The Emperor's Silver: Agent of Rome 5

by Nick Brown

  Marcellinus wasn’t listening. Glycia had leaned across the corner of the table and whispered something to him.

  ‘That’s a thought,’ said the marshal, before addressing the two agents. ‘We have a rather troubling situation developing. It involves counterfeit currency. An alarming number of high-quality fake denarii have turned up across the eastern provinces, particularly Syria. We’ve always had a problem in the West but the Emperor doesn’t want the same thing here and is keen to nip it in the bud. The treasury don’t seem to be making much progress – a fresh pair of eyes might be useful. Obviously, you’ve got a bit about you, Corbulo. How’s his investigative work, Aulus?’

  ‘Fair, sir. But to be honest I think he would serve the Emperor best in Egypt. That is where we face the greatest danger, after all.’

  Marcellinus flexed his toes again. ‘Mmm. I suppose counterfeiting’s not really within the Service’s remit.’

  Taking on fraudsters sounded a lot safer than hunting down rebels in far-away Egypt. Judging by what Marcellinus had said, he evidently wasn’t aware of Cassius’s involvement in the recovery of the Persian Banner. Cassius decided to take a calculated risk.

  ‘I do enjoy investigative work, sir,’ he volunteered. ‘One operation last year was particularly satisfying.’

  He could already feel Abascantius bristling.

  ‘Go on,’ said Marcellinus.

  ‘I’m not sure I should—’

  ‘You shouldn’t,’ said Abascantius sharply.

  Marcellinus looked annoyed. ‘Tell me.’

  Abascantius walked over to the marshal, bent close to him and whispered. Marcellinus listened keenly and seemed impressed.

  On his way back, Abascantius fixed Cassius with an irate glare.

  ‘Well,’ said the marshal. ‘That was another outstanding piece of work. I had no idea, Corbulo. Aulus, you really must try not to hog all the glory for yourself in future. That settles it.’

  Marcellinus turned to Glycia. ‘Where would we send Corbulo to get started?’

  Cassius didn’t dare look at his superior but he was already wondering whether the negative consequences of his gambit might outweigh the positive.

  ‘The imperial mint at Tripolis,’ said Glycia. ‘That’s where the treasury have started the investigation. Not far, is it?’

  ‘About a week away,’ replied Abascantius, making a valiant attempt to hide his anger.

  ‘Good,’ said Marcellinus. ‘Glycia can give you the details later, Corbulo. You should leave right away so I expect you’ll want to make some preparations tonight.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Thank you.’

  ‘Right, then, we must discuss Egypt – Aulus, come and have a seat. I’ve an hour or two before I meet with Governor Calvinus.’

  As Abascantius walked over, Cassius took a step towards the marshal; he knew he might never again get such an opportunity in his entire life. ‘Sir.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I have found that during such investigations it is most helpful to be armed with letters of reference. Such missives from Master Abascantius, Chief Pulcher and Prefect Venator have served me very well in the past and I wondered …’

  ‘Of course. I’ll jot something down for you later and send it over.’

  Still sitting with his feet in the bowl of water, Marcellinus offered his forearm. Cassius didn’t dare look at Abascantius as he shook it. How he wished his father and his family and his friends back home could be here to see such a moment.

  ‘Watch your back, Corbulo,’ said Marcellinus. ‘An enemy that would dare strike at you here might not give up easily.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Abascantius sat down.

  ‘And don’t worry about Aulus,’ said Marcellinus with a grin. ‘I’ll make sure he doesn’t punish you too harshly for your cheek. On your way.’

  ‘What’s up with Simo?’ asked Indavara as Cassius walked into his bedroom.

  ‘I just told him we’re leaving. A disruption to his studies, I suppose. Gods, it’s hot in here – humid too.’

  Cassius elected not to mention the smell. He opened the shutters wider and leaned against the wall opposite Indavara’s bed. The bodyguard was sitting up with a sheet covering his lower half. On the nearby table was an abacus – his preferred method of amusing himself when every last one of his weapons had been cleaned.

  ‘So where are we off to, then?’

  Cassius smiled. ‘Tripolis. It’s on the Syrian coast. A bit of breeze at last.’

  ‘What’s the job?’

  ‘Counterfeiting.’

  Indavara scratched his armpit. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Fake coins. Someone’s making them and the Emperor wants them stopped.’

  ‘Sounds dull.’

  ‘I certainly hope so. If Abascantius had his way we’d be off to bloody Egypt but Marshal Marcellinus himself gave me the job.’

  ‘Marcellinus. Protector of the East. He’s a general or something, isn’t he?’

  ‘He’s one up from a general. The only man who can give him orders is the Emperor. He knew me by name, because of getting the black stone back. You too.’

  Indavara sat up. ‘Really? Me?’

  ‘Damned impressive character. Certainly told Abascantius what’s what.’

  Indavara seemed amused by the concept.

  ‘And I managed to get a letter out of him,’ added Cassius. ‘There won’t be many people – soldier or citizen – who’ll dare say no to me now.’

  He wandered over to the window and looked outside at the empty courtyard. Four guards had been assigned to the villa and he could hear the pair at the rear talking.

  He turned round. ‘Now – can you travel?’

  Indavara let out a long breath and looked down at his groin.

  Cassius said, ‘How … er … how is … it?’

  ‘It was red, now it’s purple.’

  ‘Ouch.’

  ‘Hurts when I walk. Don’t fancy sitting on a horse much.’

  ‘What about a cart? We’ll probably need one for our gear anyway.’

  ‘That would be better. When are we leaving?’

  ‘The morning. Before Abascantius or Governor Calvinus have a chance of changing the marshal’s mind. Actually I’d better get going – lot to organise.’

  ‘Corbulo – last night. You did all right. Better than usual anyway.’

  Cassius came closer to the bed. ‘Indavara – thank you again. I shudder to think what would have happened without you there.’

  ‘We’re lucky Simo was there to give a warning. Someone was looking out for us.’

  Cassius noted the two figurines on the little table. One had been thrown to Indavara in the arena; a tiny, poorly made thing of low-quality stone. The other Cassius had bought for him; it was three times the size, copper covered with high-quality silver plate. He knew which one the bodyguard preferred.

  ‘Your Fortuna?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘Personally, I have rather more confidence in you than the gods. How many times is that now?’

  ‘I’ve lost count.’ Indavara shrugged. ‘Just doing my job, right?’

  ‘Exceptionally well, I would say.’

  Seeing Cassius was about to leave, Indavara held up a hand. ‘Wait a moment.’ He gestured at his groin. ‘Simo thinks it’s just bruising and it doesn’t hurt too much when I piss but … well, I couldn’t really ask him – you know what he’s like about that sort of thing – but, well, how do I know if it’s, er … you know …’

  ‘Functional?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t advise getting a girl in here. I doubt you’re ready for that yet. You’ll have to try yourself.’

  ‘You mean …’

  ‘I don’t think we need to spell it out.’

  Indavara reached for his groin.

  ‘By the gods, at least let me get out of the room, man.’

  ‘I was just going to scratch it.’

  Cassius walked out.
‘Have fun.’

  ‘Corbulo, I was just going to scratch it. Corbulo!’

  Cassius was so keen to leave that he actually helped Simo pack and by the third hour of night they were just about ready. The morose attendant then departed to arrange the hire of the cart. Before he left, Cassius asked him to light a lamp in every room; despite the four sentries outside, he didn’t want to be jumping at shadows all night.

  Standing in the kitchen doorway, he stared down at the rectangle of light where he and Indavara had fought for their lives just hours ago. Simo had scrubbed the tiles for over an hour but a few obstinate smears of blood remained.

  Despite all the horrors Cassius had endured in the last three years, this was a different kind of fear. Someone out there wanted to capture him, almost certainly to do him harm. Even though he was leaving this place behind, Cassius knew he would not be able escape the two questions he had discussed with Leddicus in this very spot. Who? And why?

  Thoughts of the legionary sent him back into the kitchen. The least he could do for the soldiers who would spend their night guarding him was take them some (well-watered) wine. He grabbed a jug and two mugs and made his way out to the rear door. The two men seemed appreciative though he could tell they didn’t think much of their duty. To the average legionary, guarding a ‘grain man’ was not a particularly glorious task. As a long-standing rival of the regular army, the Service did not enjoy an enviable reputation among the ranks.

  The legionaries stationed at the front of the villa were more talkative. They and Cassius were discussing the possible booty to be had from the Palmyran and Egyptian campaigns when a large, familiar figure ambled out of the fortress, closely followed by another large, familiar figure.

  Knowing there was no escape, Cassius invited Abascantius in. Shostra – his thuggish and virtually mute Syrian attendant – was carrying a sack over one shoulder. Cassius led the way into the atrium, where he turned and faced his superior officer.

  ‘I owe you an apology, sir.’

  ‘Yes, but you wouldn’t mean it. You are fortunate that I have bigger fish to fry, Corbulo, or I might be devoting more energy to being annoyed with you or giving you the smack you deserve.’

  Cassius did not reply. From Indavara’s room came the sound of snoring.

  ‘I will, however, remind you of something. If Marshal Marcellinus was to learn of your two-year “holiday” in Cyzicus, he might not be quite so convinced that the sun shines out of your arsehole.’

  ‘Point taken, sir.’

  ‘I have seen Governor Calvinus. He wishes you well and agrees it’s best you should go. He is also of the opinion that you’ve not been yourself since returning from the south. Apparently you have kept up appearances but neglected your duties. Other sources tell me you have been drinking too much and whoring too much.’

  Cassius accepted all this with as much dignity as he could muster, though he wished the agent had dismissed his servant before discussing such a thing. ‘Galanaq, sir.’

  ‘You killed a man. I know. Not in battle. Not in a glorious charge or a heroic defence. But to save yourself. And if you hadn’t, what state would the province be in now? You did what you had to.’

  Cassius was looking at the darkened window beyond the agent.

  Abascantius reached up and gripped his arm. The gesture was one of kindness; and so utterly out of character that Cassius didn’t know how to respond.

  ‘This work of ours takes us to some nasty places, lad.’ Abascantius nodded over his shoulder at Shostra. ‘He and I know them well. Sometimes there’s just no way around them. Only through. You’ve got through; and you’re stronger for it.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘All things considered, this counterfeit job might be a good fit at the moment. And knowing you, you just might crack it. But be under no illusions that you will be in for an easy ride. The treasury are only a little more well inclined towards us than the army and you will face the usual problems getting the locals to cooperate. I want you to remember one thing more. You belong to me and Chief Pulcher the way that Gaul of yours belongs to you. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I expect to hear from you every ten days. Address your letters to the governor’s office in Alexandria – they will be forwarded to me from there. Whether you receive replies or not, continue to write. If and when the investigation is concluded, either I or Chief Pulcher will notify you of your next assignment.’

  Abascantius clicked his fingers. Shostra reached into the sack and pulled out three bulging bags of coins. He then retrieved a thin stick of charcoal and a small paper receipt. He offered them to Cassius, who signed for the money.

  ‘Pay for the next two quarters,’ said Abascantius. ‘The two big bags are yours, the smaller is Indavara’s. Believe it or not I’ve given you a raise.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘Don’t thank me, thank the Palmyrans. I doubt there’s a single pound of gold or silver left in the place.’

  Cassius shook the hefty forearm offered to him.

  ‘Marcellinus was right about being careful,’ added the agent. ‘Chances are you’ll be safe once you’re away from here but keep that one-man army of yours close.’

  ‘Best of luck in Egypt, sir.’

  Abascantius prodded him in the chest. ‘Every ten days. Without fail.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  II

  Alexon liked the villa but he liked the location even more. There wasn’t another property within half a mile and the grounds were enclosed by stone walls and rows of closely packed conifers. Much of the surrounding forest was cedar; a favourite of his, with its refreshing aroma and sprawling, luxuriant foliage. And thanks to the hill on which the villa had been built, there was an excellent view down to the vineyards, the city and the coast beyond.

  It was peaceful here. They had privacy, they had time and Alexon had done his best to ensure they were safe; he hoped they could stay for a while.

  He alternated three different routes for his morning walk: today’s took him alongside a lovely stream then past a farmhouse and oil press where the entire family were working hard. Alexon now made a habit of greeting them and often gave a few coins to the children. It was important to make a good impression. Once past the farmhouse, he met a shepherd driving a small flock up the hill. The white-bearded old man doffed his cloth cap and remarked that it was another fine day. Alexon agreed. He leaped nimbly over a stile and cut across the meadow towards the villa.

  The owner had told them that it was exactly a hundred feet wide and fifty deep, a two-storey building bookended by modest but elegant towers with a fine terrace overlooking the drive. Ivy covered much of the brickwork, providing a home for dozens of pretty little birds. Above the front door was an old carving of some local god; a female figure reaching for the heavens.

  His sister was already on the terrace, awaiting their visitor. Alexon glanced down at the main gate. Kallikres had just tethered his horse. He shut the gate behind him and started up the sloping drive, head bowed.

  ‘A pleasant walk, brother?’ asked Amathea.

  ‘Very, thank you.’

  Alexon sat next to her, under a parasol.

  Skiron, their steward, looked on silently from the side of the terrace. He was fifty-something but had the upright stance and muscled physique of a man half that age. He had no hair upon his head and a pair of bulging, piercing, bright blue eyes. He had been with them for years.

  ‘Oh, you’ve almost finished it,’ said Alexon, looking at the sewing draped across Amathea’s lap. She had been working on the tablecloth for some time and he was pleased she had persisted; it seemed to help her relax. She smiled and pushed the needle into the cotton once more.

  Though they were not identical twins, the resemblance was obvious. Both were slim and tall, with less than an inch of difference in height and only four at the waist. They had the same flawless skin, green eyes and dark brown hair. In Alexon’s experience, everyone found one of the
m attractive, many people both. It had often occurred to him that even naked their superior breeding and status would have been clear. In their clothes of Egyptian linen and Oriental silk, and with their jewellery of gold and silver, it was unmistakable.

  ‘They’re here,’ said the steward. ‘In case we need them.’

  ‘Thank you, Skiron,’ said Alexon.

  Kallikres came up the steps warily. He was wearing a well-made tunic and a wide-brimmed hat which he now removed. He ran a hand through his curly black hair – which glistened with sweat – and offered a thin smile.

  ‘Good day to you.’

  Alexon nodded.

  ‘Good day,’ said Amathea.

  Alexon gestured at the chair opposite them. Kallikres found himself facing the sun; he had to squint just to look at them.

  ‘Wine?’ asked Alexon.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Skiron came forward and poured it from a silver jug into a multicoloured glass. Kallikres drank half of it in one go.

  ‘Well?’ said Alexon. ‘You wanted to see us?’

  ‘Yes. One of your men was spotted at the market yesterday. By a Milanese clerk who remembered his face. The clerk told the procurator. The procurator told the magistrate.’

  ‘We are aware of this situation,’ replied Alexon calmly.

  Kallikres leaned back and crossed his arms. ‘I told you to be careful. And yet there he was, walking around in broad daylight without a care in the world.’

  ‘Steps have been taken,’ said Alexon. ‘There won’t be any more mistakes like that.’

  ‘One is enough. I thought you people were professional.’

  Alexon kept his tone conciliatory. ‘Not everything can be foreseen. That’s why we have you – to keep us informed. What action is being taken?’

  ‘Nothing specific that I have heard about yet.’

  ‘Hardly any need to panic then,’ said Alexon. ‘So the man was spotted. Taken alone, his presence here means little. They may well assume that he was simply passing through.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps the magistrate will do nothing. But if there’s another “mistake” then things could get very difficult very quickly. Sorry, but I’ve made my decision.’