The Emperor's Silver: Agent of Rome 5

by Nick Brown

  ‘Lucius Gratus Quentin.’

  ‘I’ll need both names written down and addresses where I can reach them.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Cassius finally managed to look at him. At least some of the rage had gone from his eyes.

  The senator sighed. ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Twenty-two, sir.’

  ‘You have a lot to learn.’

  X

  Though hideous, the events of the next hour weren’t quite the most humiliating of Cassius’s life. That honour went to the occasion when he had been discovered with his aunt’s maid (by his aunt, at her house, during her fiftieth birthday party). To be precise, the worst moment had been when his father had dragged him past his mother, sisters and the assembled guests then shoved him out of the front gate, telling him to walk home and start packing his chest. A week later he had left to join the army.

  But this was still hideous enough. After grovelling to Numerius Afer (plus his wife), Columella (plus his wife) and Megakreon (plus his wife and all the remaining guests), Cassius had been instructed by the senator to empty his money bag and give all he had to the harpist. Indavara had also apologised to the girl, commenting that he should really have hit the bodyguard again, thereby knocking him to the ground and preventing the damage to the harp.

  ‘That didn’t really go very well, did it?’ said the bodyguard as they rode out to the mint. Correctly adjudging that Cassius was in no mood to talk, it was the first thing he’d said since they’d left the villa. Cassius glanced across at him as they overtook a pair of lads hauling a handcart stacked with firewood.

  ‘I don’t really see how it could have gone any worse.’

  ‘That Columella was full of himself.’

  ‘He is a senator. A senator says jump – you ask how high. Remember that in case we ever meet another one.’

  ‘What do senators do anyway?’

  ‘Frankly, I can’t be bothered to explain.’

  ‘Didn’t you say that Marcellinus is just below the Emperor? If you’re working for him why do you have to worry about a senator?’

  ‘If I’d been in possession of anything one could consider actual evidence then I might not have had to. I thought I was so bloody clever finding those names I put two and two together and came up with seven and a half.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Forget it.’

  A rider galloped past, his steed kicking up dust.

  ‘Er, Corbulo, I think that was one of the messengers from Megakreon’s villa.’

  Cassius looked up and realised he was right. ‘So Quentin will know all about it. Well, at least it saves me going over the whole sorry episode again.’

  When he arrived in the storeroom, the treasury agent was just finishing the letter. He put it down then peered up at him. ‘Interesting morning?’

  ‘You could say that.’ Cassius slumped down on a stool. He was alone, having left Indavara outside with the horses.

  ‘By the gods, Crispian. A senator?’

  ‘Damned bad luck, really. He’s on holiday – summer recess, I suppose.’

  ‘Why Afer? What did you have on him?’

  ‘Nothing as it turned out.’ Cassius briefly went through what he’d discovered since they’d last met.

  ‘I can see why you would want to question him but—’

  ‘My mistake. Overconfidence combined with carelessness. It won’t happen again.’

  Quentin glanced at the letter. ‘Marcellinus and Sabinus will not be impressed.’

  ‘I am well aware of that. But at least they won’t hear about it for a week or so. I shall do my best to ensure I have something more substantial to report in my reply.’

  Cassius glanced at the map of Syria and the surrounding provinces. Dozens of red paper circles had now been stuck to it.

  ‘Ah, the coin sightings.’ He stood up and walked around the table for a better view.

  ‘I just finished – two-thirds of the replies are in now.’

  ‘Each one denotes a single sighting?’

  ‘Correct.’

  Cassius leaned over the map. Almost all the cities of central Syria had at least one dot (Tripolis included); some had several.

  ‘Does it look how you expected it to?’

  ‘No,’ said Quentin. ‘The spread and the amount are far greater than I had anticipated. Whoever they are, this gang are producing a lot of coins and moving them quickly.’ He thumped his hand on the table. ‘And we’re getting nowhere. Absolutely nowhere.’

  Cassius continued to study the map. Quentin began rubbing his brow.

  After a while, Segestes trotted in. ‘Some more post for you, sir.’

  Quentin scraped away the seal, unfolded the letter and read it. ‘Well, it appears the gods might have chosen to throw some good fortune our way at last.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Remember I told you there were still five casters from the Felicissimus plot unaccounted for?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Cassius.

  ‘One of them’s been spotted right here in Syria.’

  ‘Let me guess – Berytus.’

  ‘Yes. How did you know?’

  Cassius pointed at the map. ‘It’s the only major city within a hundred miles where none of the fakes have turned up. They wouldn’t want to draw attention to their base of production.’

  ‘And now this caster’s been spotted. Unlikely to be a coincidence, surely?’

  ‘After the events of today, I certainly hope not.’

  Berytus was thirty miles to the south. They agreed that Cassius should journey there while Quentin continued to collate information in Tripolis. The treasury agent would be free to investigate any other leads and if Cassius made significant progress he could get to Berytus within a day. Quentin also agreed to contact the magistrate there, outlining the importance of the investigation and requesting that Cassius be afforded whatever help was necessary.

  Once back at the inn, Cassius told Simo to start packing up; they would be leaving the following day. The attendant began work immediately, placing their saddlebags on the floor and folding up clothes. Cassius slumped on to the bed and looked at the box on the table. Inside were the twelve figurines of the great gods – by the looks of it Simo had given each of them a good polish. Cassius couldn’t escape the feeling that at least some of them were staring at him with disapproving expressions.

  ‘Not a good day, Simo. Not good at all.’

  ‘Perhaps things will look up in Berytus, sir.’

  ‘Entirely my fault. I suppose all the flattery from the marshal inflated my head. I was so convinced I was on the right path that all sense left me. I embarrassed myself in front of a senator, would you believe? I only hope word of it does not reach my father.’

  ‘Everybody makes mistakes, sir.’

  ‘True, but I can’t afford another one.’

  Cassius noted a book on Simo’s bed. ‘You’ve been studying?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Not enough time to find a church-house?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know how long we’ll be in Berytus but I’m sure there’ll be some of your people there. I must say I’m quite looking forward to it; I would have liked to make a stop on the way through. If things had turned out differently I might have been studying there now.’

  ‘At the university, sir?’

  ‘It was all planned. My father had agreed to pay for it; I was supposed to go once I turned seventeen.’

  Simo didn’t ask what had happened.

  Cassius leant back against a pillow, fingers intertwined around his head. ‘My parents went away for the weekend so I ordered all the servants to leave and invited a few friends over. About fifty, actually. One fellow took my father’s horse for a ride, my youngest sister vomited on my mother’s favourite couch and my idiot cousin Gaius set fire to the beehives because he’d been stung on the bottom. So I never made it to Berytus. Excellent party, though.’

  Simo stopped folding tunics for a moment. ‘Ha
ve you heard of Gregory Thaumaturgus, sir?’

  ‘I have. Contemporary of Origen’s, wasn’t he?’

  ‘He was, sir. He studied at Berytus too, and later became a bishop.’

  ‘I remember – he abandoned the law and embraced religion.’

  ‘Yes, sir. They say that when he arrived in Caesarea there were only seventeen Christians. But when he left there were only seventeen who were not.’

  Before Cassius could formulate a cynical reply, Indavara walked in. He was sweating heavily from another bout of barrel-lifting.

  ‘Corbulo, there’s a man outside wants to talk. Says he’s got some information for us.’

  Frowning, Cassius plucked his sword belt off the hook it was hanging from.

  ‘Good idea,’ said Indavara, taking it from him. He led the way back through the parlour and out to the front yard.

  Neokles’s lad was there, sweeping up and humming to himself. A man of around Cassius’s age was lurking behind the innkeeper’s cart, anxiously scratching his chin. Judging by his tunic, he was a working man.

  When they walked over to him, the stranger nodded at the sword. ‘No – no – no – no need for that.’ As well as the stammer, he seemed to be afflicted by some eye disease: both were red and one was weeping.

  Cassius also spoke in Greek. ‘I was told you have some information for me. About what?’

  ‘M – m – m – money first.’

  ‘Money for what?’

  The stranger kept glancing at the street, as if wary of being seen. ‘Important – it – it’s important.’

  ‘How do I know if …’ Cassius shrugged. ‘Very well. A denarius.’

  The stranger wiped his weeping eye and held up five fingers.

  ‘We’ll call it two.’

  ‘Fi – five. Important, important.’

  ‘The man said two.’ Indavara took the coins from Cassius and walked behind the stranger, so that he was blocking his path to the street. ‘Wouldn’t even think about taking them and running, would you?’

  The Syrian shook his head. Indavara gave him the coins. The man slipped them inside his tunic.

  ‘Well?’ said Cassius. ‘You can start with your name.’

  The man shook his head again. ‘No – no – need. I work round here.’

  ‘And – this information?’

  ‘Yes – yes – yesterday night. A man was asking about you. Asking about a Roman ar – ar – army officer.’

  Cassius felt that familiar nausea. ‘Asking what?’

  ‘Wh – wh – where—’

  ‘Where I was staying? Did you tell him?’

  ‘No, no. I – I like the army. Want – want – wanted to join. But he still paid me. To – to – to keep quiet.’

  ‘Did he ask anything else?’

  The stranger shook his head.

  ‘What did he look like?’

  ‘Av – av – average height, s – s – strong looking. Not much hair. Shor – short sword, like the old army.’

  ‘Have you seen him around here since?’

  ‘No.’

  Cassius took a moment to absorb this. ‘If you see him again, you’ll tell us?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘All right. Thank you.’

  Indavara moved aside. The Syrian wiped his eyes again then hurried away.

  Cassius walked on to the street, where the low sun cast long shadows. He was less interested in the stranger than the apartment blocks and townhouses opposite the inn. There were dozens of windows and several alleyways from where the inn could be observed. He returned inside with Indavara.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ asked the bodyguard.

  ‘He said yesterday. So it can’t be anything to do with what happened today. It’s possible that someone in the city knew I was coming: the counterfeiters even or—’

  ‘Same bunch that went for you in Bostra?’

  Cassius stopped and leant back against the wall. ‘Gods. Could they really have tracked me this far?’

  ‘It’s good that we’re leaving.’

  ‘I’ll get a note to Quentin – make sure he tells no one where we’re going. And we can’t tell Neokles or the girls either, got it?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Cassius was in desperate need of a drink. ‘I don’t suppose I’ll sleep a bloody wink now.’

  ‘Maybe we should stay up,’ said Indavara, tapping the sheathed sword against his leg. ‘They probably know you’re in here by now. Probably watching the place. What about trying to get to them before they get to you?’

  They decided to wait until the third hour of night. Cassius limited himself to two large mugs of unwatered wine and, despite Simo’s protestations, was unable to swallow a single morsel. The thought of being hunted by this mysterious foe (or foes) had twisted his stomach into knots. But, like Indavara, he was not prepared to sit around and wait for the bastards to come and get him.

  While Simo was dusting off Cassius’s dark brown hooded cape, Indavara walked into the bedroom. ‘I was thinking – might not be the lot from Bostra. You had already been to the mint and the basilica when this man was sniffing around.’

  ‘It is possible, I agree. But it would have been damned quick work and Berytus is looking like a more probable base for the counterfeiters. I think it’s the same group.’ Cassius glanced at the figurines. ‘By the great gods, what could they want with me?’

  ‘At least we know they’re here,’ said Indavara, ‘thanks to our nervous friend.’

  ‘That was damned strange in itself.’

  ‘You don’t trust him?’

  ‘On balance, I do – mainly because it was so strange.’

  ‘Sword.’ Cassius took it from Simo and hung the belt from his shoulder so that the hilt was over his left hip. The attendant then draped the cape over him and tied the clasp at the neck.

  ‘So what’s the plan?’

  Indavara – whose only garment with a hood was a thick cloak – already looked hot. ‘We can start a few hundred yards out then work our way inwards. See if anyone’s watching this place.’

  ‘Sounds sensible. We’ll have to keep an eye out for watchmen but this will be enough to keep them off our backs.’ Cassius had a badge pinned to his tunic – a two-inch silver replica of the spearhead. ‘Simo, I doubt we’ll be more than an hour or two. Keep an eye out.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  In the corridor they passed Neokles, who was coming in from the yard clutching laundry.

  ‘Good evening, Centurion.’

  ‘Evening,’ said Cassius. ‘Just off for a stroll.’

  Once outside, they crossed the courtyard. As they approached the street, Cassius glanced back at the inn. Through the grille of one of the downstairs windows he could see Kitra and Hanina working by lamplight. Both were bending over washing tubs, the front of their tunics already wet. Indavara stood beside him and they watched Kitra work, her plump breasts quivering.

  ‘By Jupiter, I’ve seldom seen better.’

  ‘I’ve seldom kissed better,’ said Indavara.

  ‘Lucky sod.’

  Having identified themselves to a pair of curious watchmen, they began the search, circling the inn and gradually getting closer. They stopped whenever they found what looked like a decent position but the large apartment block opposite obscured most views of the inn’s courtyard and entrance. The first really feasible location was a strip of waste ground between two houses. It was on the opposite side of the road from the inn, fifty yards farther up the hill.

  Cassius and Indavara reached the corner of a walled townhouse and inspected the waste ground. There was a little moonlight but not enough to illuminate anyone who might be lurking there. The ground was patched with rubble and bushes that might provide enough cover for a skilful spy.

  ‘Let’s just watch and wait,’ Cassius whispered.

  After ten minutes, he concluded that if anyone was there they were completely still and silent. ‘We can’t stand here all night.’

  ‘Agreed.’ I
ndavara put a hand on his sword then rounded the corner and walked straight across the strip of ground. Cassius stayed on his heels, paying particular attention to the bushes. They saw and heard nothing.

  ‘We’ll keep moving,’ said Cassius. ‘If they’re anywhere they’ll be round here.’

  Next to the waste ground were two more walled townhouses, both with locked gates. A check of the alley that ran between them yielded nothing and the pair moved on again. Next came a trio of smaller houses, then the big apartment block.

  Cassius looked at the two shadowy passageways beneath the building. ‘If it were me, I’d be in one of those.’

  ‘What about coming in from the back?’ suggested Indavara.

  ‘Let’s try it.’

  Separating the houses from the apartment block was another alley. They had to move slowly; barely any moonlight reached the ground and the flagstones were uneven. Once at the far end, Cassius briefly inspected the rear of the small houses. Each had a yard but all were secured by more locked gates and there was no space between them.

  ‘Not very suitable,’ he told Indavara.

  ‘Unless they bribed someone to use their property.’

  ‘Unlikely. Let’s check the block.’

  Cassius had already noted the basic layout. The building was large, probably containing thirty or forty apartments. The two broad passageways ran the width of the structure, providing access to the rear, the ground-floor dwellings and the steps leading up to the higher floors.

  Beyond the pitch-black void of the closer passageway, Cassius could just make out the street and the wall beside Neokles’s inn.

  ‘Decent view,’ whispered Indavara.

  ‘Let’s take a look. Slow and steady.’

  Indavara carefully rounded a tree and crept towards the shadows. Cassius could see the odd light coming from the apartments above and hear someone singing in Greek. He stayed behind Indavara and almost walked into him when he abruptly stopped ten feet short of the passageway. Cassius then realised he could hear something else: snoring.

  ‘Just some tramp probably. I’ll see if anyone else is there. Wait here.’

  Cassius did so, watching until Indavara disappeared into the murk. Then he listened; and soon heard the faint sound of the bodyguard’s footsteps as he returned.