The Emperor's Silver: Agent of Rome 5

by Nick Brown

  ‘He’ll be all right.’

  ‘His neck?’

  ‘He’ll be all right. Especially when he sees the money.’

  ‘I’ll give you all the coins.’

  ‘No. We’ll go halves, like I said.’

  ‘I don’t know … I don’t know why.’

  Cassius stood up. ‘Well, he shouldn’t have hit you. We all lose our temper sometimes.’ He walked past Indavara to the edge of the tower, patting his shoulder as he passed him. ‘Try not to worry about it, these things happen. Gods, I can’t believe I missed the baths again today. What do you think about going along tomorrow? You can do your exercises, I can have a swim. Well?’

  ‘If you like.’

  XXIV

  Amathea lay back, soapy water lapping against her skin. Her hair was tied up but the lower strands were dark and wet. Sweat glistened on her cheeks and neck.

  ‘Leave us.’

  The maid put down a bottle of oil and did so, closing the door behind her. Alexon could hardly breathe; it was a warm afternoon and the bath-house was clouded with steam and scent.

  ‘Anything?’ asked Amathea.

  ‘Good news, I think.’

  ‘You found him?’

  ‘No, Skiron is still looking.’

  Amathea shook her head.

  ‘But I have cultivated another source,’ added Alexon quickly. ‘A legionary, or rather an ex-legionary.’

  ‘You have leverage, I trust?’

  ‘He is in debt. Heavily.’

  ‘You used a go-between, of course.’

  ‘I am not a complete fool, sister.’ Alexon wished he hadn’t said that.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘All this business about an Egyptian spy – no one has heard anything about it before or since the factory raids, so in all likelihood it was a ruse. Apparently this man working with Diadromes was at the eastern gate. None of the legionaries know him – probably works for the treasury. But we have a name: Crispian. Usually with some big bodyguard.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Not yet. Kallikres may know more but until we—’

  ‘There are a lot of people waiting for our coins, brother. Sidon, Antioch, the Cappadocians. Is there really anything to concern us?’

  ‘We cannot be sure yet. Crispian’s not housed with the army or the sergeants so we can’t track him. We don’t know if he’s still investigating or not.’

  ‘And the work crew?’

  ‘They left the facility secure and are lying low. They can continue production with an hour’s notice. But I would prefer to hear from Kallikres first.’

  Amathea reached for her glass, showing the swell of both breasts before sinking beneath the slick of white foam once more.

  Alexon – who was still holding his riding cape – moved it in front of his groin. While he tried to think of something unarousing, Amathea sipped at her wine and gazed up at the steam swirling above the bath.

  Alexon found he could not think of anything else. Perhaps she would relent this time. ‘Amathea, I am rather dirty – from the ride. Could I—’

  From outside came the noise of heavy footsteps then a rap on the door. ‘Master Alexon. Are you there?’

  ‘Wait, Skiron.’

  Alexon met him outside. ‘Any luck?’

  The attendant hadn’t even had time to take off his riding gloves. ‘No. The tricky swine is clearly trying to avoid us.’

  ‘You don’t think he’s gone? I mean permanently?’

  ‘No, sir, not without the boy. Shall I keep searching?’

  ‘Yes.’ Alexon returned inside. ‘Still no sign of Kallikres. Perhaps we can use the boy as bait.’

  ‘I don’t know why you haven’t done so already, brother. Use whatever methods you must to bring that deviant under control. We cannot afford to delay delivery to our customers for much longer.’

  ‘I know.’ Alexon put his cape on a chair. ‘So … may I join you?’

  ‘If you wish, it is a large bath. I should tell you, though – it is that time of the month. There may be some blood in the water.’

  Alexon knew full well it wasn’t that time of the month. But what could one say to such a thing?

  ‘Ah. I shall get on with this Kallikres business, then.’

  ‘Do so, brother. Please do so.’

  Cassius looked down at the clump of weed and driftwood entangled in a fishing net. There was a dead gull floating past too: a shapeless mess of grey feathers and bones identifiable only by the head and beak. A few yards away, two lads babbled in Aramaic as they lowered their crab lines from the top of the breakwater. Cassius was leaning against a squat stone tower from which a huge rusting chain ran into the water, emerging on the other side of the harbour entrance, where it was attached to an identical structure. Apparently it had been originally constructed for defence but the chain now rested on the bottom and the workings were so old that it could not be raised.

  Indavara – who’d been inspecting the crabs in the boys’ pail – came up beside him, eyes narrowed against the midday sun. ‘Looks a bit like the Fortuna.’

  The freighter entering the harbour was being towed by a dory manned by a dozen local oarsmen. The sea was calm and they were making easy work of pulling a vessel ten times the size of their own. Most of the freighter’s crew were on deck rolling up a sail, weathered skin dark against their pale tunics. To the rear, an older man stood behind the helmsman, clutching the tiller bar that controlled the ship.

  ‘Never hard to spot the captain,’ said Cassius.

  ‘Wonder where Asdribar and his mates are.’

  ‘Could be just about anywhere at this time of year. It would be nice to get back to Rhodes some time, eh? You could say hello to Annia.’

  ‘And you to Clara.’

  ‘I’d do more than say hello.’

  The ship was almost past them. Cassius used his hand to shield his eyes from the glare coming off the water. Unlike many vessels, the freighter had no metal plaque on the stern, just a name rendered in white paint.

  ‘Okeia. That’s her.’ Cassius was already on his way back along the breakwater. ‘Let’s go.’

  The report had arrived from Quentin the previous afternoon; the first good news in the five days since the factory inspections. Cassius had been on the verge of returning to Tripolis to liaise with the treasury man and look at the investigation afresh. Almost two weeks had elapsed since they’d first met and it was hard to avoid the conclusion that his efforts in Berytus had been utterly pointless. Diadromes had ensured that the men guarding the city gates remained vigilant but they had still found nothing; nor had the Gorgos case uncovered anything relevant.

  But this lead seemed promising. A sharp-eyed assistant procurator up in Seleucia – the port that served Antioch – had noted a shipment of bronze sheeting bound for Berytus. This was not in itself unusual; as Cassius had already established, numerous industries made use of it in the city. But there were only three well-established freight businesses which specialised in transporting metals by ship along the Syrian coast. The Okeia – about which little was known – did not work for any of them. Cosmas had dug up another interesting fact: the vessel had visited Berytus only once before – two months ago, about the time when the counterfeiting gang might have started production.

  The sergeant was waiting for them at the main wharf, looking on from behind a stack of barrels as the Okeia came alongside.

  ‘That her?’

  ‘That’s her.’ Cassius had grown impatient waiting around for the whole morning and had walked out on to the breakwater when they’d spied three vessels turning east towards the harbour. The Okeia was last in, having taken a maddeningly long time to lower her sails.

  ‘So now what?’ he asked.

  ‘The captain will report to the harbour master to tell him what cargo he’ll be unloading and when he intends to depart. Once the harbour master gives permission, he can unload.’

  ‘Bronze should be easy to spot, right?’

  �
��Yes. The sheets are usually quite large – thin but very heavy. Apparently they load them into carts separated by reed matting.’

  ‘What if it goes to more than one location?’

  Cosmas took his eyes off the ship for a moment and pointed at a nearby cart where a vendor was selling bags of nuts. Standing there talking to him were two of the men from the Gorgos raid.

  ‘Ah, Vespilo and …’

  ‘Gessius.’

  Like Cosmas, they wore nothing to mark them out as sergeants and were armed only with daggers.

  ‘Will they use those carts?’ asked Indavara.

  ‘Don’t point,’ said Cassius sharply.

  Lined up on the wharf close to the road were half a dozen vehicles. The horses were clearly used to the work; they stood placidly despite all the noise from the sailors and loaders.

  ‘Not sure,’ said Cosmas. ‘Sometimes they’re just hired on the spot, sometimes they work for the outfits where the goods are headed. We’ll see soon enough.’

  ‘Not that soon,’ said Cassius. The captain was still overseeing the tying of the mooring ropes and the gangplank hadn’t even been lowered yet.

  ‘We need somewhere better to observe from.’ He looked along the seafront and saw a respectable-looking tavern where a ‘merchant’ like himself might eat lunch. ‘That’ll do.’

  By the time the bronze sheeting was finally unloaded, Cassius could have ordered dinner. Gessius had dozed off twice and he’d had to limit Indavara and the legionaries to three mugs of well-watered wine.

  Most of the Okeia’s cargo had already been taken away, including scores of amphoras, bales of cotton and baskets of iron implements. Once all this had been dispatched, the hands were called into the hold and up came the sheets, each one requiring four men to lift it. Three sturdy carts had been moved up to take delivery and – from what Cassius and Cosmas had observed – they seemed to be bound for three different destinations.

  As the first cart set off, Cosmas sent Gessius and Vespilo to discreetly follow.

  Cassius examined the other two vehicles and their drivers. ‘Not much to choose between them.’

  ‘Actually, there is,’ replied Cosmas. ‘See the one closest to us? Those markings on the side – it belongs to a man named Kimon. He runs a cart-hire and warehousing concern not unlike that friend of the Gorgos brothers.’

  ‘Ah. As your sergeants checked all those factories and workshops with their own transportation, I’m inclined to think a hired vehicle might be of more interest.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Cosmas.

  ‘We’ll take it.’

  Cassius turned to Indavara, who was slumped on the table and looked about ready to slit his wrists.

  ‘Drink up.’

  Following the cart was not easy. The driver clearly knew the city well and favoured only wider routes where he could avoid delays. Cassius and Indavara had to alternate between a swift walk and a jog, which attracted attention from a few cityfolk but thankfully not the driver and his compatriot.

  ‘Thank the gods,’ said Cassius, flicking sweat off his forehead as they finally got a break. The cart had reached a narrow side street and it took the pair a while to manoeuvre the horses and the vehicle around the corner without hitting the kerb. Once they were under way again, Cassius and Indavara sidled up to the corner and looked on. As the cart stopped about a hundred paces away, one of the men gave a shout. Another tight turn took them off the street.

  Cassius and Indavara walked on, slowing as they neared the gate. It was a sturdy affair of iron bars and spikes set in the middle of a high wall. Beyond was a medium-sized townhouse similar to those adjacent. The two drivers were down on the ground and talking to some other men who had just exited a timber-built workshop attached to the rear of the dwelling.

  ‘They make something in there,’ said Cassius. ‘So it may already have been checked by the sergeants. Let’s take a look at the front.’

  They passed a wall covered with graffiti.

  ‘These names,’ said Indavara. ‘I’ve seen them all over the city.’

  ‘Candidates for elections,’ explained Cassius as they rounded a corner, ‘advertisements of a sort, I suppose.’

  ‘If all these weavers don’t like the magistrate, why don’t they just vote for someone else?’

  ‘The likes of them can’t vote for magistrates; that’s decided by the council and the rest of the higher classes. Common people can vote only for the assembly, which is much less powerful, though it can influence the council to some extent. From what we’ve heard, I doubt Pomponianus pays it much attention.’

  They took the next turn to the right and found themselves on a broad, porticoed avenue. Judging by the appearance of the citizens perusing the stores, this was clearly one of the more affluent areas of the city. A group of stonemasons were making some final modifications to a broad plinth in the middle of the avenue. Cassius noted from the plaque already mounted that it was to bear a statue of Aurelian himself.

  ‘Fourth one along?’ said Indavara.

  ‘That’s it,’ said Cassius, relieved when they entered the cool shade beneath the portico. They passed a carpet-maker, a mosaic-maker and a clothier before reaching the front of the building. On one side of the door was a glassed window offering a display of fine jewellery. Above it was a silver plaque so well polished that they could see their faces. It bore the name of the jeweller: Isagoras.

  Cassius inspected the goods on offer: necklaces, bracelets, brooches, clasps, many of them inlaid with gems.

  ‘Not much bronze,’ observed Indavara.

  ‘True. But they may also make products for the cheaper end of the market.’

  ‘Want to look inside? You fit in very well around here.’

  Cassius was still wearing his merchant’s outfit.

  ‘Not sure there’s much point. A jewellery-maker taking delivery of some bronze? Hardly unusual. Let’s get back to the headquarters, see if the others have got anywhere.’

  Cosmas also had little to report. He’d arrived back before them and had trailed the last cart to a weapon-smiths. Like Isagoras the jewel-maker’s, this building had already been checked by the sergeants.

  Gessius had more promising news, having left Vespilo monitoring the warehouse where their cart ended up. The driver had been admitted by a guard and departed half an hour later, the vehicle empty. A crew of five (presumably there for the unloading) had left shortly after, leaving only the guard. The warehouse was in an area close to the harbour and Gessius had found himself a decent observation point at a nearby inn.

  ‘Well,’ said Cassius, ‘hardly conclusive proof of nefarious activity but we must watch that warehouse.’

  ‘Unfortunately I can’t leave Vespilo there,’ said Cosmas. ‘He and Gessius here have other duties. I was only able to borrow them for today.’

  ‘In the absence of anything else even vaguely promising, we must find out where that bronze ends up.’

  ‘I’ll go now and watch the warehouse tonight,’ offered the sergeant. ‘If it’s still there tomorrow, perhaps you could take over?’

  ‘Oh, joy,’ said Cassius with a sigh. ‘Don’t worry, Cosmas. We’ll take our turn.’

  XXV

  They left the tower before dawn. As the city awoke, doors were opened, shutters latched, chamber pots emptied. Thin trails of smoke from scores of fires reached high into the pink sky.

  Indavara had told Corbulo that Simo needed his help fetching some food before they went to meet Cosmas. Corbulo had listened to this with his eyes half open, then struggled out of bed and down the stairs to lock the tower door behind them.

  Simo hardly spoke until they were nearing Berytus’s largest statue of the Emperor Hadrian, where Elder Cobon and his group had already gathered. The Gaul stopped in the shadows of an awning. ‘I should not be doing this. I should not have told you.’

  Returning from the market the previous day, he’d confided to Indavara that he’d bumped into one of the Christians. Cobon had discovered a
nother group of paupers living by a rubbish dump; the men would take provisions to them while the women again searched for abandoned babies.

  Indavara wasn’t entirely sure himself why he wanted to go. He didn’t enjoy putting Simo through all this worry but it was something he felt he had to do. ‘I told you – he’s all talk.’

  ‘You can’t be certain of that.’

  ‘So what, then? You will have no part of this “good work”?’

  ‘I want to, but—’

  ‘Simo, they are waiting for us and we haven’t any time to waste. Come on.’

  The dump was on the southern edge of Berytus, surrounded by a decrepit section of the old city walls, some ramshackle apartment buildings and two large encampments. Cobon had learned that one camp was occupied by more Palmyran refugees, the other by nomads from the Syrian desert. Bordering the dump was a dusty track and a shallow ditch filled with brown water. Several narrow paths led over earth bridges into the piles of refuse, which must have covered at least a square mile.

  Elder Cobon stopped by one of the paths, where two lads with a handcart had just arrived to discard a mound of seashells. Cobon spoke to the men – all of whom were carrying sacks of food – and they set off towards the closest of the camps. Amongst the women was the one Indavara had spoken to at the church-house and the girl they’d met on the first visit.

  Indavara tapped Simo’s arm. ‘I’m going to stay here.’

  ‘But the men are going to the camp.’

  ‘Shouldn’t someone watch them? A place like this?’

  ‘Do you want to come with us?’ The older woman had remained behind while the others walked into the dump.

  ‘They don’t need me to hand out bread,’ said Indavara. ‘I could help you look.’

  ‘Another pair of eyes would be useful but you should probably ask Elder Cobon.’

  The dynamic leader was moving quickly and hadn’t even noticed what was going on behind him.

  Simo shook his head. ‘I’ll meet you here, then. We mustn’t be too long.’