The Emperor's Silver: Agent of Rome 5

by Nick Brown

  ‘Bathyllos – I bet these mysterious new owners brought him in.’

  ‘Exactly right, sir.’

  ‘What about tracking down Pylades?’

  ‘According to the basilica, his offices are in Antioch.’

  ‘Conveniently out of the way. Still, I can get Quentin on to it, Abascantius too.’

  ‘That’ll take time, though,’ pointed out Indavara.

  ‘It will.’ Cassius turned to Cosmas. ‘Excellent work. With what you’ve uncovered today I’m even more certain. We will try and get inside tonight. I’ll inform Pomponianus that we’re continuing to monitor the factory but not that we’re going in.’

  Cosmas grimaced.

  ‘He is not favourably disposed towards myself or the Service,’ explained Cassius. ‘I need solid evidence before involving him.’

  ‘I can’t be part of it, sir – not without Pomponianus’ authorisation. And what about Diadromes?’

  ‘I don’t want to put him in a bind. We’ll say that we were watching the factory then heard noises and decided to investigate.’

  Cosmas considered this.

  ‘Please,’ said Cassius, ‘we have come so far.’

  As usual, Cosmas needed a few tugs on his beard to make up his mind. ‘Very well.’

  ‘You’ll help us? The Service will of course reward you appropriately for this and all your efforts so far.’

  ‘“Appropriately” is a bit vague for me, sir.’

  ‘Let us say four aurei if the investigation is brought to a satisfactory conclusion, two if it is not.’

  ‘Fair enough, sir. Ah, there was one other thing – the factory was closed for two weeks – the first half of last month.’

  ‘Essential construction work?’

  ‘Could be.’

  ‘And if we do find they’re making the coins under there?’ said Indavara. ‘What then?’

  ‘We grab whatever evidence we can, show it to Diadromes and Pomponianus, then raid the whole place tomorrow. Bathyllos will be the key – if we can turn him, we’ll get this Pylades character and whoever else is pulling the strings.’

  ‘What time do you want to try it?’ asked Cosmas.

  ‘Let’s go over the details now,’ said Cassius. ‘We cannot afford to get this wrong. If Bathyllos gets spooked we might lose him and his masters. We have to get in and out without the guards ever knowing we were there.’

  Cassius put the libation down then knelt before his makeshift shrine.

  Jupiter, god of gods, I give this to you, a symbol of my lifelong and everlasting love and devotion. In return, I ask that you watch over us tonight. The Emperor himself has charged us with this noble mission; please help us succeed.

  Clad only in his loincloth, Cassius stood. Lifelong and everlasting? Well, it was on and off, to be honest, but he had offered countless libations and prayers for the last year or so. And although he had prostrated himself in front of all twelve of the great gods, Cassius had recently decided to focus his efforts on Jupiter – it usually paid to go straight to the top.

  He kicked off his sandals, then walked over to the bedside table and picked up his spearhead badge – it might be useful to have some form of identification with him. Other than that, everything else he would need was downstairs. He found Simo cleaning his mail shirt as instructed.

  Indavara was clearly still not himself. Whenever there was any hint of prospective action he could usually be found checking and rechecking his equipment. But the bodyguard was sitting on his bed, looking down at the figurine in his hand.

  Cassius took the old, short-sleeved tunic Simo had put out for him and pulled it on.

  ‘A snack for you there, sir.’

  Cassius eyed the plate of bread, goat’s cheese and olives Simo had prepared for him. He reached for a chunk of bread, then decided his stomach was fluttering too much.

  ‘You should have something, sir.’ The attendant had laid the mail shirt out on a blanket and was polishing the rings.

  ‘Pack it up and put it in my satchel for later, would you?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Cassius wandered over to Indavara. ‘Were I of a more sensitive disposition, I might take offence at the fact that I’ve never once seen you holding that very expensive silver-plate figurine of Fortuna I bought you in Antioch.’

  ‘I have it,’ said the bodyguard without looking up.

  ‘Buried in a bag somewhere, I expect. May I see that one?’

  After a long hesitation, Indavara gave it to him. Cassius noted that the folds of the goddess’s tunic and the features of her face were even more worn than the last time he’d held it.

  ‘You know you can get these repaired. A skilled craftsman could put the shape back into it – so it looks a bit more like who it’s supposed to be.’

  ‘I know who it is, that’s all that matters.’ Indavara put out his hand.

  Cassius returned it to him. ‘I suppose so. You all right?’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘You didn’t go and see her, did you? This girl?’

  ‘Leave it, Corbulo.’

  ‘Very well. Just make sure your mind is on the job tonight.’

  From outside came the sound of shouting. Curious, Cassius walked over to the door; the tower was in a quiet neighbourhood and they rarely heard much noise. He peered through the viewing hole and saw a group of about twenty youths marching past. They began a vociferous chant in Aramaic.

  ‘Wonder what that’s all about.’

  ‘They are celebrating, sir,’ said Simo. ‘I spoke to the water-carriers about it. The court must have decided on clemency for the youths who defaced the statue.’

  ‘Probably a flogging, then. Looks like Diadromes got his way with the magistrate.’ Cassius sat down next to the boots Simo had put out for him – a well-worn pair with a thick sole, comfortable and without the nails or studs that could be unreliable on a smooth surface – Cassius often referred to them as his ‘running boots’. Once they were on, he stood up and walked over to the table. ‘Right, I suppose I’d better get this crap on.’ He reached for the brown padded shirt that would go under his armour.

  Indavara got up off the bed. ‘You’re really going to wear your mail all night? In this heat?’

  ‘Indeed I am. You know how much I paid for the accursed thing and yet events have continuously conspired to ensure that I am usually found without it when I actually need it. What if there are more guards under that factory?’

  Indavara drew his short sword from the sheath lying on his bed and ran a finger along the edge. The setting sun was still providing enough light to illuminate the tower.

  ‘Might be tight down there.’ He pointed at Cassius’s sword, which was on the table beside the armour. ‘Probably best if you keep that bloody great thing sheathed. Swinging it around in a small space you’re as likely to cut me or yourself as anyone else.’

  ‘Don’t worry. As I’ve already caught you once this week, I shall do my best to spare you further injury.’

  To avoid embarrassing himself in front of Indavara, Cassius had taught himself to put on the undershirt and the armour without Simo’s assistance. Once the mail shirt was hanging straight, he put on a thick leather belt and buckled it. Next he lifted the sword belt and put it over his right shoulder. Indavara had made a good point; the blade was unwieldy and the ornate eagle head made it hard to draw quickly, but many officers favoured such weapons and Cassius was determined to get used to it.

  ‘You’ve cleaned and oiled it, I hope,’ said Indavara.

  ‘Did it this morning. Just like you showed me.’

  Indavara offered a grunt of approval.

  Cassius took his dagger sheath and fitted it on to his main belt. ‘Tell me what’s in my satchel, Simo.’

  ‘Lantern and the fire-starting kit, sir; your money bag, a flask of water, and the food.’

  ‘Good. Put the spearhead badge in there too. I can hardly pin it on this.’

  Cassius watched as the big Gaul did as instructed.
In the old days he might have taken him with them. Simo was a peerless practitioner when it came to sparking a flame and knew a great deal about treating injuries, but his refusal to fight or even carry a weapon made him a liability; not to mention his lumbering frame and complete inability to run.

  Simo was about to buckle the satchel but paused. ‘If you’re going underground might you need some rope? I believe we have a coil somewhere.’

  ‘I don’t think we’ll be going far enough down to need a rope,’ said Cassius.

  ‘No, it’s a good idea,’ said Indavara, kneeling down to retie his bootlaces.

  Simo waited for a nod from Cassius before delving under the table. He pulled the rope out of a sack and tied it to the strap of the satchel.

  ‘You will be careful, sir,’ he said as he put the bag over his master’s shoulder.

  ‘I will. Ready?’

  Indavara sheathed his blade and followed Cassius to the door.

  ‘Bolt it behind us and keep it locked.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Simo as he opened it.

  Outside, the streets and buildings were bathed in the orange glow that preceded dusk.

  Cassius stopped just beyond the ruined wall. ‘At the risk of repeating myself, I wanted to say – if we do run into trouble … you will stay calm?’

  Indavara glared at him. ‘I will do what I need to, when I need to.’

  ‘Of course.’ Cassius had felt he needed to say something but now wished he’d kept quiet. ‘Sorry. I have every confidence in you.’

  ‘Wish I could say the same.’

  Alexon thumped a fist on to the iron rail of the balcony. ‘How long have we been here? Not even a hundred days. I knew it. I knew it.’

  He had seen the lantern at the gate and the two men hurry up the drive. Skiron had been gone for a long time and was now returning with Kallikres. Alexon was in no doubt that they were bringing the worst possible news.

  Outside the lounge, the maids were packing up clothes and ornaments. Amathea had resisted to begin with but as the hours passed and darkness fell, she had acceded to his request that they at least be ready to leave if need be. She kissed him gently on the cheek and offered him his glass.

  He returned the kiss but refused the wine. ‘I must keep a clear head. So should you.’

  He heard boots on the steps then hurried across to the landing, Amathea close behind. Skiron came up first. His tunic was soaked, his bald head wet with rain. Kallikres’ hair was plastered to his brow.

  ‘Well?’ demanded Alexon.

  Before Skiron could speak, Kallikres came forward, accidentally kicking a box of valuables.

  ‘Sorry,’ he spluttered. ‘I wasn’t hiding. I was out working – getting information for you.’

  Alexon glanced at Skiron, who nodded. ‘And?’

  ‘Crispian is reporting to Pomponianus daily. I couldn’t find out what he passed on today but Cosmas – the sergeant who’s been working with Crispian – has been sniffing around the basilica, asking about the factory’s owners and Bathyllos.’

  Alexon felt as if he’d been struck. He scraped his fingers down his cheeks then rubbed his forehead.

  ‘You’re still not exposed, Master,’ said Skiron. ‘They know the name Pylades but not that it’s you.’

  Amathea put a hand on his arm. ‘Skiron is right, brother, this is why you were so careful. You have protected us.’

  ‘Gods, why can’t you see it? Once they had the factory it was over. It’s just a matter of time.’

  ‘They may not know what’s really there,’ said Kallikres.

  ‘You,’ spat Amathea. ‘You do not speak unless you are spoken to. If you’d done as you were supposed to we could have eliminated this threat immediately.’

  Behind the two new arrivals, the maids were looking on.

  ‘Get downstairs, you three!’ shrieked Amathea. ‘And send the men and the boy up.’

  Alexon walked back into the lounge, past the candles and the couches into the dark centre of the room.

  Amathea followed him. ‘Alexon, this is not over yet. We can get rid of this Crispian, this sergeant too.’

  ‘No, Amathea. It has gone too far now. We have made a good profit and we have the dies; we can start again somewhere new. We clear out the workshop and leave nothing behind. You and I will depart in the morning.’

  He looked around the room. ‘I’m just glad we didn’t buy this place.’

  Having expected resistance, Alexon was surprised by his sister’s reply.

  ‘You are right.’ She walked back across the lounge.

  Alexon had done his part. Now Amathea would do hers. He followed her back to the landing and watched the three Itureans come up the stairs.

  They had been ordered not to drink and had already armed themselves. Their bows were strung and their quivers and long knives hung from their belts. The last of them also had a chain in his hand. Attached to the other end of it was an iron collar around the neck of the young slave Pedrix. The hunter pushed him forward.

  Alexon watched Kallikres. The sergeant reached out and touched his lover on the arm. The young man looked up, eyes widening as recognition dawned. The sergeant gulped and opened his mouth but said nothing.

  Amathea pointed at Skiron. ‘Grab the workshop crew and a cart. You will empty the place of anything essential and bring it here.’ She pointed at the hunters. ‘Take these three with you in case of trouble.’

  ‘Yes, Mistress.’

  She moved on to Kallikres. ‘Do you want Pedrix to see another day?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then you go with them. And if any of your sergeants or legionaries get in the way, you do what you have to. Because if our men and that cart don’t make it back here, your sweet boy will not leave this place alive.’

  Kallikres nodded, water still dripping from his hair.

  ‘Go.’

  Skiron barked a few instructions at the Itureans and followed them down the stairs. Kallikres tried to whisper something to Pedrix but Amathea pushed him away. ‘Get out of here.’

  When the noise of their boots had faded, Alexon picked up the chain and tied it around a banister. The young Syrian shuffled away from them and started snivelling.

  ‘We must continue our preparations,’ said Alexon. It wasn’t the first time they’d had to halt an operation and move on. He doubted it would be the last.

  Amathea was staring at a fresco on a nearby wall. The pastoral was her favourite in the house – she’d insisted the owner had it repainted before they moved in.

  ‘Just as I was getting the place how I liked it.’

  She darted forward, hair slicing through the air behind her, and slapped Pedrix hard in the face.

  XXXII

  They met Cosmas by the statue, arriving just as the last drops of rain fell. The sergeant was holding a short rope ladder, one end of which was equipped with metal hooks. He already had a lantern alight but shuttered it as they embarked upon a circuitous route to the rear of the sarcophagus factory. Having avoided the attentions of various nightwatchmen, they gathered by the gate.

  ‘It’s quieter if I secure the hooks by hand instead of throwing it over,’ whispered Cosmas. ‘Indavara, give me a leg up.’

  Cassius took the lantern and watched as Indavara hoisted up the sergeant. The nimble Cosmas swiftly affixed the hooks then used the rope ladder to climb up. Cassius was next, then Indavara. Once they were all perched on the wall, Cosmas reversed the hooks and let the ladder down into the yard. When they were safely on the ground, they stood in silence for a while, listening for any sign of danger.

  ‘Sounds clear,’ said Cosmas eventually. ‘But watch your step and keep quiet. Those sentries might be patrolling.’

  With Indavara behind him, Cassius followed Cosmas towards the factory. Despite a few clouds there was sufficient moonlight for him to make out the building ahead and the surrounding walls. Once at the rear right corner, Cosmas headed left until they reached the broad gate through which Cassius had exi
ted the previous day.

  While the sergeant knelt by the lock and took out his picks, Cassius and Indavara dropped down on either side of him, facing outward in case the guards appeared. Cassius wiped sweat out of his eyes: it wasn’t just the warmth and humidity of the night, the armour made every movement difficult and he was no longer used to hauling the sword around. Behind him, the picks scratched and scraped as Cosmas did his work. The Syrian seemed confident that he could open almost any lock; presumably another skill that had made him useful to Diadromes over the years.

  After about a minute, the sergeant stopped.

  ‘Problem?’ whispered Cassius over his shoulder.

  ‘Workings have been greased recently. I’ll get it, though.’

  ‘Maybe some light?’

  ‘No, it’s more about feeling than seeing.’

  As Cosmas kept at it, Cassius’s thoughts shifted to what they might find inside. There had been so many false dawns with the investigation that he wouldn’t feel satisfied until he actually had a fake denarius in his hand. He shook his head as he reflected on how they’d got to this point. After all his theories and schemes and mistakes, the breakthrough had come because Indavara wanted to help Christians find abandoned babies, not to mention the pauper lads who’d retrieved the rejected coins from the dump. Surely some playful god somewhere was watching all this with a smile.

  ‘Ah,’ said Cosmas. ‘Come on, you bugger, just a little …’

  Something clicked. ‘There we go.’ The sergeant removed the picks then opened one side of the gate. Once they were several paces into the inky darkness, Cassius opened the shutter of the lantern an inch. Ahead were the angular outlines of the finished sarcophagi laid out in rows. As he was the only one who had been inside, he took the lead.

  ‘Over to the right.’

  Beyond the last of the coffins, they entered the forge. Cassius opened the shutter a little wider and located the barrel Molacus had noted. He held the lantern close to the top and found it contained hefty cuts of wood.