The Imperial Banner by Nick Brown Read Free Book Online Page B

job whatsoever to the dishevelled character in front of him, but he reminded himself that Abascantius had been in Syria for more than a decade. He had served under four emperors and outlasted three governors. Perhaps his appearance worked to his advantage; it was difficult to overestimate him.
    ‘Aurelian left for Rome as soon as he’d finished treaty negotiations with the Persians. Gifts were exchanged, a few clauses agreed; all remarkably smooth. With the Palmyrans taken care of, the last thing we need is another conflict with our old adversaries to the east. Now, most of Zenobia’s treasures went with the Emperor – some thirty cart-loads I’m told. All that was left in Palmyra was a cache of jewels, trinkets, silver and gold for the provincial coffers in Antioch. It was to be returned inside one large cart, packed in barrels. But one of the barrels contained something more valuable than the rest of the booty put together. It is a flag, but no ordinary flag. Does the term Faridun’s Banner mean anything to you?’
    ‘The Persian imperial standard.’
    Abascantius nodded approvingly. ‘Very good.’
    ‘One of my neighbours in Cyzicus had a fine library, with several translated tomes on the rulers of the east.’
    ‘What else do you know?’
    ‘Not much. Faridun was an ancient king. A hero who embodied the virtues of courage, justice, nobility and so on. A familiar tale.’
    ‘Indeed. And a sacred one to the Persians. They believe the standard represents their destiny, their fate. I’ve never seen it myself but apparently it’s a great purple thing of the finest silk, with jewels the size of apples. It’s been carried at the head of their army since the time of Ardashir I. But when Odenathus of Palmyra’s forces overran Ctesiphon ten years ago, his armies looted the city and took the flag back with them.’
    Abascantius paused to take another swig of wine.
    Cassius nodded. ‘Let me guess: the return of the banner is part of the treaty.’
    ‘A crucial part. And a secret one. I’m told that only a few men close to the royal family even know the flag was taken by the Palmyrans. We think they may have been using a replica; the people certainly don’t know of the loss. The young Emperor, Hormizd, is desperate for its return. His position is far from secure and he’s paranoid that the truth will come out. A closed ceremony is being planned for the day after my meeting. Marcellinus is to hand the flag over to Hormizd himself. Without it, the Persians won’t sign the treaty.’
    Abascantius looked at the ceiling and rolled his tongue around his mouth.
    Cassius said, ‘I presume that the banner is not where it should be.’
    ‘The cart should have left Palmyra twelve days ago. In command was my senior man – Gregorius, accompanied by ten hand-picked legionaries. They were to travel in local garb, just another merchant’s load on its way to Antioch. There is a good road, but he planned to use a quieter route. Should have taken them eight days. But there has been no news, no sighting, no reports. The men, the treasure and the banner have disappeared.’
    Cassius leaned back and exhaled. ‘I hardly need ask what you expect of me.’
    ‘Actually I originally had something else in mind for you, but it seems the gods have delivered you to me at a fortuitous moment.’
    ‘Sir, I don’t know why you imagine I might be suited to such a task. Surely you yourself—’
    Abascantius held up a hand. ‘The loss of the banner is my responsibility, yes. And believe me, I will do my part. But you must understand how it is here. My face is known on every street and in every inn and barracks from Seleucia to Dura. The legionaries call me “Pitface”, and they – along with many of the locals – would no sooner divulge anything useful to me than eat their own shit. You, on the other hand – a fresh-faced young gentleman from outside the province – should fare much better.’
    Abascantius tapped the satchel. ‘I