by Nick Brown
For a moment no one spoke. Then a corpulent character wearing a heavily embroidered tunic caught Cassius’s eye. ‘Excuse me, Centurion.’ He spoke a few sentences in Aramaic. The others considered his point then gave their assent.
‘We would be most appreciative if you could bring up the subject of military billeting. We have heard that several centuries will be passing through in the coming weeks and there has been an unfortunate tendency to favour the western side of the city because it is fractionally closer to the army compound. We would like to see this imbalance redressed.’
‘I shall ensure that the assistant procurator knows of your concern.’
The large man walked over and they shook forearms. ‘Theopropides, chief of the guild.’ He grabbed a chair for Cassius while the others cleared a space.
‘Many thanks. I shall be back in a moment.’ Cassius went to his room and retrieved the spearhead and the page of information from the land register.
‘Need me, sir?’ said Simo, getting up off his bed.
‘Yes – to make notes.’
While Simo grabbed some writing materials, Cassius returned to the parlour. He doubted the innkeepers would know a lot about the casters, but they were clearly familiar with the great and the good of Tripolis. As he sat down, Neokles placed his wine on the table.
Cassius laid the spearhead next to it. ‘It is best that you know who you are addressing. I am Centurion Cassius Oranius Crispian, currently attached to the governor’s staff of Arabia.’ He thought it best not to mention the Service – partly to protect his anonymity in Tripolis, partly to negate any unpleasant associations his audience might have with ‘grain men’. He had used centurion with Neokles because ‘officer’ would confuse him.
‘I am here on an assignment given to me by Marshal Marcellinus himself. I’m sure it goes without saying that this is all in confidence.’
‘Of course,’ said Theopropides, pushing silver bangles up his chubby arm.
‘Now, if I may, I will read out some names. I am not looking for scandal or secrets, merely some background information. It occurred to me that you gentlemen might be extremely well informed.’
‘Please,’ said another of the guildsmen.
Cassius pushed his chair back a little so that they couldn’t see the list. Simo grabbed himself a stool and sat behind him, ready with writing block, paper and pen.
‘Scribonius Maursus.’
Theopropides took the lead. ‘Local landowner, his main estate is south of the city. Interests in shipping and olive oil.’
‘Three vineyards also,’ said another man.
Simo scribbled the first of his notes.
‘Not particularly concerned with politics,’ added Neokles. ‘His brother represents the family on the city council.’
Cassius nodded appreciatively. He would have liked to ask about the man’s reputation and the very scandals he’d claimed not to be interested in but the guildsmen would instantly clam up. Despite their enthusiasm, he was a visitor and had offered them only a comparatively small favour; the innkeepers would not be impolitic enough to impugn their betters in so open a way.
‘Good, thank you.’ And so it went on. Cassius considered all the information useful but there was nothing of real interest until the sixth name: an individual named Vesnius Isatis. Theopropides offered the basics on his business interests but said nothing more and no one else seemed keen to contribute.
Eventually, Neokles spoke up. ‘You might mention his name to Assistant Procurator Dominicus. He would … know more, I’m sure.’
‘Very well.’
Cassius continued down the list. The guildsmen passed on what they knew. Simo made his notes.
The penultimate name was that of one Numerius Afer. Upon hearing it, Theopropides hesitated, grimaced, then took a sip of wine. One man was about to speak but another held up his hand. Then an argument broke out in Aramaic. Neokles leant close to Cassius and apologised. After a short time, Theopropides silenced the others and continued in Greek.
‘Brothers, it is a matter of public record. The centurion here will learn this and more besides as soon as he mentions the name to Dominicus or for that matter anyone else in Tripolis.’ He turned to Cassius. ‘Several months ago, Afer’s business concerns were appropriated by the procurator and sold off. It later emerged that he had built up an enormous tax bill. He also had to sell off some land and relocate to a smaller property. The next name?’
Once they had finished, Cassius thanked the guildsmen effusively and reiterated his promise to speak to Dominicus about military billeting. Once back in his room, he sat down at the table.
‘Here, sir.’ Simo put the notes down in front of him.
Cassius was more interested in what he’d copied down at the basilica. Despite his supposed financial difficulties, Numerius Afer had purchased no less than four hundred acres of land north of Tripolis. It was both the most recent purchase and the most costly; almost thirty thousand denarii.
‘Anything useful, sir?’ asked Simo as he prepared his master’s bed.
‘Maybe, Simo. Maybe.’
VIII
‘Sir, sir, wake up. Sir!’
‘Yes, yes.’
Cassius was in the middle of a very pleasant daydream about Kitra. In fact the object of his desire was a composite: Hanina’s face and Kitra’s body. In any case, it took him a moment to remember he was sitting on a bench in the basilica garden.
‘There, sir,’ said Simo, pointing at the path.
Deputy Procurator Dominicus was striding along, a dozen subordinates in his wake. Still dozy, Cassius staggered as he stood up, then jogged between two sprawling bushes towards the path.
‘Deputy Procurator.’
Dominicus stopped and turned so abruptly that some of his men collided with each other. The administrator could not hide his annoyance that he was being dragged away from his daily work once more.
‘Good day, Officer,’ he said with a thin smile.
‘Good day. I have a couple of questions for you.’
Dominicus barged his way through his men and led Cassius into the shade of the basilica wall. ‘Yes?’
‘There are two individuals I need to know more about. One is named Vesnius Isatis. I gather he has had some difficulties of late.’
Dominicus flicked away a fly that was circling his head. ‘That’s something of an understatement. He’s a notorious womaniser. A few months ago, his long-suffering wife finally reached the end of her tether. She put a list of his conquests outside the forum for all to see. Apparently it was only the recent ones but it still filled a page. The scandal ruined his reputation in Berytus – he managed to offend just about everyone who mattered. I used to know him quite well – only socially, you understand. He doesn’t have the initiative to be involved in some criminal scheme, nor the time for that matter.’
‘I see. The other man is Numerius Afer.’
‘I believe he’s had his own difficulties,’ said Dominicus, ‘financial, that is.’
‘Apparently. Him I am definitely interested in.’
‘What do you need?’
‘Anything really – business interests, property, family, employees.’
Dominicus pointed at the basilica. ‘I’ll lend you one of my clerks, Planta, for the morning. He’s worked here for more than twenty years, knows everyone in Tripolis.’
‘Thank you.’
They walked towards the entrance. ‘Officer Crispian, on behalf of the procurator and the magistrate I must ask you to tread carefully. I asked the same of Quentin. You may be operating with the authority of Marshal Marcellinus himself but even the suggestion of involvement in a criminal plot could be very damaging for one of our citizens.’
‘I understand.’
‘Come, I’ll have someone find Planta for you.’
Despite possessing only one arm, the clerk soon proved himself to be both enthusiastic and capable. Cassius spoke to him in the same office he’d been assigned the previous day and
Planta immediately confirmed that Numerius Afer had indeed fallen on hard times. Afer did not hail from one of the local families; he was in fact Sicilian, though Planta reckoned he had been in Tripolis for more than a decade. The clerk then suggested finding out what he could from the local census completed the previous year. Cassius asked him to do so, then took a walk around the basilica. He belatedly realised he had failed to pass on the concerns of Neokles’s guild about billeting. Then again, he’d only mentioned it to secure their cooperation and – judging by their clothing and jewellery – Theopropides and friends weren’t exactly struggling.
He found the other two waiting in the garden. Simo was reading (a religious tract this time) while Indavara was sitting with his arms crossed, looking rather depressed.
‘I’m starting to wish you’d taken that Egypt job instead.’
‘Not me,’ said Cassius as he sat down.
‘Reading all that stuff, talking all bloody day. Don’t you get bored?’
‘This is proper investigative work. A cerebral exercise and – to be frank – something I seem to be rather good at. Let’s hope that Service man in Siscia is good at it too; he might find out something more for you.’
Cassius had sent the letter to the army way station first thing that morning. There was no quicker way to get a message across the Empire. More than a thousand miles separated Tripolis and Serdica but, with a bit of luck, Abascantius’s contact might be reading it within two weeks.
‘And I’ll tell you something else,’ added Cassius. ‘If I can find this gang I might even impress Marcellinus enough to free myself from Abascantius’s grip.’
‘What are we waiting for now?’ asked Indavara.
Cassius was looking at the path. ‘Him.’
Planta was a bulky man with a peculiar gait. The left side of his tunic was sewn up, presumably to hide some ugly wound or withered limb. Despite his disadvantages, he had a youthful face and a hearty manner. Cassius had also taken to him because – unlike many easterners – he used Latin, not Greek.
‘There you are, sir.’
‘What have you got for me?’
‘The relevant pages.’ Planta was carrying a writing block and some papers with holes in one side. Evidently he had physically removed them from the census.
Simo stood, allowing Planta to sit on Cassius’s left, between him and Indavara. The clerk nodded politely to the others. ‘Good day.’
‘Good day,’ said Simo.
‘Good day,’ said Indavara. ‘What happened to your arm?’
Simo tutted but Planta didn’t seem to mind answering. ‘It happened when I was a lad. I was helping my father replace some tiles when I slipped and fell. The arm was so badly crushed it had to be removed.’
‘Surgeon?’ asked Indavara.
Planta gave an ironic smile. ‘My father. He had been a soldier. He did it with a wood axe, then sealed the wound with pitch.’
‘You were lucky,’ said Indavara.
‘Very,’ said Planta. ‘Though I didn’t think so at the time.’
Cassius frowned at them. ‘If you’re quite finished.’
‘Sorry, sir.’ Planta put the writing block on his lap and showed Cassius several pages. ‘As you can see, the census was conducted in June of last year. This first page lists the acreage of Afer’s estate, land use, buildings and so on. This second page concerns financial dealings: interests, holdings, taxes. The final page concerns household staff and other employees.’
Cassius put the second page on top but it was hard to make out the words. ‘Bloody sun. Simo, give us some shade.’
The Gaul walked around to the back of the bench to shield him.
‘That’s better. Some big numbers here. This time last year Afer was a very, very rich man.’
Simo’s hand suddenly appeared over the writing block. ‘May I, sir?’
‘Yes.’
The attendant pulled the paper down so he could see the third page.
‘Ah, I thought so.’
‘What is it?’
‘Here, sir.’ Simo pointed to a name on the list of Afer’s employees.
‘C. Varius Micon,’ said Cassius. ‘One of the ex-casters from the mint.’
Simo already had the satchel open. He found the right page and handed it to his master. Cassius checked the notes; Segestes and his colleague had recorded nothing suspicious about the man. He checked the census report once more. Micon was listed as one of Afer’s silversmiths.
‘Well, well. Good spot, Simo.’
Cassius looked at the list of employees again. Another name caught his attention. ‘S. Novius Gallus’. This man had also worked as a silversmith for Afer.
‘Wasn’t there …’
Cassius checked Segestes’s list. Gallus was also one of the retired mint workers. ‘Two! Two of them.’
He examined the notes again; both men had left their jobs at the Tripolis mint the previous year.
Cassius leant back. ‘So, the casters Micon and Gallus leave to take jobs with a bankrupt master who then somehow makes enough money to buy a huge tract of land.’
‘Why didn’t Segestes realise they both work for Afer?’ asked Simo.
‘Maybe they don’t any more. The census is a year old – perhaps they left his employ to cover up their connection. Or maybe Segestes just missed it. In any case, I think it’s time I had a word with Numerius Afer.’
Cassius considered contacting Quentin but the thought of returning to the mint having already identified a solid suspect was just too appealing. The helpful Planta obtained Afer’s current address, which turned out to be barely a quarter-mile from the basilica. The respectable but modest townhouse revealed little about its owner. The servant at the gate revealed even less until Cassius threatened him with arrest for obstructing an imperial agent. Unfortunately, Afer was not at home: he and his wife were attending a function hosted by a local dignitary at a villa south of Tripolis.
The trio called in at the stables by the inn to fetch their mounts then got some directions from the lads there and set off. A mile beyond the city’s south gate, they were delayed by a mass of riders and pedestrians queuing for a horse fair. Cassius employed his most commanding voice to clear a path and they continued on through pastures where young herders and their dogs watched over sheep and goats.
The villa belonged to a man named Megakreon, and the well-paved road that led to his home was marked by a marble stone bearing the name in huge lettering.
‘No chance of anyone missing that,’ said Cassius as they guided the horses on to the road. He could see only a gatehouse about two hundred yards ahead; the rest of the property was replete with ancient oaks, some with trunks ten feet around.
‘I’ve got a good feeling about this Afer character,’ added Cassius. ‘Gods, at this rate, I’ll have this gang in chains by the end of the week.’
‘Why not just watch him?’ suggested Indavara. ‘If he is up to no good you might be able to work out who else is involved.’
‘Yes, but we might also end up watching him for a week and get nowhere. Better to go straight in and catch him out before he hears we’re on to him. See how he reacts. If he’s involved, I’ll know it. And he’ll give every last one of the others up to keep his head out of a noose.’
‘Lucky – spotting those names.’
‘Lucky? No – all that talking and reading you thought so pointless. Proper investigative work. I think it’s my orator’s training – that and my memory, of course. I’ve always been good at making connections, spotting details.’
‘Good for you,’ said Indavara, wincing as he checked his nether regions. ‘But you’d better not wrap it up too quickly or Abascantius might send us off to Egypt after all.’
‘Not if I have anything to do with it.’
Stretching out of sight on either side of the gatehouse was a six-foot stone wall. As they reined in, an armed man came up to the imposing iron gate and inspected them. Cassius dismounted, spearhead at the ready.
�
��Good day. This is the Megakreon residence?’
‘It is.’
‘I am Centurion Crispian. I need to speak with a man named Numerius Afer and I believe he’s here.’
‘There is a function today.’
‘I know. He’s attending it.’
A second, older man appeared from behind the right side of the arch. ‘Sorry, sir. Master Megakreon gave strict instructions that no one other than guests was to be admitted today.’
‘But you will admit me.’
‘Not unless you have an invitation.’
Cassius held up the spearhead. ‘You do know what this is?’
‘You belong to the governor’s staff.’
It wasn’t necessary to mention that the governor in question ruled Arabia. ‘That’s right. And the Imperial Security Service.’
The older man stepped up close to the bars. ‘Then I would have thought you would know that Master Megakreon has some very influential and powerful friends. And that he would not appreciate an unannounced visit. The function will be over by the seventh hour. You can visit Afer at his own home.’
‘I want to see him now.’
Indavara had also dismounted. He ambled past Cassius and up to the gate. ‘You heard the man. Open up.’
He didn’t usually make a move without being prompted; Cassius reckoned he was still in a bad mood after the previous day.
Indavara stepped back and eyed the wall. ‘Or you can leave it shut. But then I’ll have to climb over, kick the shit out of you two and open it myself.’
Cassius could have stopped the ex-bodyguard but he sometimes enjoyed such moments. With anyone else the two guards might have laughed the threat off or countered with an insult; but a swift look at Indavara’s remarkable frame, countless collection of scars (including his disfigured left ear) and selection of weapons (short sword, dagger and fighting stave) kept them quiet.
Cassius was reluctant to invoke Marshal Marcellinus yet again so tried another tactic. ‘Be assured that what my colleague suggests remains an alternative but I am not here to cause trouble, nor to disturb your master’s function. All I require is a quiet word with Numerius Afer. I’m sure that can be arranged without too much fuss.’
