The Black Stone by Nick Brown Read Free Book Online Page A

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    Calvinus crossed his legs and rearranged the folds of his toga. He spoke only when he was sure the others were gone. ‘You defended your corner well, young man, and I cannot fault your analysis. But if the present informers aren’t doing the job, recruit new ones. Get out there. Find out what I need to know. If you require more personnel, more funds, tell me.’
    ‘Yes, Governor.’
    With that, Cassius picked up his satchel and left, collecting his helmet on the way out. The courtyard had emptied and – as he exited the residence and passed the sentries – he saw Chief Nerva striding away towards another exit, accompanied by two other officers.
    As he neared the East Gate, Cassius heard the clatter of hooves behind him. He moved to the left side of the road but as the noise grew louder, something told him to turn. A tall, broad horse was bearing down on him.
    Cassius threw himself out of the way, striking a low wall and half-burying his head in a bush.
    By the time he’d recovered himself, the rider was well past. Tribune Pontius turned and gave a sly grin, then rode on.
    ‘Bloody idiot!’
    Cassius kept the volume of his shout down so that the tribune wouldn’t hear, then felt ashamed for doing so.
    ‘Bloody army!’ He kicked away a nearby lump of wood, then checked himself for damage – just a few scratches on his arm.
    Cassius continued on his way, still cursing. He resented always having to swim against the endless tide of army antagonism towards the Service but he was determined to prove himself. According to the demands of his father, he still had two more years to serve, and he planned to fulfil his duties as well as he could (preferably without taking any more risks than was necessary).
    Thinking of the stack of paperwork awaiting him back at the villa, he quickened his pace. He would have to work hard for the rest of the day if he was to keep his evening appointment with the ladies.

II
    It was the noise that did it. The previous rounds of the archery competition had been held in the morning, with only a few dozen inside the hippodrome. But the final was to commence at the eighth hour and over five hundred tickets had been sold. Before being introduced, the finalists waited inside one of the stalls usually used by chariot teams.
    Indavara stood at the back, staring vacantly at clumps of horsehair stuck in the planks of the wall. There hadn’t even been a cheer yet but he could hear that low buzz of excited anticipation. His hands were clammy, his throat tight; and for a moment he considered walking straight through the swinging doors and out of the stadium. But with little else to occupy him in the last few weeks, he’d put in hours and hours of practice and he was determined to see it through. Sixty-four entrants were now four and the winner stood to collect ten aurei plus a silver trophy.
    One of the other competitors – a cocky Egyptian named Eclectis – was removing the remains of his lunch with a toothpick. Two others – both local men – stood close to the front, peering over the doors. Outside, the organiser of the event, Taenaris, was warming up the crowd. The two locals exchanged a few barbed comments about him then shared a drink from a jug of wine.
    Indavara walked forward and checked the first few rows of benches for Sanari, the maid from next door. She had promised she would come. Corbulo had said the same but Indavara doubted he would be there, especially without Simo around to remind him. Though they shared a roof, Corbulo rarely needed his services these days and was usually busy with work or his social life.
    Belatedly realising that examining the sea of faces was only making him feel worse, Indavara turned away and tried to control his breathing.
    ‘Nervous, big man?’ asked Eclectis. The Egyptian had been calling him that since the quarter-finals. Every one of the competitors was by necessity broad chested and strong, but most were leaner than Indavara. They were mainly