The Emperor's Silver: Agent of Rome 5

by Nick Brown

  Cassius didn’t reply. He’d tried to forget the vision he’d had that day in the canyon and wished he’d never told Indavara about it.

  ‘You saw him too,’ said the bodyguard. ‘I dream of it sometimes. I dream of him fighting with my Fortuna.’

  ‘It was our minds playing tricks, that’s all.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Indavara, rolling his eyes. ‘You know everything. About everything.’

  ‘As I said at the time: no – just more than you.’

  ‘Very funny.’

  ‘Move over.’

  They were heading up a slight slope and Cassius had just spotted a cavalryman coming over the rise. The rider carried a scarlet and gold standard and was leading a squad of ten. They seemed to be well equipped for a long journey: the saddles were loaded with fodder, water skins and equipment which thumped and jangled as they trotted past. Each man also had a yellow oval shield with the same pattern of black swirls surrounding the bronze boss.

  These were not the first soldiers they had seen; there had been two more units of cavalry and a century heading south. Cassius didn’t like ignoring them; he enjoyed the camaraderie of greeting fellow soldiers on the road – seeing his crest, they generally assumed he was a centurion. But for the moment it seemed wise to draw as little attention as possible so he had forgone anything that identified him as a military man. He would have to wear his uniform in Tripolis while undertaking the investigation but (again at the suggestion of Abascantius) would continue to operate under an assumed name.

  As the last of the cavalrymen passed them, they reached the top of the slope. Ahead, the road cut through thick scrub and olive groves, following the gentle curve of the coast before reaching Tripolis, most of which seemed to be crammed on to a promontory jutting out into the sea. It was a medium-sized city, not as large as some of those they had passed through like Sidon and Berytus. Cassius had no idea why the Emperor had decided to commission a new imperial mint there.

  ‘Four to go,’ said Indavara, spying another milestone. ‘Hope there’s some good eating round here. I’m starving.’

  After obtaining some directions from a pair of legionaries patrolling the road, they headed straight for the nearest army way station. It was currently occupied by a party of surveyors, so while Simo went to find alternative accommodation, Cassius and Indavara were assigned a young lad to escort them to the mint. It was less than a mile away, on the eastern edge of the town in an area of factories and workshops. Unlike the other buildings, the mint was surrounded by a twelve-foot brick wall topped by spikes and guarded by a squad of legionaries. Confident he could find his way back, Cassius dismissed the lad and they waited outside the entrance for Quentin.

  ‘Looks just like the one in Antioch,’ said Indavara, examining the walls.

  ‘Of course – you were with Abascantius when he thought Governor Gordio was mixed up in the theft of the Persian flag. Gods, what a mess he made of that. Fortunately, I was around to pick up the pieces.’

  ‘By getting yourself captured?’

  ‘All part of the plan,’ said Cassius with a grin.

  He let out a long breath and wished he’d brought his hat with him. He was wearing a thin, sleeveless tunic and his lightest boots but was still sweating. ‘Hope Simo’s found somewhere close to the coast, bit of sea air would be nice.’

  One of the eight legionaries on duty opened the small iron gate next to the main entrance and a slight man of about forty appeared. Cassius’s skin was on the fair side, but this fellow’s was even paler and he grimaced as he was struck by the full power of the sun. His long-sleeved tunic was of good quality but the sleeves were marked with ink blots.

  ‘Officer Crispian?’

  ‘Yes,’ lied Cassius.

  ‘Lucius Gratus Quentin.’ They shook forearms.

  Quentin shielded his eyes as he inspected the other new arrival. Like Cassius, Indavara was armed with dagger and sword.

  ‘May I see your documentation?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Cassius reached into the deer-hide satchel over his shoulder and took out the letter of introduction. Glycia had written it; Marshal Marcellinus had signed it. Only Abascantius had possessed the presence of mind to suggest that it identified Cassius as ‘the bearer’ instead of by name.

  Quentin read the note and returned it. ‘This is all rather irregular but we must of course do as we are bid. Please, follow me.’

  Quentin went through the narrow archway first. As Cassius followed, one of the legionaries stepped in front of him. ‘You’ll have to leave the weapons here, sir.’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s policy,’ said Quentin. ‘You’ll see that I carry no blade; only the soldiers of the garrison are allowed to do so.’

  ‘You did see the name in that letter? Must I invoke it a second time?’

  ‘Officer Crispian, this is an imperial mint. Security is of the utmost importance.’

  Cassius considered a jibe about the counterfeiting investigation but decided against it.

  He reckoned he could have got his way by scaring the soldiers with a bit more name-dropping but it seemed unlikely he would be at risk here. ‘If you insist.’

  Indavara – who never liked giving up his weapons – sneered as he removed his dagger sheath and sword belt. Cassius did the same and the soldiers took the four weapons.

  Quentin led them across a strip of dusty ground towards the mint, which, like the wall, was constructed of red brick. All the small, circular windows were grilled with iron and well off the ground. Towards the rear were several chimneys, only one of which was issuing smoke. From inside the mint came the noise of clanging hammers and the occasional shout.

  ‘Have you any experience of combating counterfeiting, Officer?’ asked Quentin.

  ‘None at all.’

  Quentin made little attempt to conceal his dismay.

  ‘I am hoping you will be able to educate me,’ added Cassius.

  Waiting outside the broad, arched entrance was a middle-aged man of about fifty in a light blue tunic decorated with yellow lozenges.

  Quentin introduced him. ‘Flavius Arruntius, chief of the mint.’

  ‘Officer Crispian, Imperial Security.’

  ‘Welcome, sir,’ said Arruntius, a large character with rosy cheeks and an amenable face. ‘My staff and I are at your disposal.’

  ‘Many thanks.’

  ‘I thought we might show you one of the workshops first,’ said Quentin, ‘so you can better understand what you are to investigate.’

  ‘That sounds sensible.’

  ‘It will have to be workshop two,’ said Arruntius, ‘the only one functioning at present.’

  ‘Work has slowed down since the first issue,’ explained Quentin. ‘That was mainly for army pay. The rest will be introduced more slowly – payments for civic projects and wages for municipal workers.’

  ‘These counterfeits,’ said Cassius, ‘are they just of the new denarius?’

  ‘As far as we know,’ replied Quentin. He produced a coin from a pocket and showed it to Cassius. ‘You may not have seen many down in Arabia yet but these are being produced and distributed at Siscia, Cyzicus, Serdica, Antioch and here. The aim is for them to eventually become the primary currency for the entire Empire.’

  ‘And now someone is making their own?’

  Quentin exchanged an anxious look with Arruntius. ‘We’ll get to that. Let us first show you how they are made.’

  Cassius gestured towards the arch. ‘Please.’

  Workshop two was divided into several sections. The first was a large room containing four ovens. Despite an open door that led out to a courtyard, the temperature reminded Cassius of a hot room at the baths. The rounded ovens were constructed of clay, each one with a chimney and an opening at the front. Only two were alight, burning bright orange inside. Half a dozen men were at work, wearing aprons over their tunics, skin glistening with sweat. They turned and nodded politely when they realised they had visitors.

&nb
sp; Cassius noted some metal ingots stacked on a wooden pallet. Most were of bronze but there was also copper and silver. Arruntius led the other three to a central table and pointed at a rectangular lump of clay containing rows of hollows. ‘This is the mould: made of what we call foundry sand – sand mixed with clay. We pour molten bronze into these then they go into the oven.’

  He continued on and pointed down at two empty vats sunk into the ground. ‘These would usually contain the liquid silver – when the bronzes come out of the ovens we apply the wash here.’

  Guarding the arched doorway that led to the next section was a legionary who looked as if he was ready for another duty.

  ‘Of course, security is crucial,’ said Arruntius. ‘We also inventory every last item at the end and beginning of the working day.’

  He led them into the second section. In the middle of the room was a huge square table. On top of it was a wooden tray containing dozens of silver-coated coins. A worker was picking them out one by one, examining the surface and clipping off any excess metal around the edges.

  ‘Once they’ve cooled, the “blanks” are checked in here,’ said Arruntius.

  Farther along the table was another worker by a set of scales. He was weighing every coin.

  ‘Keeping a standardised weight is essential,’ added the chief of the mint, ‘and not easy to achieve.’ He pointed at a bucket containing several coins. ‘Anything not up to standard goes back for remoulding.’

  Cassius looked at a tray containing approved ‘blanks’. Having just been ‘washed’ these looked almost like silver, but he knew from experience that, after handling, most of the coins would end up looking like what they really were: bronze.

  ‘So not much actual silver in a denarius these days.’

  Arruntius gave an ironic smile and looked at Quentin, who answered.

  ‘Should be five per cent.’

  Arruntius took a single blank from the nearest tray and led them past another guard into the third section. No one was working but there was a circular table surrounded by four large anvils mounted on bases of brick. On the table were two cylinders of what looked to Cassius like lead, each about two inches wide and five high.

  ‘These are the dies,’ said Arruntius as they reached the table. ‘See the images? One is the obverse, one the reverse.’

  The obverse showed the head of the Emperor. He was wearing a crown and facing to the right. Written around the top half of the coin was his name.

  ‘A good likeness,’ said Quentin.

  ‘You have seen the Emperor in the flesh?’ asked Cassius.

  ‘Yes, several times.’

  ‘And?’ said Cassius, unable to curtail his curiosity.

  ‘Very impressive,’ replied Quentin. Cassius supposed there wasn’t really anything else one could say.

  He looked at the next die and was surprised by what he saw. The design for the reverse showed a god-like figure standing over a captive. In one hand he held a globe, in the other a whip. The legend was clear: SOL INVICTUS.

  ‘Oh. The sun god. I didn’t realise …’

  ‘Other solar symbols have been used on previous coinage,’ said Quentin.

  ‘Instead of Jupiter, though?’ said Cassius. No one seemed keen to discuss the matter but it seemed obvious that the Emperor’s interest in the solar deities of the East was developing at quite a rate.

  ‘Sun god,’ said Indavara. ‘Not Elagabalus?’

  Quentin answered quickly. ‘The word from on high is that the design does not represent any single version of the sun god. It is to be considered an acknowledgement of what the Emperor sees as the importance of local deities in his reconquering of the East. Assurances have been made that it is in no way to suggest a supplanting of the great gods.’

  ‘But these are being produced across the Empire?’ said Cassius.

  ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘His coins,’ said Arruntius with a shrug. ‘His design.’

  He put the reverse die on the anvil and the blank coin on top. He then flipped the obverse die over and placed it on top of the blank. Holding the tower steady, he turned to the others.

  Indavara looked confused. ‘How do you get the …’

  Arruntius gestured at the floor. Lying next to the table was a large hammer. ‘Sheer brute force. We seem to be in need of a labourer, my friend.’ He smiled at Indavara. ‘The men who work in this section tend to look a bit like you.’

  ‘You mean I can …’

  ‘Please.’

  Indavara picked up the hammer.

  ‘Try and bring the head down as straight as you can,’ said Arruntius. ‘And preferably not on my fingers. You needn’t try too hard. The weight will do the work.’

  Despite this advice, Indavara couldn’t resist giving it a good thump. After the impact, the tower fell on to the anvil with a clang.

  Arruntius plucked the newly minted coin off the reverse die and handed it to the bodyguard. ‘Here. It’s yours.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Why not? You made it.’

  Indavara looked down at the design now imprinted in the metal and grinned.

  ‘Easy, eh?’ said Cassius.

  ‘Not if you have to do it all day,’ said Arruntius. ‘We expect an experienced pair to knock out a hundred an hour.’

  Cassius looked around the room. Against the wall were racks of tools and amphoras of varying sizes and designs. ‘So that’s it?’

  ‘Not quite.’ Arruntius pointed past a guard towards another doorway. ‘In the fourth section we weigh them again and give them a good polish. From there it’s to the counting room, then the store at the rear.’

  Quentin was looking impatient.

  ‘Shall we move on to the issue at hand?’ suggested Cassius.

  ‘We can meet in my office – Arruntius has kindly put aside some space for me.’

  ‘I’ll have a maid come along with some refreshments,’ said their host, hurrying away back through the workshop.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Quentin as he led Cassius in the opposite direction.

  Indavara was still looking at his coin. ‘I can really keep this?’

  IV

  The ‘office’ was in fact half of a large storeroom. It was considerably cooler than the rest of the mint, with air admitted through a dozen of the high circular windows and illumination via a square glassed skylight. The other half of the room was mostly shelves stacked with scroll-racks, waxed tablets and iron tools. Quentin had set himself up on a work table and was clearly a well-organised individual. Next to a framed map of the eastern provinces were several orderly piles of paper and a selection of labelled coins mounted on a board of cork.

  As Cassius and Quentin sat on opposite sides of the table, Indavara took himself over to a nearby bench and lay down on his back. Quentin seemed bemused by this but said nothing.

  ‘How long have you been in Tripolis?’ asked Cassius.

  ‘I was sent here originally in the spring to help set up the mint. The building was here but everything you see inside is new. When this … issue raised its head I was asked to stay on and coordinate an investigation.’

  ‘Do you have anyone else to help you?’

  ‘Two clerks. They’re out gathering information as we speak.’

  ‘Marshal Marcellinus seemed to suggest that not much progress has been made. Is that fair?’

  Quentin sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘Perhaps if I start at the beginning?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Cassius had put his satchel on the desk. He reached inside and took out a stick of charcoal to make notes with. ‘Do you have some paper?’

  Quentin pointed at a pile of blank sheets. Just as Cassius took one, a maid hurried in with a tray. He was disappointed to see that she was middle aged and rather fat. Indavara sat up immediately, more interested in what she had brought.

  ‘Afternoon, sirs.’

  ‘Hello,’ said Indavara, already on his feet.

  The maid placed the tray on
the corner of the table, prompting a tut from Quentin. She put down a jug and three mugs, a bowl of glistening red grapes and a plate of sweet-smelling pastries.

  ‘Wine for everyone?’

  ‘Not for me,’ said Quentin. ‘And don’t spill any.’

  With a practised smile, the maid poured wine for Cassius and Indavara, recovered the tray and departed as quickly as she’d arrived. ‘Compliments of Master Arruntius. If you would like anything else, please ask.’

  ‘Thanks a lot,’ said Indavara. He slurped at his wine, eliciting another tut from Quentin.

  ‘Why not go back to your bench?’ said Cassius. ‘Take the cakes.’

  Indavara didn’t need a second invitation.

  ‘What he lacks in decorum he more than makes up for in other areas.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it.’ Quentin put his arms on the table and interlocked his fingers. ‘Do you know why this mint was commissioned?’

  ‘So that the local and visiting legions can be paid; and the Emperor can introduce coins bearing his image – show his face, so to speak.’

  ‘That’s part of it, yes.’

  ‘And also to restore confidence in the currency.’ Finance was not Cassius’s strong point but he knew inflation and debasement had worsened in recent years.

  ‘Quite so. As I said in the workshop, we are aiming for a consistent five per cent silver in the new denarius. Under some of the Emperor’s predecessors, it had dropped to as low as one per cent.’

  ‘Strange, really,’ said Cassius, ‘when one considers that all coins were originally a hundred per cent gold or silver or bronze.’

  ‘Unfortunately that is now impossible, but we are doing what we can.’

  Quentin leaned across the desk and selected a coin from his collection. He handed it to Cassius. ‘See the XX below the sun god? It guarantees the five per cent minimum – twenty coins would make one of pure silver. If all goes to plan, within a few months these denarii should be the dominant coin of exchange across the Empire. The XX mark is designed to breed confidence. Confidence is our best weapon against inflation.’

  ‘But with all these coins being produced it’s a perfect time to introduce and distribute false currency.’