“Sir, Sir, have a look at this,” Indus cried out suddenly, and something in the tone of his bodyguard’s voice made Marcus turn and look in his direction. Indus was standing beside the corner wall of the huge warehouse that was on fire, and pointing at something that had been scrawled onto the stone work. As he approached the wall, in the flickering light of the fire, Marcus suddenly caught sight of words painted onto the wall in red paint.
“You should have left Rome when you had the chance, Marcus,” he hissed as he read the graffiti out loud.
Chapter Thirteen – The Pressure on Marcus Grows
Marcus looked grim and exhausted, his face and toga stained by soot, dirt and sweat as he slowly picked his way through the smouldering, blackened rubble of what was left of the grain warehouse. It was dawn and, across the site hundreds of Vigiles, Rome’s hybrid police and fire brigade, were examining the burnt-out wreckage. The smell of smoke hung thick in the air. A few fire fighters were still bringing up buckets of water from the Tiber to dampen the debris, but most of their comrades had flung themselves onto the ground, too tired to do anything else. Leaning against the wall, upon which the red graffiti had been scrawled, watching his boss, Indus too was struggling to keep his eyes open. To the east the sun was rising, a reddish ball in the clear sky, and as he felt the sun’s warm welcoming rays, Marcus realised that he should really send a message to Kyna to let her know where he was. He had stayed at the site of the fire all night, trying to do his best to help the firefighters put it out. The battle against the flames had been epic. A ferocious and stubborn struggle between man and the elements and the dedication of the firefighters had left a deep impression on him.
“There he is. Sir, Sir,” a voice suddenly cried and as he turned, Marcus saw Cassius hastening towards him. His young secretary was accompanied by the fire chief in charge of the cohort of Vigiles.
“The fire is out,” the chief growled as he and Cassius came up to Marcus. The fire chief wiped his forehead, sighed and turned to gaze at the blackened rubble. “The western warehouse was lost Sir,” he said. “Together with the grain that was stored inside. But we managed to save the other three warehouses. My men used catapults, artillery and pickaxes to create a fire break to prevent the flames from spreading. It seems to have worked. My investigators are now searching for clues to the cause of the fire. They have spoken to the night watchman who was on duty, and who first raised the alarm, but that man claims to have seen no one on his rounds. My men think though that he may have been asleep when it started. I hope to have more answers soon Sir.”
Marcus nodded silently and turned to look at the ruined warehouse.
“You did what you could,” Marcus said at last. “No one here is to blame. I shall make sure that the people of Rome know about the dedication and professionalism of your fire fighters. Tell your men that Rome is proud of them.”
“Sir,” the fire chief muttered, as he lowered his gaze to the ground.
“Cassius,” Marcus said in a weary voice. “This is not just a random fire. This was started deliberately and by the same person or people who sabotaged the water mills on the Janiculum. The graffiti on that wall over there confirms it. They are sending us a message. Their strategy seems to be to target our grain supply infrastructure, for which I am responsible. So, I want a permanent guard placed on all of Rome’s grain and bread production infrastructure and I want it done right away.”
“Of-course Sir,” Cassius exclaimed. “I will see to it at once but how are we going to pay for this expense. We have no money for such additional expenditure. Our budget is already stretched by all the emergency measures.”
“I will personally pay for the security costs,” Marcus snapped irritably. “Just get it done.”
Then beckoning for Cassius to follow him, Marcus carefully picked his way towards the stonewall against which Indus was leaning. Beside the wall he paused and pointed at the red graffiti scrawled across the stones.
“You should have left Rome when you had the chance, Marcus,” he read aloud. Then turning to Cassius, Marcus’s face darkened. “Do you know who is behind this? If you have any suspicions or theories, you need to tell me now.”
Cassius blushed as he gazed at the graffiti. Hastily he shook his head. “Of-course I would Sir, but nothing comes to mind right now. If I knew who was behind this I would tell you.”
Marcus grunted as he examined his secretary and then turned to stare at the graffiti. Exhaustion seemed to be making him suspicious of everyone and everybody. He needed to get some sleep. He needed to go home.
“Marcus,” a voice suddenly called out and as he turned Marcus saw Paulinus standing in the street gazing at him. Rome’s finance minister was clad in his senatorial toga and was accompanied by a slave.
“I heard about the fire and came as soon as I could,” Paulinus called out with a grave, troubled looking expression. “The senate, Marcus. They have summoned you to a special sitting later this morning at the Curia Julia. They want to know what the hell is going on. I thought I would come and tell you in person.”
***
Marcus ran his hand across his soot stained and unshaven cheek as he strode into the Curia Julia, the senate house in the Forum. He looked like shit for there had been no time to go home for a change of clothing. But it couldn’t be helped. There had been barely enough time to consider what he would tell the senate. The House was only half full and the toga clad senators were spread out across the rows of benches. And as he came into the building with Paulinus in tow, he groaned. A quick cursory glance seemed to show that the house was solely packed with Peace Party supporters.
“Where are our supporters?” Marcus hissed as he rounded on Paulinus, but the finance minister just shrugged, his face a mask of concern. Turning to peer at the stony-faced and bearded senators, Marcus could see no sign of Nigrinus, nor of any of the other leading men of the War Party. Apart from Paulinus it looked like he was on his own. There was no support from his own faction.
“Don’t let them humiliate you,” Paulinus whispered, as he headed towards his seat on one of the benches.
“Prefect,” one of the bearded senators called out as he stood up. “News of a second attack on Rome’s critical infrastructure has spread throughout the city. I understand that you have come directly from the scene of the fire. What happened? What are you doing about this intolerable situation?”
“We want to know what the hell is going on? We need answers,” another bearded senator cried out in an angry voice, as he too stood up.
Marcus did not immediately reply. Straightening his toga, he tried to rub off some of the dirt from his clothing. Then lifting his head, he turned to face the hundred and fifty or so senators who were waiting for him to speak.
“Late last night there was a fire in one of the grain warehouses down near the docks,” he began in a tired-sounding voice. “The fire was started deliberately. The Vigiles however acted promptly and managed to contain the blaze, but we have lost one of the warehouses with all the grain inside. It will have short term consequences on the grain rationing.” As he paused a gasp of dismay rose from the benches at the news. “You are right Sir,” Marcus continued stoically, “that this is the second attack on Rome’s grain and bread production infrastructure in a matter of days. I do not yet know who is behind these attacks but rest assured that I have people investigating these crimes. I have also this morning ordered a permanent, night and day guard to be placed on all our critical food production and distribution infrastructure and I shall be paying for these costs from my own personal funds.”
“It is not so long ago that you were accused of incompetence,” a senator cried out, as he rose to his feet and pointed an accusing finger at Marcus. “There were calls for you to be sacked and yet here you are again, standing before us with more bad news. Is now not the time to resign and admit that you cannot handle this important job?”
“I can handle this job,” Marcus shot back. “If Similis, the urban prefect, w
ishes to have me replaced then let him speak now.”
On the benches loud muttering broke out, but as he looked around him Marcus could see no sign of Similis.
“Is it not true that these attacks,” a distinguished looking senator suddenly cried out. “First on our water mills and now on our grain warehouses are linked to you personally? Is it not true that at the scene of each crime, red graffiti has been found scrawled onto walls which suggests that these attacks are related to your own private affairs? And let me be clear. These messages are addressed to you personally. One read: You should have gone to the temple of Invidia Marcus. Another: You should have left Rome when you had the chance Marcus.”
“Yes, graffiti implying that, has been discovered on each occasion,” Marcus admitted with a little nod.
“So, you admit that these attacks, for which Rome is suffering, are being caused by someone having a grudge against you,” an outraged senator shouted. “This is a disgrace. This is intolerable. Rome is suffering because of your incompetence. It is you who is the problem and because of you we all suffer. We need a new prefect of the grain supply and urgently.”
And as the senator spoke similar outraged cries and yells rose from the benches and the house threatened to descend into uproar. From the corner of his eye Marcus caught Paulinus’s shake his head in an urgent warning, as his friend seemed to guess what was about to happen, but he was too tired and annoyed to care.
“Maybe it is someone in this house who is behind these attacks,” Marcus cried out in a defiant, angry voice as a torrent of resentment came rushing to the surface. “Maybe one of you is out to ruin me. Well if that is the case then let them step forwards and we shall settle this once and for all, man to man. You fine gentlemen sit and judge me here, but I am trying to do my best for this city. I have loyally and dutifully served Rome and the interests of Rome for nearly my whole life and I will be damned if I am going to let you drag my good name through the mud.”
As the benches rose in near universal uproar Paulinus groaned, lowered his head and ran his hand across his face. On the floor however, Marcus stood bolt upright, defiant and unrepentant as he faced the hostility of the house. They had pushed him too far and he’d had enough. He no longer cared what they thought.
On the benches many of the senators had risen to their feet and were shouting and gesticulating wildly, but as he stood his ground a deep booming voice began to override the tumult. And as the house started to calm down, Marcus saw that Attianus. Hadrian’s enforcer, was on his feet, glaring at his fellow senators.
“Order, order,” Attianus bellowed and the authority in his voice was clear. As the House reluctantly quietened down, Attianus turned to gaze at Marcus.
“I do not doubt your sincerity prefect,” Attianus called out in a calmer voice. “You are after all a distinguished soldier, a man who has seen the frontier and the barbarian threat for himself; unlike many here in this house today. But these attacks on the city’s critical infrastructure are a cause for alarm. They must be stopped and as you are still the prefect in charge I personally look forward to hearing from you when you have a further update on the situation.”
Marcus remained silent and did not move, as the session abruptly seemed to come to an end and loud, bad-tempered muttering broke out, as most senators rose from the benches and headed for the exit. What was going on? Had Attianus just defended him before the whole senate? Fighting the fatigue that threatened to overwhelm him, Marcus was suddenly aware of Attianus approaching him, accompanied by a few of his bearded supporters. And, at the same time, from the corner of his eye, Marcus noticed several Peace Party supporters swiftly engage Paulinus in conversation, physically preventing him from coming to his colleague’s aid.
“Prefect, I would like to have a word with you,” Attianus said in a quiet voice, as he carefully studied Marcus. “Do not worry. I give you my word that your life will not be in danger. I am not yet ready to escalate the conflict between our factions into a bloody feud of revenge killings. But it may be to our mutual benefit if we had a little private chat.”
***
Attianus’s house was a modest building tucked away on the Viminal hill. Leaving Indus behind in the hallway, Marcus cautiously crossed the fine-looking mosaic floor and entered the gracious large central atrium around which the rooms of the house were arranged. Here he was, he thought, in the heart of his enemy’s house and the knowledge made him nervous. He could feel the tension growing in the muscles around his neck and back, but if Attianus had something important to say then he would listen. The pleasant smell of jasmine dominated the room. In the middle of the atrium a low, square stone-basin filled with rainwater and with an opening in the roof, had been set into the floor. Colourful and expensive-looking fish were swimming up and down inside it. A slave stood stiffly against the wall, staring into space and from somewhere out of sight Marcus could hear children’s playful shrieks. Attianus, clutching a cup of wine, was standing beside the doorway that led out into a small walled garden. He turned as he heard Marcus come into the room and with a stern and silent expression, gestured for Marcus to take a seat on one of the comfortable couches that had been arranged around the central basin. Apart from the motionless slave there was no one else in the room.
“Thank you for trusting me and for coming here,” Attianus said, gesturing to the jug of wine that stood on a table. “That was courageous of you, given the circumstances between our factions.” In response Marcus politely shook his head as he turned down the offer of a drink. He was in the den of his mortal political enemy, the man who had added his name to his death list. This was no time for drink. He needed all his wits about him.
“Suit yourself,” Attianus said as he turned to study Marcus. For a long moment the two men gazed at each other in tense silence.
“Life is cheap in Rome these days,” Attianus exclaimed at last, breaking the silence. “Do you know how I know this?”
“I have no idea,” Marcus replied.
“I keep an eye on the price that the criminal gangs charge to have someone murdered,” Attianus snapped. “The price for buying murder is going down. It has been going down ever since Trajan left for the east.”
“Is this supposed to frighten me?” Marcus retorted.
“No,” Attianus shook his head. “If I wanted you dead you would have been dead by now. But that is the current situation. You may have heard that I keep a list, a list of death. Every name on my list is going to be executed, once Hadrian becomes emperor. Your name is on my list too. But here is my dilemma Marcus. Strange as it may seem, I have grown to respect you. Having seen you in the senate I have to say I like you. You are an honest man with a good heart.”
Attianus paused as he gazed at Marcus, his face a perfect emotionless mask.
“You represent everything that makes Rome great,” Attianus continued. “An accomplished and brave soldier who rose from humble beginnings, a loyal and competent commander who has gained the respect of his men. Oh yes Marcus, I have looked into your life and career. You have quite a military service record. Mons Graupius, the Brigantian rebellion, the Danube frontier, Trajan’s first war with the Dacians. I know everything there is to know about you and your career with the 2nd Batavian Auxiliary Cohort.”
“Then you should know that I am a member of the War Party and that I have sworn an oath of loyalty to Nigrinus,” Marcus replied swiftly.
“Yes, that is a shame,” Attianus nodded. “A great shame. I have spoken with Nigrinus about you in private. You are a fool if you think that Nigrinus is your friend. He told me that he agrees with the verdict of the senate – that you are incompetent. That you have mishandled the riots and the grain supply. Did you know that?”
“I think you are lying,” Marcus replied.
“Sure,” Attianus said quickly. “Sure. Believe what you like but it is the truth. If you don’t want to believe me then ask Paulinus. He was at the same meeting. He heard Nigrinus say it. I am not lying to you.”
Across the basin of rainwater that separated the two men, Attianus fixed Marcus with a cold, contemptuous look.
“You are a fool if you believe that Nigrinus is your friend,” Attianus snapped. “You have made many enemies in Rome Marcus, but the ones you should fear the most are not amongst the members of the Peace Party. No, your most dangerous enemies are within the ranks of your own faction, the War Party. Can you not see that? Nigrinus doesn’t give a rat’s arse about you. You are expendable to him, just another soldier who must die for the greater glory of bloody Gaius Avidius Nigrinus. It is Nigrinus who will be the cause of your eventual downfall. Fear him, not me. Fear him!”
“That’s hard to believe from the man who has added my name to an execution list,” Marcus retorted, his face bitter and angry. “Is this the reason why you called me here for a chat? So that you can frighten me and lecture me on how awful the War Party is? How nice you are. Sorry but I have better things to be getting on with.”
“Sit down prefect,” Attianus growled, as Marcus started to rise to his feet. “I have not yet finished explaining why I wanted to talk to you.”
Reluctantly Marcus sat back down again. “Well maybe you should get to the point,” he said in an unhappy voice.
“I want to make a bargain with you,” Attianus said sharply. “An arrangement that will be mutually beneficial. I want you to change sides and become a supporter of Hadrian and the Peace Party and I want you to kill Nigrinus for me. In your position you are one of the very few people who can get close enough to Nigrinus without raising suspicion. That piece of shit has walked this earth long enough.”
As he fell silent Marcus stared at Attianus in growing disbelief.
“You want me to change sides. Abandon my friends and kill Nigrinus?” Marcus exclaimed.
“That’s right,” Attianus said. “Do this, and in return I shall promise to take your name off my death list and make sure that Fergus’s army career is given a helping hand. Hadrian knows all about you and your son Fergus. It’s just as well for Fergus is one of his most trusted supporters. He has saved Hadrian’s life twice now. Did you know that? I take it that you still care about your son’s welfare?”
Rome and the Conquest of Mesopotamia (Book 8 of the Veteran of Rome Series) Page 12
