Free The Black Stone by Nick Brown Page B

away.
    ‘Thank you and welcome. Hail to the gods who watch over us!’
    ‘Hail!’ replied the locals, Lepida included. Cassius refrained; he could never quite bring himself to shout along with a crowd.
    ‘Hail to the governor, who has ensured that tonight’s performance goes ahead!’
    ‘Hail!’
    ‘Hail to the Emperor, Lucius Domitius Aurelianus!’
    ‘Hail! Hail! Hail!’
    Cassius felt obliged to at least mutter this.
    ‘And now,’ added the actor in his most portentous tone, ‘best of order, please. The Bostra Players proudly present
Brutus
, a tragedy, by Accius of Pisaurum.’
    He withdrew and was swiftly replaced by three of his compatriots, all dressed in luxurious robes and carrying wooden swords. Before even the first word was spoken, Cassius felt warm fingers upon his right knee.
    Indavara hunched forward on the stone bench, chin propped up with his hand, gazing at the statue. Simo had told him about the sanctuary a few weeks ago and he’d already visited it twice. Because of the darkness he couldn’t see much more than the silhouette of the crowned head but that didn’t matter; he just hoped Fortuna might help him make up his mind.
    To begin with, it had seemed as if life in Bostra might be good. He liked the idea of living in the house with the other two; having his own room, settling down in one place for a while. And parts of it were good; he would often help Simo with his work and in return the attendant would help him with his numbers and letters. But Simo had been away a while now and he’d been stuck in the house with Muranda most of the time. She was a nice woman but she talked too much and asked far too many questions, so whenever he could, Indavara escaped to practise his archery.
    As for Corbulo, they shared the odd laugh when they were training but he was always busy, asleep or at the baths. And now that he knew him better, Indavara realised he was too tied up with himself to ever worry about anyone else. It was true he treated Indavara better than when they’d first met and – underneath the arrogance and vanity – he was a good man. But he was also a rich Roman; and Indavara reckoned Corbulo would always think of him as an employee, as his inferior.
    The best thing about the last few weeks had been meeting Sanari. She didn’t seem to mind about his disfigured ear and all his scars, or that he knew so little of the world; they just seemed to get along. They’d been together when he saw the advertisement for the archery contest. Sanari couldn’t read but Indavara knew enough Greek to work out the basics and he’d later asked Simo to confirm the details. How he wished he’d never bothered now.
    He stamped down on the ground, sending some birds fluttering away. That sly bastard Eclectis; he’d knock him down again if he could.
    Indavara tried hard not to think of the arena but he suspected Corbulo was right – he usually was about that sort of thing. He could remember almost nothing before waking up there so it was no surprise that such thoughts were never far away. Little things reminded him: the clang of an iron door or that first breath of fresh air. Or the noise of a crowd.
    Even so, he knew he’d have got through the contest if not for Eclectis. Indavara toyed with the idea of hunting him down. Facing his cronies wasn’t a concern; he would knock plenty of them over too before they stopped him.
    He thought of the mob at the door. He had to admit Corbulo had done his best for him there. And perhaps things would be better when Simo came back. But he didn’t know how he could face Sanari now. What he had done must have seemed so cowardly, so weak. And how could he ever explain? Not without telling her it all.
    Indavara heard shouting from somewhere. Nabatean? Aramaic? He could never tell the difference. He didn’t like this city much, or the province. It was too dry and too hot. He’d always preferred green lands with hills and rivers and forests. If he knew one thing about