by Nick Brown
Contents
About the Author
Also by Nick Brown
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Map
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV
Chapter XXVI
Chapter XXVII
Chapter XXVIII
Chapter XXIX
Chapter XXX
Chapter XXXI
Chapter XXXII
Chapter XXXIII
Chapter XXXIV
Chapter XXXV
Chapter XXXVI
Chapter XXXVII
Chapter XXXVIII
Historical Note
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Nick Brown grew up in Norfolk and later studied history at the University of Sussex. In 2000 he embarked on a PGCE course at the University of Exeter and began a career as a teacher of humanities and English. Having taught in England and Poland, he has recently returned to his home town, Norwich.
The Agent of Rome series
The Siege
The Imperial Banner
The Far Shore
The Black Stone
The Emperor’s Silver
Agent of Rome short stories
Death this Day
The Eleventh Hour
AGENT OF ROME: THE EMPEROR’S SILVER
Nick Brown
www.hodder.co.uk
First published in Great Britain in 2015 by
Hodder & Stoughton
An Hachette UK company
Copyright © Nick Brown 2015
The right of Nick Brown to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978 1 444 77918 9
Hodder & Stoughton Ltd
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www.hodder.co.uk
For Joff, Emma and Rufus
TIME
The Romans divided day and night into twelve hours each, so the length of an hour varied according to the time of year.
The seventh hour of the day always began at midday.
MONEY
Four sesterces (a coin made of brass) were worth one denarius.
Twenty-five denarii (a coin made partially of silver) were worth one aureus (partially gold).
Bostra, capital of the Roman province of Arabia. July, AD 273
Though he had been saying prayers for much of the last three hours, Simo whispered another one as he strode away from the church-house. Bostra was a comparatively safe city but the fourth hour of night had passed and he knew from recent experience to be careful.
It had been after the second of his meetings with Elder Maluch that the two thieves had sprung from the shadows, spitting threats in barely comprehensible Latin. Despite his fear, Simo had employed a trick suggested by his master: he took out a silver denarius, held it up for them to see, then flung it away. The thieves fought over the coin as he made his escape.
The memory quickened his pace as he reached Theatre Street and turned left towards the Via Petra. A pair of watchmen appeared, one holding a lantern.
Simo spoke loudly to avoid suspicion. ‘Greetings to you.’
‘Who goes there?’
‘Simo, attendant to Officer Cassius Corbulo of the Imperial Army – on my master’s business.’ He held up his arms to show that he carried no weapons.
‘On you go.’ The watchman waved him past and led his compatriot away, imploring him to continue some story.
Simo picked an angular stone out of his right sandal then moved off. He didn’t like to lie but the truth might easily provoke an unpleasant reaction. There were several hundred Christians in Bostra but the watchmen were often ex-soldiers, most of whom took a dim view of those who refused to worship the Emperor and the Roman gods.
As he glanced at the lights within the townhouses on either side of him, the night’s prayers echoed through his head. The invocations concerned sin and temptation, and though Simo had recited them without error, Elder Maluch admonished him for not investing the words with sufficient weight and passion. Simo hoped he hadn’t disappointed him; Maluch was an excellent teacher and it was good of him to make time at so late an hour. It had taken Simo several weeks to persuade Master Cassius to allow him to resume instruction and he hoped the lessons would continue.
Upon reaching the broad, colonnaded Via Petra, the Gaul jogged straight across to avoid three fast-moving horse-drawn carts. Once under the portico, he heard a roar of laughter from up ahead. He slowed, and saw half a dozen legionaries pass under a lamp. Several were weaving unsteadily and two had mugs in their hands.
Simo padded left and hid behind a column. If troubled by the soldiers he could always invoke his master’s name again but it was better to avoid an encounter altogether. To his relief, the legionaries complained about the darkness and moved on to the moonlit street. One of them yelled a curse at the cart drivers but was silenced by a superior with a rather more refined voice.
Simo pressed on, thinking of his master. Cassius had decided that Simo had let him down during their last assignment and only kept him on after the intervention of Indavara – his bodyguard and Simo’s friend. Many times over the last few weeks the slave had thanked the Lord that he hadn’t been sold. His relationship with his owner was improving but it was not what it used to be; Master Cassius rarely confided in him these days and was often sharp, though he had struck him only the once.
Any mention of sin brought him to mind. The young officer was drinking more than ever and now spent even more time in taverns and brothels. Cassius was resilient but he had been through a lot for a man of only twenty-three years. Simo knew his master wouldn’t be truly happy until he finally escaped the army; he just hoped Cassius would get back on an even keel after the trials of recent months.
He turned left on to the Via Cappadocia. On the other side of the road was Bostra’s largest sanctuary, where some nocturnal revellers were singing a local folk tune. Simo understood only a little Nabatean but it seemed like a happy song. Now back on familiar territory, he began to relax. The villa was at the far end of the street, just yards from the arched entrance to the city’s fortress. As well as housing much of the Third Cyrenaican – Arabia’s only standing legion – it now also accommodated the vanguard of the Emperor’s army. Having put down the Palmyrans for the second time in as many years, Aurelian was
journeying south to deal with a revolt in Egypt. He would pass through Bostra.
Simo and Elder Maluch had also spoken of war. They agreed that it often seemed as if the Empire was obsessed by violence and suffering and death. When there was no enemy to take on, the Romans killed animals for sacrifice and men for sport. Though he hadn’t mentioned it to Maluch, Simo knew his master did not approve of the contests. He seemed to fear and detest violence almost as much as Simo, and fighting did not come naturally to him.
But during the last operation he had killed a man. Simo had refused to join in the violence and Master Cassius hated him for it. Simo suspected guilt was the real cause of his disquiet. The young Roman had never wanted this life for himself; he was a peaceful, intelligent man. Simo could not imagine what it must be like to have taken the life of another. He would rather die.
Nearing the villa, he spied the sentries at the fortress gate. Among the thousands of men sleeping in the buildings behind them was one whose presence always caused Simo concern. Officer Abascantius was Master Cassius’s immediate superior in the Imperial Security Service and had a habit of dispatching the three of them on perilous assignments. The only one ever excited by such a prospect was Indavara, who seemed thoroughly bored by the two months of relative calm since they’d returned from the Arabian desert.
But from what Simo had gathered, Abascantius was simply in Bostra to make arrangements for the Emperor; and Master Cassius was being rewarded for his recent successes with an extended period of administrative work. Simo longed for such stability; he was approaching his thirty-third year and wanted to be an elder himself by the time he was forty. If he continued to serve well, he felt sure he would be granted his freedom when Cassius’s time in the army ended. The Gaul believed the Lord would give him this; surely he wanted him to be free to spread the word.
There was not a single light within the houses at the bottom of the Via Cappadocia. With a last glance at the fortress, Simo turned left down the alley that ran alongside the villa. He had a key for the front door but there was less chance of waking Cassius or Indavara if he came in through the kitchen. The bodyguard seldom stayed up late and his master had decided on an early night because of a morning meeting with Abascantius.
The humid summer air and his swift pace had left Simo sweating. He sighed with relief as he approached the rear corner of the property; he was glad to be home. He put his hand inside his tunic to retrieve his keys but his fingers never reached them.
He took one more step then froze.
Three dark figures had just scuttled across the street at the back of the villa. As they disappeared behind the rear wall, Simo took his hand from his tunic and walked carefully up to the corner. He could hear the men whispering to each other but he couldn’t be sure of the language.
He peered around the corner in time to see one of the men spring upward. Grunting as he gripped the top of the wall, he then pulled himself on to it. The next man was given a leg up and, once he had joined his compatriot, they both reached down to help the third man.
Simo withdrew, his throat dry with fear.
The rear door is secure. I locked it myself before I left. The bedroom windows face the back but they’re too small to fit through. But the kitchen window is big enough – and the shutters have been left open since the hot weather came.
They can get in. Whoever they are, they can get in.
Simo looked back around the corner. Only one man was still visible atop the wall. Then he too disappeared. They hadn’t even tried the door to the yard; they must have known it was always locked.
Open it? No, they’ll hear me.
Go round to the front? No time.
There was only one thing he could do.
Cassius Quintius Corbulo put the oil lamp down on the table and stared at the jug of wine. He was trying to cut down, especially since Abascantius had arrived. Three unwatered mugs a day was supposed to be his limit. This would be his fourth. He didn’t want to break the new rule but he just couldn’t sleep.
He was surprised Simo hadn’t heard him get up. Perhaps the attendant was still at the church-house, doing whatever he did with his fellow believers.
Cassius picked up the jug.
‘Indavara! Master Cassius!’
‘Simo?’ Having spilled the wine, Cassius put down the jug and walked around the table to the window.
‘Wake up! There are men here.’
Definitely Simo, but what—
‘At the back of the house. Wake up!’
‘What—’
Cassius heard hissing voices, then feet scuffing the ground.
A man clad in a dark, hooded tunic vaulted through the kitchen window, shattering the amphora he landed on. Before Cassius could even move, a second man came through. He landed cleanly, hood dropping from his head. Cassius could see enough of his eyes to know he had spotted him.
‘Indavara!’
Unarmed and wearing only his sleeping tunic, Cassius turned and ran. His left foot caught a chair leg. He lost his balance and came down on his knees, sliding on the smooth tiles. Hauling himself up, he half expected a blade to sink into his neck. He was almost through the kitchen doorway when scrabbling fingers grabbed the back of his tunic. He tried to pull free but the hand swung him to the right.
Cassius bounced off the side of the doorway and spun into the atrium. Tripping over his own feet he landed on his back in the ghostly pale blue rectangle below the skylight.
The intruder came through the doorway. Because of his black clothing, his head appeared disembodied and the long wooden club seemed to be floating in the air. He lifted it with both hands, ready to swing down.
A fast-moving shape appeared from Cassius’s right. Something cracked as the shape hit the intruder, catapulting him across the atrium and into a wall.
‘Uff!’
The shape shook itself then straightened up. Cassius found himself looking at Indavara’s broad, naked backside; the bodyguard’s bulky frame seemed white under the moonlight.
‘How many?’
‘Two at least.’ Cassius scrambled to his feet and backed towards the window that faced on to the Via Cappadocia. Somewhere near there was a candelabra. He was relieved but not surprised to see Indavara had his dagger, which he slept with.
The second intruder leapt into the light, swinging his club at the bodyguard. Indavara retreated; there wasn’t a lot he could do with the little knife.
Cassius reached the wall. The window shutters were closed so there was hardly any light coming through but he found the candelabra. He grabbed the iron shaft with both hands.
A third man ran under the skylight and cut off their path to the other rooms.
‘Here.’ Cassius put the candelabra in front of Indavara so he wouldn’t have to turn. The bodyguard clamped the knife between his teeth and grabbed the five foot length of metal. Cassius had struggled to lift it but Indavara wielded it as easily as a sword.
From outside came a shout; Simo calling to the sentries for help.
The first man was back on his feet. He ordered the others forward in Greek.
As the pair prepared to strike, Indavara swung. He narrowly missed the head of the man to his left but struck the second warrior’s club, knocking it out of his hands. Before they could counter, Indavara heaved the candelabra at them. It caught both men by surprise and sent them tottering back into the light.
Cassius didn’t see the bodyguard take the blade from his mouth but he saw him dart forward and stab the closest man in the chest. The intruder gasped as he went down. The second warrior tripped over him but managed to roll away as the third man took up the attack.
He jabbed his club at Indavara and stepped over his dying compatriot, who was clawing at his wound, mouth fixed in a silent scream.
Indavara threw the knife into the intruder’s face. It was not a throwing blade and bounced off his brow, but the moment’s distraction was all the bodyguard needed. He leaped forward and launched his right foot straight
into his foe’s groin, connecting with a heavy slap. As the intruder crumpled, the man who had tripped flew back into the fray.
He drove an elbow at Indavara’s face, striking his jaw with a shuddering crack. Cassius thought the prodigious blow might fell even the bodyguard. Though dazed, Indavara somehow stayed upright, grabbing his foe’s tunic and holding him so he at least knew where he was. They struggled on for a moment, then stumbled over the candelabra and fell in a heap below the skylight.
Cassius circled them, peering at the ground, looking for a club or Indavara’s knife.
Just as the naked bodyguard got one brawny arm around his foe’s neck, his second victim found enough strength to give him some of his own treatment: he scrambled across the floor and punched Indavara’s unprotected groin.
Cassius had never heard him shriek before.
The sheer shock of it propelled him into action. He grabbed the club he had just located and heaved it down at the intruder, catching him between the shoulder blades. Breath flew out of the man as he pitched forward on to Indavara’s legs.
The bodyguard was panting like a dog, spitting indecipherable curses. His arm was tight under his victim’s chin. Cassius almost felt pity for the poor bastard as his eyes bulged and his head spasmed.
‘Yaaaaaahhhhh!’
The neck bones crunched like twigs underfoot. Indavara head-butted him for good measure then pushed the broken body away. Without a moment’s hesitation, he kicked the last man alive off his legs, then crawled after him. He pulled the intruder’s hood off and gripped the back of his head, hair springing up between his fingers.
‘No, wait,’ said Cassius. ‘We need—’
Indavara drove the head down into the tiles. The noise of the skull cracking made Cassius gag. He staggered backwards and reached for the wall. Holding himself up, he stupidly looked back and saw dark blood seeping from under the crushed head. Cassius put a hand to his mouth but somehow stopped himself vomiting.
The key turned in the door. Lamplight flickered across the room as half a dozen legionaries piled in. They stood over Indavara, who was lying on his back, top half in the light, sucking in breath.
