by Nick Brown
‘I – I don’t know.’
‘Let’s get to that tavern. I reckon you could do with a drink.’
Indavara said little over a brief (but good) lunch and Cassius left him with Simo in the garden when they returned to the basilica. Dominicus was already in the waiting room and escorted him to a small office where he could work undisturbed. The assistant procurator gave him a papyrus roll: the land register showing the largest transactions for the year. Politely asking Cassius to look after it, Dominicus left, shutting the door behind him.
Upon the office’s table were a bronze pen, a pot of freshly mixed ink and some blank paper. Holding the wooden roller with one hand, Cassius unravelled the paper with the other. Once he could see it all, the roll was almost a yard long. Unsurprisingly, the ink was brightest at the bottom. The land register listed the location of the plot, its size (plus a description of number and type of buildings), the buyer, the seller, the date of sale, the price and tax paid. There was also a reference number for a more detailed report.
Cassius found a sale from around two months earlier and rolled up the papyrus so he could focus on transactions after that date. There were nine sales in total, most of them to a single buyer, a few to partnerships. Cassius filled up the pen and started writing. Next to the buyer’s name he noted the date and location. He began to wonder how much real use the information might be but he wanted to get started; and as Quentin hadn’t considered this angle it might not be a complete waste of time. The treasury agent had sent a message to the inn that morning; one of his clerks would deliver a summary of their interviews with the casters later in the day.
Once the list was complete, Cassius rolled up the register and put the page of notes in his satchel. The servant waiting outside went to fetch Dominicus, who escorted him out. When they stopped at the rear door, Cassius thanked the assistant procurator, who cordially asked whether he could offer any more help.
‘There might be one more thing – purchases of gems and precious metals. Would there be any record of those?’
‘Not here. Such transactions are private – conducted between traders and private individuals. No tax is paid unless the valuables are moved through toll gates.’
‘As I thought. Thank you again. Good day.’
‘Good day.’
Three hours later, Cassius was awoken from a mid-afternoon nap by Simo, who had a mug of milk for him.
‘Any good?’ he asked as he sat up.
‘Very, sir. Fresh this morning, according to Neokles. There is a man here waiting for you. On behalf of Master Quentin.’
‘Ah.’ Cassius was so thirsty that he drank the milk in one go. ‘That is good.’
He had been sleeping only in a loincloth. As he stood and yawned, Simo picked up his tunic.
‘How’s Indavara?’
‘Not saying much, sir.’ Simo lowered the tunic over his master’s head.
‘And in the garden? When you were alone?’
Simo straightened the tunic, then handed Cassius his belt. ‘He didn’t say so but I think he remembered something more than the tune. Perhaps someone.’
‘Gods, no wonder it upset him. I still find it hard to imagine what it must be like to remember nothing of the past.’
Simo shook his head. ‘I have prayed many times for him, asked the Lord to give him a sign.’
Cassius buckled his belt. ‘You believe that was it?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Well, at least we know more than we did. Perhaps he’ll remember more over time. Where is he now?’
‘He left about an hour ago. Barefoot.’
‘Ah, a run – to clear his head. Probably not a bad idea. Right, let’s see what Quentin’s man has for me.’
The clerk was named Segestes, a young man of around twenty. Cassius found him laughing along with Kitra and gruffly ordered him to accompany him back to his room. Simo cleared a few things off the table and they sat down. Segestes was carrying a lightweight wooden box which he slid across to Cassius.
‘We finished the interviews this morning, sir. Our notes are summarised here. Master Quentin said you needed them immediately so he had Arruntius’s scribes copy them out for you.’
Cassius opened the box. Inside was a pile of papers with names at the top and notes written in two different hands.
‘Good. Anything stand out?’
‘Not particularly, sir.’
‘How many men did you interview?’
‘All sixteen we were asked to. Eight currently employed at the mint, eight who used to be.’
‘What did you ask them?’
‘Firstly, if they were involved in counterfeiting.’ The clerk said this with a straight face.
‘Oh, very subtle.’
‘You know, sir – to test their reaction.’
‘Mmm. Anybody seem particularly anxious?’
‘Most, really. Especially the ones that still work there.’
‘Understandable, I suppose. What else did you ask?’
‘If they had ever passed on any information regarding the mint and the manufacture of currency; if anyone had ever approached them; if they had seen or heard anything about fake coins; if they had travelled much recently—’
‘About being approached – any of them say they had?’
‘Most. A few said they never had been, which we thought might be a bit suspicious.’
‘Those that had – any names come out of that?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Hardly surprising. Anything else strike you? Gut reaction?’
Segestes looked down and realised that his amulet – a red stone rendering of Mars – was hanging outside his tunic. He tucked it back in before answering. ‘One of the retired men had a very nice villa by the coast. These casters do quite well, but not that well, and he’d only left the mint a few years ago.’
‘What does he do now?’ asked Cassius.
‘Property, he said.’
‘I would be more inclined to suspect the man concealing his wealth than the man displaying it.’
‘It’s funny you should say that, sir. What was his name? Eryx – one of those who said he’d never been approached about counterfeiting. He wore very plain clothes – and not a single ring or bracelet.’
‘Right.’
‘And – I think it was him …’ Segestes rifled through the pages until he found the right one. ‘Yes. He insisted on coming to the mint as soon as we contacted him. Didn’t want us to go to him.’
‘Or see his house, perhaps?’
‘Maybe, sir.’
‘What are you doing now?’
‘I was going to report back to Master Quentin.’
‘Do you have an address for this Eryx character?’
Segestes consulted the sheet again. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Go and have a look at his house. See what it’s like and what else you can find out. My man Simo will give you some coin – throw a bit at the neighbours if you have to. You’re interested in who he associates with, whether he’s spent much money recently, visitors to the house and so on.’
‘That will take time, sir.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll make sure Quentin knows where you are. You can take a couple of coins for yourself too.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Segestes checked the address again. ‘It’s on the other side of the city. I’d better get going.’
Simo came over with the money. He gave the clerk two sesterces and a dozen more for the bribes.
‘Send word to me later,’ said Cassius.
‘I can call in, sir, it’s pretty much on my way back to the mint.’
Segestes left.
‘Simo, write a note on my behalf to Quentin and find a lad to run it up to the mint. Thank him for providing me with these transcripts and inform him that I have sent Segestes on an important task. I will call in at some point tomorrow to liaise with him once more.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Cassius reached into the box, took out the first sheet and
started reading.
Indavara returned an hour later. Cassius’s door was open to get some air in and he looked on as the bodyguard asked Hanina for a jug of water. By the looks of him, he had been running for the entire time; sweat was pouring off his face and his feet were black. Kitra came along and tried to talk to him but Indavara took his water and hurried into his room.
Simo was sitting on his bed, polishing Cassius’s riding boots with a brush. He looked at his master and shrugged.
‘We’ll leave him be for now,’ said Cassius. ‘I dare say he’ll show his face for dinner.’
‘How are you faring, sir?’
Cassius had just finished the last page. ‘There are a few potential leads but Segestes and his colleague haven’t exactly been thorough. If we don’t make any progress elsewhere I may have to interview these men again.’
‘Do you think we’ll be in Tripolis for a while, sir?’
‘Hard to say. I expect you’re wondering if it’s worth seeking out the nearest church-house?’
Simo continued with his work.
‘You can talk about it. I think we both know my position on the matter but I don’t intend to stop you.’
‘Much appreciated, sir.’
‘I suppose I should seek out the Temple of Jupiter – give thanks for this assignment.’
‘It does seem less perilous than some, sir.’
‘Let us hope it remains so.’
Hearing Neokles snapping orders at the girls, Cassius watched the owner stagger in with two amphoras which he dumped beside the bar. A pair of lads were trailing along behind him, both weighed down with baskets full of bread and fruit.
‘Something happening tonight, Simo?’
‘Master Neokles belongs to a guild of innkeepers, sir. I believe he is hosting a function.’
‘Balls.’
‘Are you worried about the noise, sir?’
‘No, Simo. I’m worried about the girls. They’ll be busy all bloody night.’
VII
Even though Neokles had set up a grill on the terrace and the smell of roasting lamb reached every corner of the inn, Indavara did not appear. As the first of the innkeeper’s guests began to arrive, Cassius knocked on the bodyguard’s door. There was no answer but he opened it.
Indavara was lying on his bed in the same sodden tunic he’d run in. The windowless room was stuffy and hot. Cassius left the door open.
‘Shut it, please.’
‘Gods, man, it’s like a furnace in here.’
‘Corbulo.’
‘All right.’ Cassius shut it, then moved the bodyguard’s fighting stave out of his way and sat on a stool. Indavara was staring blankly up at the ceiling. Cassius noticed his tiny Fortuna figurine on the bedside table.
‘Not hungry?’
Indavara shook his head.
‘What about some sword practice – I’ll have Neokles put up some lamps outside.’
‘Too tired.’
‘Where did you run to?’
‘Up the coast. Some town. Zi … something.’
‘Zigara. That’s five miles away. You ran ten miles in this heat? On the road?’
‘Mostly beach, actually.’
‘You have to have some of that roast lamb. The crackling’s delicious.’
Indavara turned his head towards him at last. ‘It’s fading.’
‘The memory?’
Indavara reached up with one hand and held it above his head. ‘It was so clear. Now …’ The hand formed a fist, which he smacked down on to the bed.
‘What was it?’
‘A clearing in a forest. It was cold. Frost on the trees. There were many of us. Someone spoke to me. A woman.’
‘Could it be—’
‘Could be anyone.’
‘Anything else?’
Indavara shook his head.
‘Was that tune playing there? There might be some association.’
‘I – I don’t know.’
Cassius pulled the stool closer to the bed. ‘Listen, I can see it’s difficult for you. But this is a good thing.’
‘How? What if I never remember anything more? It could be a thousand places, a million.’
‘The old man said Gaul. Frost? You’ve told me before you think you’re from the northern provinces.’
‘Simo told me Gaul is huge, bigger even than Syria.’
‘There is more we can do. Remember my idea – writing to the Service man in Pietas Julia? I did a little research; there’s no officer there but Abascantius gave me a contact in Siscia, not far away at all. It’s only two years since you were freed – he can find out about this Capito, the organiser of games.’
Indavara picked up the figurine.
Cassius knew the wiser option was to tell him to forget it all; that there really was no hope. Abascantius had warned him about encouraging the bodyguard along a path that might eventually lead him away. To counter such a possibility, the two agents had persuaded him to take an oath to join the army earlier in the year. But, once again, Indavara had saved Cassius’s life. What he owed the man could not be expressed in words, only actions. If he could help him solve the riddle that was his past, he would do it.
‘Perhaps this was Fortuna’s doing,’ he said, nodding at the figurine.
‘You really think so?’
‘This is how the gods work. They give us signs. We’re in Syria, yet we heard a tune from Gaul. I don’t think you should ignore it.’
‘Could you send the letter tomorrow?’
‘Yes, but don’t get carried away. It will take weeks to hear anything and there may well be nothing to hear. But it’s a start.’
Indavara sat up. ‘Then please do it.’
‘That’s the spirit. I shall write it first thing.’
Indavara looked down at the figurine again.
‘So, some dinner?’ asked Cassius. ‘A wash might be advisable too or Kitra won’t come near you again.’
‘I’ll stay in here tonight.’
‘I know this is unsettling but try not to let it gnaw away at you. Life has to go on. Shall I tell Simo to get a plate for you? And ask Neokles for some hot water?’
Indavara got up off the bed.
‘Good.’
Having failed to get to the baths, Cassius needed a wash himself. Once Simo had finished drying him, he put on a clean tunic. It was a rather effeminate light blue – purchased originally for him to disguise himself as a merchant while on assignment in Arabia – but he now found he quite liked it.
Segestes returned at the second hour of night. Disappointingly, the villa of the ex-caster Eryx had turned out to be utterly average; and the most incriminating evidence gleaned from his neighbours was that he always needed reminding to trim his hedge. Cassius thanked the clerk for his efforts and dismissed him.
Indavara appeared for a while to eat some lamb and spoke briefly to the girls but went to bed early. With Simo studying one of his medical tomes, Cassius was left alone at the bar. The inn was now occupied by a dozen or so men from Neokles’s guild. Once they’d all had their fill of lamb, bread and accompanying vegetables, they sat around two big tables pushed together. Cassius exchanged the odd remark with the girls but once the meal was over they had quite a pile of crockery to wash up.
He sat there sipping his wine, thoughts alternating between what he’d like to do with the voluptuous Kitra and the counterfeiting investigation. If the gang were as professional in other areas as they were with the production of the coins, progress might be slow. It might become a laborious, time-consuming slog, and he doubted either Marshal Marcellinus or Minister Sabinus would be particularly patient. Even so, he remained hopeful. Quentin seemed sure that such gangs were not well established in this part of the world and this complicated endeavour would require a lot of people. Like any human activity, the greater the complexity and the numbers involved, the greater the chance of a mistake.
The girls took so long in the kitchen that Cassius considered taking a walk; he knew
there were other taverns close by. But even though they were now so far from Bostra, it didn’t seem wise to wander the darkened streets alone.
Eventually, Kitra and Hanina returned to the parlour, their main duty now to keep the guildsmen’s glasses full. The fussy Neokles would catch their eye whenever one of his compatriots was getting low and repeatedly prompted them to bring fresh bowls of nuts and dried fruit. The innkeepers were getting louder, telling jokes and funny tales – mostly about guests past and present.
Cassius continued his charm offensive with Kitra and Hanina, adapting his style according to whom he was talking to. Kitra seemed genuinely concerned about Indavara so Cassius told her an old injury was troubling him. Hanina seemed keen to talk and spent her spare moments asking about his travels.
But when a guildsman returned from the latrine to announce it was blocked, the unfortunate girls were dispatched to investigate. Cassius would have retired then but his wine had just been topped up. He felt quite proud of himself; his last mug of the day was his third.
Talk in the parlour had turned to local politics. Cassius listened in and heard mention of several notable figures, including the procurator and the magistrate. Someone made a hushed comment and there was a moment of silence. Cassius turned and saw that half the guildsmen were staring at him. In a way the timing was fortuitous; it had just occurred to him that Neokles’s guests might be of use.
He got off the stool and walked over, smiling. ‘Gentlemen, please do not censor yourselves on my account.’
‘Apologies, Centurion Crispian,’ said Neokles, ‘I would not want you to feel uncomfortable.’
‘Please. This is not my city. Continue as you would normally. I shall soon be retiring, though I did wonder if I might ask for a few minutes of your time.’
Neokles stood. ‘Of course, what can I do for you?’
‘I meant all of you.’ Cassius looked around the group. ‘What is the name of this distinguished association?’
‘The Guild of East Tripolis Inn and Tavern Keepers.’
‘Ah. Today I met with Assistant Procurator Dominicus and I dare say I’ll be meeting him again. As a gesture of mutual cooperation, I could perhaps put in a word for the guild. Is there a particular matter you might wish me to mention?’
