The Far Shore (9 page)

They passed several moored ships – including a flat-hulled dredging barge – and reached the far side of the Little Harbour. Most of the buildings were high, red-brick warehouses, but clustered around a crossroads were some low structures more like the houses that faced the Great Harbour. The road that ran along the north side of the port continued into the heart of the city, then up, zigzagging across the terraced slopes before reaching the citadel.

‘That’s the harbour master’s office, sir,’ said Simo, pointing to what looked like a storefront. ‘Two doors down is the tavern.’

They negotiated a long queue outside a money changer’s, waited for a well-laden cart to rumble past, then crossed the road to the tavern. Were it not for the people outside, Cassius would have assumed The Anchor was closed. Several of the windows were boarded up and the roof had a quarter of its tiles missing. A painted sign had been stripped of all colour by the elements, though there was a rusty iron anchor by the door. Of the two tables outside, one was in fact a converted half of a rowing boat. Sitting inside were three lads throwing pebbles at a gull. The other table was occupied by four men playing some kind of board game. They were a rough-looking bunch: bearded, grizzled and tanned.

‘Which one’s the harbour master?’ Cassius asked Simo.

‘The older man, sir. Wearing the felt cap.’

‘Hang back to start with,’ Cassius told Indavara. ‘If he doesn’t cooperate, make your presence known. But let’s avoid any unpleasantness if possible.’

The harbour master threw three dice and moved his glass counter. He and the other players were still discussing the move when the trio approached the table. The harbour master glanced up at Simo and rolled his eyes. ‘You again.’

‘And me, this time,’ said Cassius. ‘I’m sure Simo told you who his master was. Are you in the habit of ignoring requests from officers of the Roman Army?’

Before the harbour master could answer, another man spoke up. ‘On his day off, he’s in the habit of ignoring everything except the next game of Twelve Lines or the next cup of Lindos’s best.’

Two of the others found this hilarious.

The harbour master turned to Cassius. ‘What’s the problem?’

Cassius was already annoyed; the man hadn’t addressed him as ‘sir’.

‘I’ll tell you that when you’ve stood up and accompanied me back to your office. A most important matter. I haven’t time to waste.’

‘My clerk will tell you all you need to know.’

‘Not good enough.’

The harbour master sipped his wine and gave a resigned shake of his head. The man who’d made the quip pointed at Cassius’s helmet.

‘I can see you’re Roman, but we ain’t.’ He pointed in turn at his friends, starting with the harbour master: ‘Rhodian, Egyptian, Spanish, and I’m Carthaginian.’

‘Forget it, Korinth,’ said the harbour master, collecting up his pile of coins. ‘We can play later.’

Korinth, whose muscled bulk strained against his undersized tunic, had strange dark tattoos circling his neck and wrists. His right cheek had been disfigured by a burn – a curiously angular slab of smooth, orange skin. He put a hand on the harbour master’s shoulder.

‘Stay where you are. It’s your day off.’

‘I don’t care if it’s Saturnalia,’ said Cassius. ‘A man has been killed. A very important man.’

‘This man,’ replied Korinth. ‘Roman, I take it?’

‘If you were born free in the Empire, so are you. As are we all.’

Korinth and the others laughed at this. The harbour master restricted himself to a grin. Cassius felt his face reddening.

‘He’ll come when he’s finished his game,’ said Korinth, running a hand through his wild tangle of hair.

Cassius turned slightly to his right.

Indavara got the message. He stepped forward and kicked the table, knocking drinks, coins and the board flying.

‘Looks like the game’s over,’ he said.

One of the men looked down at his wine-soaked tunic. ‘You son of a bitch.’

Korinth jumped up and made a grab for Indavara. Unfortunately for him, his legs were between the bench and table, so when Indavara swiped his hand away then pushed him in the chest, he went flying backwards, hitting the ground hard.

‘Uff!’

The other three scrambled free of the table.

‘All right that’s enough!’ yelled Cassius as he and Simo got out of the way. The harbour master put his hands up. The man with the wet tunic helped Korinth to his feet and the pair advanced side by side, eyeing Indavara. The bodyguard was armed with both dagger and sword but he reached over his shoulder and pulled the stave from his back.

‘I suggest you two calm down and walk away,’ advised Cassius.

By now the young lads and several passers-by had gathered to watch the impending fight. Cassius looked around but couldn’t see any of the soldiers nearby.

Korinth didn’t have a dagger on his belt, but hanging from his neck on a length of twine was a five-inch rope-spike. These were usually used for untying knots, but as he pulled it off over his head it was evident to all that he had a different application in mind. His friend drew his dagger – a narrow but sharp blade – and spat at Indavara’s feet.

Shouts from the other side of the road. Four young men wielding wooden clubs were sprinting towards the tavern. Behind them was an older man. He was unarmed, holding only the bulky chain around his neck.

Indavara spun round and saw the four men bearing down on him. He glanced at Cassius, who was backing away, still trying to work out what was going on. Apparently facing threats from both sides, Indavara decided to take matters into his own hands.

He turned back to the sailors, adjusted his grip on the stave and shoved it straight into the gut of the man with the dagger. The man’s mouth formed a wide O as he dropped on to his backside. Holding the rope-spike out in front of him, Korinth sprang forward.

His progress was instantly halted as the stave struck him on the chest with a hollow crack. Arms flailing, he flew back into the table. The impact snapped a plank and sent a jug of wine flying into the wall of the tavern. It exploded spectacularly.

‘Stop!’ shouted Cassius.

Indavara – who had already spun back round towards the road again – nodded at the advancing men. ‘Why don’t you tell them!’

The men showed no sign of stopping, and Indavara had no intention of letting them get in the first blow. He came out to meet the lead man and swung two-handed at his shoulder. The clubbing blow knocked his foe clean off his feet and into one of the others, who was sent sprawling to the ground. The other two skidded to a halt.

‘I said stop!’

Cassius ran over and got between them and Indavara. ‘All of you, stop!’

‘What’s going on here?’ asked the older fellow, bustling his way between the others, two more men coming up behind him. Cassius now noticed the object attached to his neck chain – a silver rendering of a familiar design of club.

‘You the magistrate?’ Cassius asked.

‘Of course. I am Gratus Nariad: Chief Inspector of Markets, Chief Inspector of Harbours and Chief Inspector of the Municipality. Who in the name of the gods are you?’

‘Corbulo, Imperial Security,’ Cassius replied, gesturing up at his helmet. ‘Didn’t you receive a message from Optio Clemens?’

‘No.’

‘Aaagh! Shit!’ cried the guard Indavara had struck. ‘I think he broke my arm.’

The other man sat next to him, staring down at the cuts and scrapes on his hands.

Korinth had recovered himself for a second time. He rubbed his chest, then picked up his rope-spike and staggered towards Indavara. ‘You little bastard.’

‘Indavara, over here,’ instructed Cassius.

Indavara didn’t move an inch.

‘Magistrate,’ said Cassius, ‘I want that man arrested. Now.’

‘What?’

‘He attacked my bodyguard. Tell your sergeants to arrest him.’

‘You one-eared whoreson,’ growled Korinth, bringing the spike up level with his face. ‘I’ll take off the other one too, make you look nice and even.’

‘Don’t mention his ear,’ Cassius warned.

The magistrate was staring at the combatants, frozen by indecision. Cassius yelled at him: ‘By the authority of the Imperial Roman Army, I order you to arrest that man at once!’

At last, the magistrate acted.

‘All right. Do it,’ he said, pushing his sergeants forward.

Cassius took hold of Indavara by the shoulders. The bodyguard shook him off but got out of the sergeants’ way.

‘Don’t make this worse than it already is, man,’ the magistrate told the enraged sailor.

The harbour master spoke up too: ‘He’s right, Korinth. Put it down. There’s no real harm done yet.’

Korinth was breathing hard, teeth set in a snarl, but after a few moments he lowered the spike.

One of the sergeants came forward. ‘Hand it over.’

Korinth gave the young sergeant the weapon but he was still glaring at Indavara. ‘You better hope we don’t meet again.’

Indavara gave a crooked smile as he lowered the stave, then slung it over his back. ‘I thought sailors were supposed to be tough. Stick to tying ropes, friend.’

Korinth made another lunge for him but by this time he was surrounded by the sergeants. After a brief struggle, they locked his arms by his side.

‘You have a cell?’ asked Cassius.

‘Yes.’

The magistrate pointed at Korinth. ‘Take him back to headquarters.’

‘Him too,’ said Cassius pointing at the second sailor, who was hunched over, retching.

‘Why?’

‘He pulled a knife on us.’

‘Very well. Men – him too.’

The other sailor straightened up and came forward voluntarily. ‘All right. I’m coming.’ He shook his head. ‘Drinking in the morning. Why do I do it?’

The four uninjured sergeants escorted Korinth and his friend away through the small crowd that had gathered. The magistrate instructed the other two to get up, then puffed out his chest. ‘You people move along. I am Chief Inspector of the Municipality and I command it. Move along there! Move along!’

The crowd reluctantly broke up, all except the boys, who were still staring at Indavara. Cassius strode over to the harbour master and poked him in the arm. ‘Get back to your office. I want to see all your documentation regarding arrivals and departures for the last week. Understood?’

‘It’s all right,’ added the magistrate. ‘You can do as the officer says.’

‘Yes, sirs,’ said the harbour master before trotting away.

‘Might I have a word?’ said Cassius.

The magistrate followed him into the narrow alley between the tavern and the house next door.

‘What was the name again?’

‘Nariad. And yours?’

‘Corbulo.’

Nariad was a slender man with a long, curved nose and a thick head of oiled black hair. His cloak was lined with silver braid and he had rings on most of his fingers.

Cassius took the spearhead out of his satchel and held it so that the point was only a couple of inches from Nariad’s chin. ‘Know what this is?’

The magistrate’s eyes almost crossed as he looked down. ‘Of course,’ he gulped.

‘Then you’ll know that it obliges any official or soldier I encounter to lend me assistance: immediate and unquestioning assistance – not that I would even need to be involved if you’d done your job in the first place. Tell me why you aren’t in Amyndios right now, investigating the death of Augustus Marius Memor.’

‘I was planning to ride over later this morning. A tragedy. A great loss.’

Nariad failed to imbue his words with even a vestige of genuine concern.

‘Not a tragedy,’ said Cassius. ‘A killing. The murder of the second in command of the Imperial Security Service.’

Nariad seemed to regain a little nerve. He reached for the small silver club on the chain round his neck and held it up. ‘I wonder, young man, do you know what
this
is? You seem to imagine I have nothing else to concern me.’

‘This investigation
must
take precedence. You say you didn’t receive the message sent by Optio Clemens on my behalf?’

‘I was out of the city most of yesterday and last night. As well as the assembly meeting tomorrow, I have an outbreak of pestilence on the east of the island to deal with. I cannot be everywhere at once! In fact, it’s lucky for you that my men and I happened to be passing.’

Cassius almost laughed. ‘By the great gods. How much did you pay for your position? It clearly wasn’t attained through merit.’

Nariad looked genuinely shocked. ‘You can’t talk to me like that! I shall go straight to the governor.’

Cassius was in no mood for compromise; he knew he held the upper hand. ‘Were this a bigger, more important city, in a bigger, more important province, that might concern me. But if I inform Chief Pulcher that you not only failed to take charge of this investigation with appropriate haste, but also obstructed my efforts, it will take more than the help of some second-rate governor to save you. I don’t even know the man’s name. But I see you know Pulcher’s.’

The colour had drained from Nariad’s face. It wasn’t the first time Cassius had invoked his ultimate superior, and the response was invariably the same. Abascantius had assured him that the chief was a noble man and a true patriot, but Pulcher’s reputation was that of a ruthless spymaster, a man who would do anything he considered necessary to safeguard the interests of the Empire. He had served four emperors and brought down generals, governors and senators in his time.

‘I have a signed letter of authorisation from him,’ Cassius continued. ‘Would you like to see it?’

He did have such a letter, though it was actually back at the way station.

‘No, no,’ replied Nariad. ‘That won’t be necessary. After a moment’s reflection I see that you’re right, Officer. I have been lax.’

Cassius marched out of the alley. He was too angry to draw any satisfaction from the exchange; the whole incident had wasted more valuable time.

‘Tell me, Officer,’ said Nariad, hurrying after him. ‘How
is
the investigation progressing? What exactly can I do to help?’

‘I apologise, sir,’ said the harbour master, removing his cap and turning it in his hands as Cassius, Indavara and Simo walked into his office. ‘I should have come when you asked me to. Now Korinth and Magga are in trouble on my account.’