Nick Brown: The Far Shore

Cilicia, October AD 272

The noise reached its peak as the procession passed under the arched gate, then settled into a tumult of clapping, cheering and crying. Soldiers in gleaming bronze helmets and armour lined the road, holding back the crowd. Children clung to their parents’ legs and looked up; the lucky few able to reach a roof or high window looked down. Leading the way were four mounted soldiers carrying spears trailing red and yellow streamers. Behind them came a plump, long-haired herald, bellowing an insistent refrain: ‘People of Karanda, welcome our returning leader! Hail Prince Orycus! Hail the Prince!’

Orycus and his horse were covered in flowers thrown by the crowd. Clad in a pristine white tunic and cape, he sat high in his saddle, gracing his people with restrained smiles and nods. Close by were two attendants with heavily laden horses and two aged priests in long, flowing robes that hung close to the ground. Then came six armoured cavalrymen bearing circular shields and lances.

Bringing up the rear were three individuals who seemed entirely out of place with the rest of the procession. In the middle was Cassius Quintius Corbulo: a tall, lean, fair-skinned man who didn’t look anything like old enough for the scarlet cloak and crested helmet of an officer of the Roman Army. To Cassius’s left was his servant Simo: an older fellow of similar height but considerably more width, wearing a pale woollen tunic and a well-travelled pair of sandals. He had a kind, friendly face and looked as if he could barely resist the temptation to wave to the onlookers. Cassius’s bodyguard Indavara seemed to be the least comfortable in the saddle. He was the shortest of the three but altogether more muscular and his sleeveless tunic showed off a pair of remarkably solid arms laced with scars. His thick black hair didn’t quite cover his left ear, the top half of which was missing. He caught Cassius’s eye and nodded forward at the prince with a sneer.

‘Looks quite the part now, doesn’t he?’

Cassius shrugged as Indavara continued:

‘Lucky they didn’t see him hiding behind trees every time we met someone on the road, or starting at every sound.’

‘We all have our roles to play,’ replied Cassius, almost having to shout to make himself heard. ‘You too. Watch these windows for archers.’

‘Their man said there’d be no danger once we were inside the walls.’

‘I know numbers aren’t your strong point, but how many people do you think are here?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Indavara. ‘Thousands.’

‘Exactly. And it only takes one. We’ve got Orycus this far. We don’t want to lose him now.’

The ensuing half-hour was tense and chaotic, and Cassius let out a long sigh of relief when the procession finally reached the palace. The building barely deserved the name but then Karanda didn’t seem like much of a city and — as Indavara had pointed out — Orycus certainly didn’t seem like much of a prince. The palace was a three-storey structure built of timber and reminded Cassius of a large, not particularly luxurious inn. Roughly made standards hung from poles over the main entrance, where a number of well-dressed dignitaries had gathered. More soldiers were stationed along the path from the entrance to the front of the courtyard, where the prince had just dismounted. With a final wave to the crowd, Orycus strode towards the palace. He was met by a hulking, white-bearded man who gripped the hand offered to him, then escorted the prince inside. There was a groan from the watching horde, which was soon being dispersed by the soldiers.

‘Break it up there! Off you go!’

‘Back to your homes! Back to work!’

Cassius slid wearily to the ground, then unbuckled his chinstrap and removed his helmet. ‘Thank the gods that’s over with. He’s someone else’s problem now. A good night’s rest, then we can be on our way.’

Indavara dropped down next to him and stretched out his arms. Simo dismounted and immediately set about removing saddlebags.

Tutting at the commoners bustling past, Cassius glanced up at the darkening sky and the foreboding mountains beyond the city walls. Strands of grey cloud drifted past the high, jagged crags and a light drizzle began to fall.

‘Sir? Sir?’ said a voice in Greek.

Cassius saw a small man pushing his way through the crowd. ‘Officer Corbulo?’

‘Yes.’

The man straightened his tunic and the thick silver chain around his neck. ‘I am Speaker Malacus Argunt of the grand council. Karanda welcomes the envoy of Rome.’

Cassius rather liked the sound of that. He gripped forearms with Argunt, who, like most provincials, was too delicate and too quick with the gesture.

‘Thank you, Speaker Argunt.’

Cassius always made a point of repeating back the names of anyone he met who occupied a position of authority. It created a good impression and invariably ensured he would remember the name.

Argunt waved a pair of servants forward. ‘We shall stable your horses at once. I’ve arranged a room for you in the palace.’ He cast a vaguely distasteful look at Indavara. ‘Three wasn’t it?’

‘Three, yes.’

‘If you come with me, sir. First Minister Vyedra would like to see you now.’

‘Of course.’

Cassius turned to Indavara, who was already removing his weapons from his saddle. ‘Help Simo with the gear, would you?’

Indavara nodded.

Cassius followed Argunt back through the crowd.

First Minister Vyedra turned out to be the white-bearded man who had greeted the prince. Speaker Argunt completed the introductions then left the large reception room, which was on the second floor of the palace, overlooking the courtyard. As a servant took Cassius’s cloak and helmet, Vyedra gestured to two couches by a broad window.

‘Thank you. A moment,’ said Cassius. He took off the leather satchel he carried over his left shoulder and put it down on the floor, then removed the diagonal sword belt from his right shoulder. ‘Don’t think I need this.’

The servant added the heavy sword to his load and hurried away into an anteroom. Cassius waited for Vyedra to lower his substantial frame on to one of the couches, then picked up the satchel and sat opposite him. Another servant — a middle-aged woman — appeared and placed a wooden tray on the table between the couches. She took from it a plate of cakes, a jug and two fine glasses. Her hand was shaking as she poured wine into each glass, then handed them to the men.

Cassius looked down at the street beyond the courtyard, where scores of the city folk were still gathered. ‘They seem reluctant to leave.’

‘All of Karanda rejoices,’ replied Vyedra. ‘We owe you a great debt. With the prince returned to us, the House of Tarebe will live on.’

‘All of Karanda?’ queried Cassius, resting the glass on his knee. ‘I was told the people of this enclave — Solba — oppose his family’s rule. Isn’t that why we had to escort him home in secret?’

‘The threat from Solba has been somewhat overstated in certain quarters. But it is better to be safe than sorry, is it not?’

‘Indeed. I did try to explain that to the prince, but he took a rather dim view of my methods.’

‘Staying in out-of-the-way inns with beds crawling with mites?’

‘Those sound like his words.’

‘And having him dress as your clerk until you were close to the city?’

‘Rather inventive that, I thought.’

Vyedra made a valiant attempt not to smile.

The servant offered each man the plate of cakes but both refused. She replaced the plate on the table and left.

‘So, regarding the new arrangement with the governor in Tarsus,’ continued Cassius. ‘Tragic that the king wasn’t able to sign it before his death, but now that the prince has been safely returned, it is essential that the agreement be ratified.’