunate tipped his little cart onto the pavement. Bounding over a cascade of watermelons, Cassius nodded politely at the cavalry commander. The officer returned the gesture and bawled at the poor vendor, who bowed repeatedly as he recovered his wares.

Once past the last pair of riders, Cassius crossed to the other side of the street. At the corner, he turned left onto the Via Petra and passed the city’s largest sanctuary. Equipped with an immense central fountain, it functioned as spring, retreat and meeting place. Water-carriers bearing jugs or skins gathered by the numerous pipes while richer folk walked the gardens or sat sunning themselves.

Another hundred paces took him under the imposing arch commonly known as the East Gate. Squatting in the shadows were a pair of legionaries and four city sergeants. Noting his approach, they whispered warnings, but when Cassius ignored them they returned swiftly to their dice. Turning right up a narrower street, he heard a desperate cry of ‘Dogs? Again?’ Cassius grinned; the gambler had rolled four ones — the lowest possible score.

A smaller arch marked the entrance to the governor’s residence. The two guards outside had been slouching but straightened their spears and their backs as Cassius strode past. ‘Good day, sir.’

‘Good day.’

The residence was known locally as Rabbel’s House — palace of the last king before the annexation of Arabia by the emperor Trajan. Cassius thought it appropriate that few people actually used the word palace. Despite two colonnaded storeys, it was a blocky, rather anonymous building, and several of the city’s richer inhabitants could boast far grander homes. The governor had, however, done his best to improve the place: it was surrounded by a colourful strip of flowerbeds and watched over by Trajan and several other of Rome’s most revered emperors. Hurrying between life-size bronze renderings of Hadrian and Marcus Aurelius, Cassius approached the passageway that led to the palace’s central courtyard.

Standing there with another sentry was one of the staff; an aged attendant holding a waxed tablet and stylus. ‘Officer Corbulo, good day to you. The governor is holding his meeting in the Table Room. Do you-’

Cassius didn’t break stride. ‘I know the way.’

The courtyard was large — forty yards from corner to corner — and today contained two groups of people. One was a huddle of toga-clad men: senior administrators deep in discussion. The others were centurions, helmets cradled under their arms as they listened to another officer reading from a sheet of paper. None of the men looked up.

Cassius passed through a portico then turned right into a corridor. Two maids were on their knees, rolling up a heavy rug. They were about to scramble out of Cassius’s way but he held up a hand and nimbly turned sideways to get past them. Slowing down as he approached the Table Room, he checked his helmet, straightened his tunic, and walked in.

The room was well lit by three grilled windows and dominated by the eponymous table — a rectangular monstrosity far too big for the space that housed it. On the interior wall was a fading fresco; the inevitable seven hills of Rome. At the near end of the table stood two young clerks, silently sorting through some papers. Sitting at the far end were Governor Calvinus, Tribune Pontius and Chief Nerva.

‘Ah, Corbulo.’ Calvinus beckoned Cassius forward then addressed the clerks. ‘You two leave us. Shut the door behind you.’

As the clerks complied, Cassius placed his helmet on a table next to Nerva’s (which looked in rather better condition) then slipped the satchel from his shoulder. The governor occupied the chair at the end of the table, the others to his right. Cassius took a seat to his left.

Directly opposite him was Pontius: a tall, striking man. At twenty-six he was five years older than Cassius and the legion’s senior tribune. His light woollen tunic was of unmistakable quality, the wide purple stripe running from shoulder to belt. Pontius was a senator’s son, putting in his time in the provinces before returning to Rome to take up a political career. With the prefect away leading the legion’s crack cohorts in Syria, he was now effectively commander of the province’s forces. Brash and direct, Pontius was also a renowned rider, having won several prestigious contests. Cassius had tried to ingratiate himself with all those he dealt with at his new posting but Pontius remained as unreceptive as Chief Nerva — possibly the only thing the two had in common.

Though technically a centurion, as the man in charge of the fortress, Nerva enjoyed a status only just below Pontius. Unlike the tribune — who might be back in Rome within a year — he had served with the Third Cyrenaican for two decades. Jowly and squat, his red tunic was far more faded than Cassius’s and looked at least a size too small. Pinned to his chest was a miniature silver spear: symbol of his post; and around both his wrists were broad gold bands: decorations for distinguished service.