Rome and the Conquest of Mesopotamia (Book 8 of the Veteran of Rome Series)

by William Kelso

  “The statue of Ceres is not here,” one of the priests said, as he came up to Marcus. “Whoever murdered Evander must have taken it.”

  Marcus nodded. “Did Evander have any enemies?” he asked. “Did he have any issues with the criminal gangs, family disputes, any debts?”

  The priests glanced at each other and then shook their heads. “No, he was never in trouble with the gangs and he lived alone,” one of the priests replied. “He was frugal with his money. Never seemed to spend it on anything,” another priest added. “I don’t think he had any enemies. Evander was a popular man with the beggars outside the temple. I can’t understand who would want to do this.”

  “The mutilation,” Marcus replied, gesturing at the corpse. “I have seen that before on the Danube frontier. The barbarian tribes would sometime make examples out of captured Roman soldiers. The murderer is making a statement. They are saying that they do not want the murdered man to be able to use his penis in the next world. That suggests that there was a personal motive.”

  Around him, the priests gasped in horror and some raised their hands to their mouths and in a corner, one of them turned away and threw up.

  “Keep searching the room,” Marcus growled. “They may have left clues. Anything, even the smallest thing can be important.”

  “What are we looking for” Cassius asked as he straightened up and peered around the small apartment.

  “If the murdered priest was induced or blackmailed into stealing the statue from the temple for someone else,” Marcus replied. “Then that must mean Evander had some sort of relationship with the person or people who wanted the statue. We need to establish the nature of that relationship. That will lead us to the killer and most likely to the people behind these attacks.”

  Crouching beside the corpse, Marcus carefully pulled back the bed-sheet and stared down at the dead man’s face. Then with a sudden frown, he reached out and lifted the lifeless arm and peered closely at Evander’s fingers. With a grunt he leaned back and turned to gaze at the priest’s face again. The man’s fingers were stained and marked by little splashes of red paint.

  “Marcus, have a look at this,” Indus called out suddenly, speaking in his native Batavian language.

  Swiftly Marcus crossed the room to where Indus was crouching in a corner of the room beside the stone wall. The Batavian bodyguard was gazing at something that had been scratched into the wall. Kneeling beside Indus, Marcus frowned, as he stared at the small, barely visible graffiti etched into the stone. If Indus’s sharp eyes had not spotted it, he would never have noticed it. The writing looked like it had been done with a knife or a coin and it looked like it had been there for a while. Peering closer, Marcus was able to discern the tiny, faded words and numerals. It looked like some sort of list formed into three long columns.

  “The Horse – Laelia – Ten,” he said out loud, as he read the carvings. “Reds – Corvus – Eleven. The Gladiator – Honoria – Eight. Diana – Lucius – Nine. The Black Lady – The blond one – Twelve.”

  Abruptly Marcus stopped reading and sat back. “The Black Lady,” he muttered. “The Blond One.” Where had he heard these names before? Then he remembered. Claudia had told him that Ahern liked to visit the Black Lady tavern. The boy went there to listen to the blond one, the street preacher who seemed to be filling Ahern’s head with stupid revolutionary ideas.

  “How long had Evander been living here?” Marcus called out sharply, as he turned to the priests. “Could he write?”

  “He could write,” one of the priests replied. “As for how long he’d been living here. I think it must have been over two years. That’s how long he was with us.”

  Marcus grunted. “Cassius,” he called, as he beckoned for his secretary to come over, - “see this graffiti here. Take a note of every word and numeral on this list.”

  Cassius crouched beside Marcus and peered at the faint graffiti scratched into the wall. Then he raised his eyebrows.

  “Do you think Evander scratched this into the wall?” Cassius exclaimed, his breathing coming in excited ragged gasps. “Could it not have been a previous occupant of the room?”

  “It’s possible,” Marcus replied, “but write it all down anyway. It may be useful.”

  “What do you think it means?” Cassius blurted out as he gazed at the tiny, faded words.

  “The first column seems to imply the names of taverns or wine-bars,” Marcus said with a thoughtful look. “The second column may be the name of a person. Fuck knows what the third column means.”

  Stiffly Marcus rose to his feet and, without another word he headed towards the door and the landing beyond. It was time to speak to the priest’s neighbours. There was no reply from the first two doors on the floor but, as he banged on the door to apartment number twenty, a suspicious voice cried out in protest.

  “Open up, I am on official business,” Marcus shouted in an annoyed voice.

  A moment later the door creaked open and a suspicious-looking face appeared, glaring back at Marcus. The man looked in his fifties with tufts of white hair on the sides of his bald head.

  “What’s going on?” the man said. “What do you want? I am a busy man.”

  “Your neighbour in nineteen has just been murdered,” Marcus said in a harsh voice. “Someone killed him. Did you see or hear anything last night?”

  “Murdered,” the neighbour’s eyes widened in shock and quickly he turned to peer in the direction of the doorway to nineteen. “What. Evander. He was murdered?”

  “That’s right,” Marcus replied. “Someone hanged him from the ceiling and cut off his penis. It happened last night or early this morning. Did you see or hear anything unusual last night?”

  The man blushed and, for a moment he seemed too stunned to say anything. Then hastily he nodded, his eyes avoiding Marcus’s piercing gaze.

  “Yes, I think I saw a man,” the neighbour said, nodding again. “I heard him coming up the stairs, so I took a quick peek. He was carrying a small lamp and his head was covered by a hood. He came to see the priest late last night, but I didn’t get a good look at his face. It was too dark. We are not allowed to have any oil lamps up here on the landing you see. It’s to prevent a fire. Afterwards there was a commotion in the room, but it didn’t last very long, so I didn’t think anything more of it. Then maybe an hour later I heard someone leave. After that I went to sleep.”

  “This man who came to visit last night,” Marcus said sharply - “Had he been to see Evander before? Is there anything else that you can remember about him?”

  “I don’t know. Like I told you, I didn’t see his face,” the neighbour replied.

  Marcus sighed as he tried to hide his disappointment. Another dead end. “All right,” he growled. “If you remember anything else then let the priests of Ceres know right away. I shall make it worth your time.”

  Giving the man a quick glimpse of a few silver coins in his hand, Marcus was turning away when the neighbour called him back.

  “Evander,” the neighbour called out. “He liked male companionship. He was never interested in women. He would hire male prostitutes. They would come to his room. Sometimes he had orgies. Maybe that is why they cut off his dick. I should know,” the neighbour whined, his face contorted into a look of disgust. “When they constructed this block, they must have done it on the cheap. The walls in this place are so ridiculously thin.”

  ***

  It was late and dark when Marcus finally arrived back home. Kyna was waiting for him in the hall of his villa on the Janiculum and, as he caught sight of the look on her face, Marcus’s expression changed.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked hastily, as Kyna came towards him and gave him a quick, silent welcoming hug.

  “Paulinus is here,” Kyna said in a tight voice. “He has been waiting for you to return. He’s outside in the garden. He says he has important news. He has been here for hours Marcus,” Kyna said nervously. “Is this to do with that awful man, Attianus? I fear
Paulinus has not brought good news. He doesn’t look happy.”

  Marcus grunted as he gently released himself from his wife’s embrace and turned to stare in the direction of the garden.

  “I will go and speak with him,” he said, turning to give Kyna a brief look. “Don’t worry, things will work out just fine.”

  “You always say that just before things go horribly wrong,” Kyna replied quickly, her eyes flashing with worry. “You will tell me everything afterwards Marcus. Swear that you will not keep me in the dark on this.”

  Marcus didn’t reply, as he left Kyna in the hallway and quickly headed out onto the terrace of his garden. Paulinus was sitting in a chair admiring the thousands of glowing lights of the city of Rome that lit up the night sky. As Marcus approached, Paulinus rose to his feet and solemnly gathered his toga around him. The garden was lit by several burning oil lamps and, in the reddish glow Marcus could see that Paulinus indeed did not look happy.

  “Paulinus,” Marcus said stiffly, as he acknowledged his friend.

  “Marcus,” Rome’s finance minister replied in a grave sounding voice. “I won’t beat about the bush my friend. I have just come from a meeting with Nigrinus and thought you should hear it from me first.”

  “Hear what,” Marcus replied.

  “Nigrinus has left Rome for his estates at Faventia,” Paulinus said with a sigh. “But before he left this morning, he held a meeting with the inner council of the War Party. I was also called to the council. At the gathering Nigrinus told us that he’d been approached by Attianus who claimed to have scandalous information concerning you and your son Fergus. Attianus claims that you warned your son of the assassination attempt on Hadrian and that it failed because of you.” Paulinus fixed Marcus with a hard look. “Well is it true? Did you betray us?”

  “I did not betray the War Party,” Marcus replied.

  Paulinus said nothing as he gazed at Marcus. Then at last he nodded. “I was not aware that your son was head of security for Hadrian,” he said. “Is it true? I thought Fergus was serving with an auxiliary unit. That’s what you told me. Was Attianus speaking the truth about Fergus?”

  “It’s true,” Marcus replied. “The last news we received from Fergus was that he’d been assigned to a Numidian auxiliary ala, out in the Syrian desert. But before that, he was in command of Hadrian’s personal security detail.”

  Paulinus took a deep breath and looked away. For a long moment he was silent. Then he turned to face Marcus.

  “You can see how bad this looks for you amongst the party. Hadrian is our arch enemy. He is likely to have many of us executed, if he becomes the next emperor including me and yourself. And now we find out that your son is protecting him. The mood in the party is not good. Many senators are furious with you, Marcus.”

  “Fergus has chosen his side and I have chosen mine,” Marcus replied calmly, as he sensed Kyna approaching behind him. “And that’s all there is to it. I have not betrayed anyone. I serve Rome and the War Party. I have always done my duty. I have done nothing of which I am ashamed.”

  Across from him, clutching his toga in one hand, Paulinus was staring at Marcus and there was a sudden regret in his eyes.

  “Like I said,” Paulinus, said at last. “I wanted to be the first to tell you about the meeting. I owe you that much, my friend.”

  “What is Nigrinus going to do to my husband?” Kyna asked suddenly, as she halted beside Marcus, her eyes blazing as she gazed straight at Paulinus.

  Paulinus took another deep breath and lowered his gaze. “I don’t know,” he replied. Then he raised his head and gazed at Marcus. “But you should know that Nigrinus has begun to see you as a liability. He blames you for the riots, the public mockery in the streets and the unpopular grain rationing. He says that you have caused great damage to our faction’s reputation. That you have discredited the War Party.” Paulinus raised his hand and pointed a finger at Marcus. “He is openly questioning your loyalty in front of the council. I came here to warn you. Nigrinus does not forgive those he believes have betrayed him.”

  Chapter Sixteen – The Net Closes

  Marcus stood waiting in the shadows of the vestibule, safely hidden in the darkness. It was night and it was surprisingly cold. Carefully, he reached out and pulled his hood closer over his head and, as he did, he could feel the warmth of his breath on his hand. Earlier that evening, as soon as he’d received Lady Claudia’s message, he’d given Indus the slip, and had headed out into the city alone. For this was something that he had to do on his own. Resisting the urge to stamp his feet, he leant back against the wall of the doorway. It felt as if he’d been waiting for hours, but it couldn’t be so long he thought. Across the street from his stakeout, the gates to Claudia’s school were still closed. No one had come in or out for a while now. Along the dark street to his left he could hear the shouts and loud merry voices coming from a nearby tavern and, down an alley an animal was rooting around in the rubbish. Had Claudia misheard? Had she got her times mixed up? But in her message, she had sounded sure of herself. Grimly he forced himself to remain patient. They would come.

  A few days had passed since Paulinus’s visit to his house. Stoically Marcus gazed at the school gates as he waited. Kyna had taken Paulinus’s visit badly. She was growing more and more anxious and nervous. The fear of what Nigrinus may do, now that he was openly questioning his loyalty, was gnawing away at her and giving her sleepless nights. More than once she had woken him up in the middle of the night to insist that they leave Rome and retire to Vectis. Marcus grunted and, raising his left hand he gently rubbed it with the fingers of his right hand. He’d tried to calm her down, but it was getting harder. He had tried to explain that he had a job to do. That people were relying on him. That it would be cowardice to be run out of Rome like this and that he would not go. But she’d refused to listen, and her distress had added to the heavy burden he was already carrying. But he would continue, he had resolved. He would go on. He would not give up, just because Nigrinus was feeling betrayed or because someone was out to ruin him. No one was going to stop him from doing his job.

  Across the street there was a sudden movement outside the school gates and, as he looked on, Marcus saw Ahern and three other young men appear and start to wander off down the street. The youths seemed to be in high spirits, as they playfully pushed each other and cried out to each other. Silently Marcus slipped away from his hiding place and began to follow them.

  The Black Lady looked just like any other tavern in Rome. Pausing in the darkness, Marcus watched as Ahern and his friends entered the wine-bar and disappeared inside. From his vantage point he could hear music and laughter coming from within the establishment. Turning to look around, Marcus could see no one else about. The dark streets seemed deserted. Grimly and silently he reached out to touch the pommel of his sword that hung from his belt, before slipping his hand inside his cloak to touch the cold steel of his army pugio knife. Turning to the tavern, he hesitated. He hated and dreaded what was coming, but it had to be done. If Ahern was somehow caught up in the attacks against him - if he had a role to play in this extortion game, then he could not let that go unpunished. Seeing the Black Lady’s name and that of the blond one scratched onto the wall of the murdered priest’s apartment, and remembering what Claudia had told him, had got him thinking. And now the time had come to find out what Ahern was up to. Whether he was involved in the plot against him.

  Crossing the street Marcus entered the tavern, keeping his hood over his head. A blast of heat hit him in the face and suddenly he was in a brightly lit, noisy and boisterous place filled with people in varying states of inebriation. In a corner, a musician was playing on a harp and a crowd of people were pressed up against the bar, some of whom were singing. Quickly Marcus allowed his eyes to wander across the tavern but there was no sign of Ahern. At the far end of the inn, a door seemed to lead on to a back room and, in a corner a ladder led up to the second floor of the building. Pushing his way towards the
bar, Marcus leaned forwards and caught a bar woman’s eye.

  “I was told that the blond one comes here to speak,” he said, raising his voice above the noise. “Where can I find the blond one?”

  For a moment the woman looked confused. “The blonde one,” she called out. “She’s upstairs but she’s busy. You will have to wait your turn.”

  It was Marcus’s turn to look confused. “She,” he cried out over the noise - “I was told the blonde one came here to speak to the crowd, to fill young minds with weasel words.”

  The bar woman gave Marcus a crooked half grin. “She sure has a talent for corrupting young minds, but she normally does it naked and on her back and you have to pay for it.” Growing annoyed, the woman behind the bar pointed at the ladder leading up into a hole in the ceiling. “She’s up there, but like I said she is busy. You will have to wait your turn. Now are you going to buy a drink or what? I am busy.”

  A little colour shot into Marcus’s cheeks. The blonde one was not a street preacher after all. He and Claudia had been wrong. She was a prostitute. He had completely misjudged the situation. The lady behind the bar was about to give up in disgust and turn away when Marcus caught her arm.

  “How much does she charge?” he cried out over the noise.

  “Twelve asses,” the bar woman retorted, wrenching her arm free and moving away muttering angrily.

  Marcus turned away from the bar and stared at the ladder in the corner. Twelve asses. It was the same number that had been scratched into the wall in Evander’s apartment. Marcus’s eyes widened. The graffiti on the wall began to make sense. The writing was listing taverns, individual prostitutes and the prices they charged. But why would a priest of Ceres, a gay priest, scratch such information onto his wall? With a grunt Marcus began to push his way through the crowd towards the ladder but as he approached two big beefy-looking men rose to their feet and blocked his path. Slowly the men folded their arms across their chests.