Rome 2: The Coming of the King by M. C. Scott Read Free Book Online

Mergus asked.
    ‘It’s his new way, started this spring. He’s a Greek, which means he’ll extort more of whatever you’re trading if you’re selling to the Hebrews rather than the Syrians, who count themselves almost wholly Greek. Take that as fair warning, and if you pass it to Ibrahim, don’t say it came from me. But for now, you have an escort. The Watch will keep you safe until you reach your inn.’
    ‘Are we in danger?’
    Jucundus pulled a wry face. ‘Take it as a sensible precaution,’ he said. ‘The autumn riots have started early. Nobody’s safe.’
    At which he raised his arm in signal and the detachment that had blocked the path split apart and rode down to join the train, half on either side so that Ibrahim and his camels passed through the city’s gates to the chime of chain mail and the tread of different horses, and the crowds gathered to view them with silent awe, as if they were royalty.
*
    Caesarea was whiter than a pearl. It gleamed bright as a diamond in the sun, with the sea a mirror of aquamarine behind, and the sky only two shades quieter above.
    Pantera was mounted on the bay colt he had set his eyes on after the battle. It was a pleasure to ride, answering easily to heel and hand with a forward, fluid gait in the open desert and a solid one in the city. He set it now to follow the mare in front and, in the guise of Afeef, Nabatean archer, observed what he could of the city.
    First, he studied the gangs of sullen, brooding youths who gathered on the street corners to watch their passing and decided that the Syrians were more numerous than the Hebrews, but that the latter looked more desperate and therefore more dangerous.
    After, he looked about in apparent awe at the bright white polished stone from which the whole city was fashioned; at the width and regularity of the streets – none of the haphazard twists and turns of Rome here; at the tented podiums set at each street corner for the benefit of the Watch, living testament to the fact that Caesarea had been designed to remain under constant occupation; at the rows of houses built all the same, in the Greek style with their stairs inside, but with many-coloured flower gardens on the rooftops and in vessels by the front doors.
    The flowers were a riot in their own right, with scarlet vying against cerise and saffron, magenta and violet, rust, lime and midnight blue, each trying to outdo the other with the sheer violence of its hue.
    Elsewhere were signs of human violence: of smoke stains and broken doors, of blood swept into gutters and the moans of the newly injured from behind shuttered windows. And one sign of fresher violence, not far in front of the train.
    Pantera leaned a little towards Mergus. ‘Ahead,’ he murmured in Greek. ‘Three streets forward on the right. Fresh blood on the road. Wait a moment before you appear to see it.’
    He watched as Mergus counted nine paces then, as if seeingthe gore for the first time, lifted himself high in the saddle and, swearing, threw up his hand.
    ‘Jucundus! Ahead! The street with the green dolphin! Fresh blood!’
    Jucundus had seen action in battle, Pantera would have bet his life on that. The officer swung his horse even as the first word reached him. His orders spilled out in Greek, too fast to follow, but they brought Ibrahim’s camel train to a ragged halt. A dozen men of the Watch cantered up the line in tight formation, three men across, four deep, unslinging their shields as they rode, drawing their cavalry blades.
    In a block, they came to the street marked by a soaring dolphin painted on the white gable end. In itself, that marked it as a Syrian district: the god of the Hebrews did not allow images of men or animals in his domain.
    They didn’t dismount. After a brief flurry of horses dragged to a hard halt, of heads thrown and hooves belling on the hard stone, the leader dragged a spear from his second and, leaning down, brought something up on its tip. After a moment,