The Emperor's Knives: Empire VII (Empire 7)

by Riches, Anthony

  ‘And?’

  ‘And, First Spear, I happen to have come by some information that I think will provide you with a rather less risky alternative. Would you like to hear it?’

  Having thanked Quintus for his part in the charade that had enabled the trackers to take a good look at their target, Qadir dismissed him back to his duties and looked about the soldiers standing in ordered lines in front of him.

  ‘Fall out and sit down.’

  He waited until they were all sitting on the ground in front of him, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and excitement at the unexpected change in their routine.

  ‘Tribune Scaurus has a task in mind for you men, or for some of you at least. If you take it on, and if you’re successful in mastering the necessary skills, then you’ll all be granted immune status and awarded a rise in pay to one and a half times basic. But …’ He waited until the interest generated by the last statement had died away before speaking again. ‘I have to warn you, not all of you will be capable of the task the tribune has in mind. And if you don’t have the skills, I will return you to your centuries without hesitation. So I suggest that you pay very close attention to the lessons that I am about to teach you, for it will be by their application that you will either succeed or fail. Follow me.’

  He led the group up the transit barracks’ narrow main street until they reached the stone wall at the far end.

  ‘Divide into two groups.’ Once the brief period of confusion caused by his command had been resolved, he ordered one group to stand behind him. ‘The rest of you, I want you all to walk away towards the headquarters. You two, stop at the end of the first barrack. You three, at the end of the next block, and you four stop after three blocks. Is that clear?’

  The soldiers shuffled their feet and looked at each other, trying to work out what was so difficult about this that they risked being sent back to unremitting sword drills and the lost chance to boast about their increased pay and status to their tent mates. Qadir stared at them in silence for a moment.

  ‘If you spend half the day pondering the meaning of my instructions then you will all fail this test, and so you will all go back to face the inevitable rough humour that will result from your failure. So, I will ask one more time, and any man that does not answer me quickly and clearly will be our first dropout. Is that clear?’

  The men standing before him chorused their understanding, and the Hamian nodded slowly.

  ‘Very good. Now, when I wave my arm, the pair must hide behind the barrack beside which they are stopped, when I wave it again the trio must hide, leaving only the group of four in view. When I call out to you then you must all return here. Clear?’

  Again the agreement was swift and loud, his gently posed threat clearly having sunk into the soldiers’ minds.

  ‘Then do it. The rest of you, turn and face the wall while they do as I have bidden.’

  While the second group walked back down the street, Qadir spoke to the men gathered before him, his quiet, assured tones forcing them to listen with the utmost care.

  ‘The first lesson that we will learn is that in this game which we will be playing, distance is our friend. Every fifty paces that a man moves away from you makes him seem that much smaller and insignificant, and, unless he wears bright clothing, every step makes him that much less visible, as you will see in a moment.’

  With the other men in their various places, he spoke again.

  ‘When I give the word you may turn, just for a moment, and look over your shoulder, in the manner of a man who wishes to see if there is anyone behind him. Just for an instant, mind you, the quickest glance possible and as casually as you can manage. Now!’

  The soldiers looked around, then flicked their gazes back to Qadir.

  ‘You all saw the men one block away without any problem?’

  They nodded, looks of puzzlement on all but a couple of faces. Qadir waved his arm, waiting until the closest men had taken cover.

  ‘Now!’

  The soldiers turned and looked again, a few more of them turning back with looks of understanding, and again the centurion waved his arm, waiting until the three soldiers had moved into hiding, leaving only the group of four visible.

  ‘Now!’

  This time when the men turned back from peering over their shoulders they were nodding and exchanging knowing glances as men will when the obvious dawns upon them.

  ‘You see? The closest men stood out very clearly, the next closest were obvious enough, but the third group?

  Saratos was the first to speak, his face still thoughtful.

  ‘They hard to see with quick look. If they tunics not red be even harder.’

  The Hamian nodded approvingly.

  ‘Exactly. Well done soldier. Now we’ll repeat the lesson, and this time you men will be the ones standing in the street. Off you go, and send the others back here to me.’

  ‘So there you have it. If you still want to mete out whatever it is that you consider to be justice to one of the Knives, you have the perfect opportunity.’

  Excingus sat back in his chair and waited for a response from the officers gathered around him.

  ‘You’re sure that he’ll visit this place of his tonight?’

  The informant shrugged, pursing his lips non-committally.

  ‘Of course I’m not sure, Rutilius Scaurus—’

  ‘Let’s keep this formal, Informant. There’s never going to be any point in our relationship when I’ll tolerate any degree of familiarity from you.’

  Excingus smiled, and Marcus watched with fascination as he swallowed whatever irritation Scaurus’s swift put-down inspired in him with disturbing ease.

  ‘Of course, Tribune, my apologies for overstepping the bounds of our admittedly tenuous association. And no, I can’t be sure he’ll visit his private museum this evening. What I am sure of is that since he’s been there every night when he’s not had watch duty for the last week, it does seem to be a fairly reasonable bet that tonight will be no different, wouldn’t you agree?’

  Julius leaned forward in his chair.

  ‘And how do you come by such good information, precisely?’

  The informant leaned back, his face wreathed in a knowing smile.

  ‘Ah, the question that every man in my trade, be he good, bad or simply indifferent, comes to expect.’ He struck a pose, raising an eyebrow in a mock inquisitorial manner and speaking in the haughty tones of an aristocratic employer. ‘“So exactly how do you know this, Informant?”’ Changing his position, he adopted a sly look, his voice becoming more persuasive than hectoring. ‘“Do tell me, my man, where did you come by that fascinating snippet of information?”’ Sitting bolt upright, he strengthened his voice to imitate the bluff no-nonsense approach of a wealthy businessman. ‘“So come on then, Informant, how much do you want to tell me where you get all these secrets. What does it take for me to dispense with your services and cut out the man in the middle, eh?”’

  He shook his head pityingly at the glowering first spear.

  ‘Everyone I deal with asks me the same question, sooner or later, and I’ve become more than expert at giving absolutely nothing away. Do you really believe that I’ll happily trot out my means of knowing where Dorso is going to be, and when? There’s honest and open, First Spear, and then there’s downright naivety.’

  ‘And we understand your desire not to have your sources suborned, Informant …’

  ‘And yet, Tribune?’

  ‘Precisely. And yet, what’s my guarantee that I’m not going to send my men into a trap, with or without your active participation? How do I know that you’ve not been fooled into accepting this apparent pattern in the praetorian’s movements? What if he’s a good deal more suspicious and careful than you’re implying, and whoever goes to confront him in this museum of his finds a warmer reception than we might have hoped for?’

  Excingus shrugged again.

  ‘As to what’s inside the place, I have no idea. For al
l I know, he’s employed Flamma the Great himself as a live-in bodyguard. All I can tell you is that once Dorso’s done guarding the imperial palaces, he takes enough time to wash and change into his off-duty uniform, and then walks down the Vicus Patricius to a little place he either rents or owns – the latter, I suppose, given all the money he must have made over the last few years – buys himself and the two guardsmen who escort him everywhere a hot meal from a nearby tavern, and disappears into the house. He doesn’t come out until early the next morning, when he walks back up the hill to the praetorian fortress and goes back on duty. And as to how I know this? Just for once, given the difficult nature of our relationship, I’ll give up one of my methods if it will help to persuade you of the provenance of my information. I used a gang of petty thieves and pickpockets, men I pay handsomely enough to take time away from their profession when the occasion demands their particular street skills, to tail Centurion Dorso, discreetly mind you, for the last six nights. Given that the praetorians rotate the assignment of their cohorts once every two weeks, to give the men on night duty time to adapt properly to the change of their sleeping hours, I can see no reason for him not to repeat the same routine this evening. He couldn’t be any more accommodating in his predictability if he tried.’

  ‘And you have no idea what it is that he has in there?’

  The informant shook his head at Marcus.

  ‘As I said, I’m not entirely sure. My people can track him from one place to another easily enough, but once he’s inside the house he’s out of their view. We can all speculate, and my guess would be that he goes there to gloat over the highlights of his collection, but that’s all my opinion is – speculation.’

  ‘Why do we need to break into this place of his? This man has a reputation as a collector of weapons, so why don’t we just put word out that we’ve got trophies to sell from the recent campaign in Britannia?’

  Excingus smiled at the young centurion, unable to keep a patronising edge from his voice.

  ‘If only it were that simple. If you still had that rather interesting sword you captured in Germania Inferior, for example …’ He smiled at Marcus’s narrowed eyes. ‘Come now, Centurion, soldiers will talk. Yes, if you were still in possession of the “Leopard Sword” then you might have a sufficiently juicy worm to put on the hook, but a few old bits of rusty metal that you took from a tribe that no one’s ever heard of? This man’s a serious collector, or so it’s rumoured, with weapons and other items that span the entire history of Rome and going as far back as the conquest of the Etruscans. He’s even rumoured to be in possession of a sword which is supposed to be the one that One Eyed Horatius used to hold the bridge over the Tiber almost seven hundred years ago, and the gods alone know what sort of price that would command if it were to come on to the market.’

  ‘No wonder he’s so happy to participate in the murder of prominent members of society. There must be heirlooms in their houses the likes of which otherwise never see the light of day. So, how do you propose that we bring this praetorian to some kind of justice?’

  Excingus raised a jaundiced eyebrow at the tribune.

  ‘How do I propose? I don’t intend to propose anything, Tribune. All I’m going to do is tell you where and when I expect you’ll be able to get to the man. How you go about it thereafter is entirely up to you. And now, gentlemen, as far as I’m concerned my part in your scheming against Centurion Dorso is at an end. Do I need an escort back to the main gate, or shall I find my own way?’

  ‘So, now you know the effects of distance on your visibility when you’re following a man, let’s consider how that works in practice, shall we?’

  The detachment had gathered around Qadir at his command, and were sitting in a semi-circle around him while the Hamian centurion looked around at them, assessing how closely they were following his words.

  ‘Imagine that we are following a single man through the city. Our task is to keep him in sight while he makes his way to wherever it is he is heading and …’

  He paused and looked about him with a significant glance, raising an eyebrow in silent question. One of the brighter soldiers answered, summoning his courage to speak directly to the officer.

  ‘To make sure that he don’t see us, Centurion?’

  Qadir nodded encouragingly.

  ‘Exactly. For if he does, our careful pursuit will be over in a moment. Did anyone here perhaps play the game when they were children?’

  The soldiers looked at each other blankly, and when Sanga spoke it was with a wry grin.

  ‘Not really, Centurion. We was all more likely playing the “trying to get it up the locals girls” game.’

  Qadir nodded, sharing his man’s smile.

  ‘Very well, allow me to share some small part of what I learned before I left my home and travelled all the way to your cold, damp and barbaric province. We are following a man – let us call him “the mark” – through the city. How far back from him should we be?’

  ‘Three blocks, Centurion.’

  Qadir looked at the man who had answered.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  The soldier looked puzzled.

  ‘Didn’t you just show us how far back we have to be to avoid being noticed, sir?’

  The Hamian nodded.

  ‘I did. But consider, what will be the effect if our man turns a corner to the left or right? You will be three blocks back, and will not know whether he plans to turn another corner at the next opportunity. By the time you reach the point where he turned, he might well be out of sight. So what must you do?’

  The soldier thought briefly.

  ‘Run?’

  ‘Yes, you must run, and hope that he is still visible when you reach the corner in question. But then if the mark has any suspicion that he’s acquired a following, might he not choose to turn back on himself and look around that corner a moment later? And if he sees you running towards him then his suspicions will obviously be confirmed. Not only will he make a point of running himself, and turning two or three corners to throw you off his scent, but he will also be looking out for you whenever he is on the street. This will not be a good outcome.’

  He looked around him for a moment before chuckling softly at their downcast faces.

  ‘But this does not have to be the case. The task of following the mark is much easier for one or at the most two men, and sometimes two are better than one since they can talk to each other. After all, what could appear more natural than two friends having a lively conversation when the mark takes that quick look behind him? So, one or two men follow the mark at a distance of between a block and two blocks behind, and the other men hang further back, two groups of two or three on either side of the road.’

  He looked round the men with a faint smile.

  ‘So, let’s try that question again. The mark feels suspicious about those two men behind him, so he chooses to make a sharp right turn. You have no need to run, since you have men in support of you, but what do you do? After all, he’s suspicious of you already, so he has an eye open for anyone trying to follow him, and you were close enough for him to register the colour of your hair, the shade of your tunic and so on. And if he sees you again, still following him even though he has just turned two or three corners to evade just such an attempt to track him, he’s likely to react just as badly as if he saw you running. So …?’

  ‘So we need to get the blokes that are hanging back to move up sharpish and take up the follow.’

  Qadir applauded softly.

  ‘Good, Sanga – but how shall we do that? The mark will, after all, be listening carefully for the sound of shouting, anything out of the ordinary.’

  Saratos frowned up at him, clearly considering the question, then smiled quietly to himself.

  ‘You, Sarmatian. I think you know the answer.’

  ‘Is obvious Centurion. We make signal with body.’

  Qadir nodded approvingly.

  ‘Yes we do. As the man in the following role, o
nce the mark has gone out of sight to the left or to the right, you need to signal to the men behind you that they need to do two things. Firstly, that they need to move up smartly and take up the follow, and secondly …?’

  He looked at the Sarmatian soldier again, and Sanga nudged his mate in the ribs.

  ‘Secondly need to make turn to right or left.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Sanga had his hand in the air in an instant, the question written all over his face.

  ‘Centurion?’

  ‘Soldier?’

  ‘Well sir …’

  Qadir could see the question forming, the soldier’s lips moving slightly as he tried to think of a way to express his curiosity without looking stupid in front of his comrades.

  ‘When we perform these tricks that I am training you for, Soldier Sanga, there is no stupid question except for the one you don’t ask. So?’

  ‘I was just wondering, Centurion …’ He paused, still searching for the right words. ‘How it is you know so much about spying on people?’

  Once Excingus had been escorted from the headquarters building, Scaurus sat back in his chair.

  ‘Well?’

  Julius’s tone was thoughtful.

  ‘It could be a set-up, designed to lure the centurion here into a trap, but that feels unlikely to me. Excingus knows that if anything happens to any of us he’ll be the first suspect, and that we’re hardly likely to hesitate to put him to the knife.’

  Scaurus nodded his agreement.

  ‘The question for me isn’t whether this is a genuine opportunity to take down one of these men, but how he came by the information so quickly. Yesterday he didn’t have a clue as to how we could get to Dorso, or not that he was willing to share with Senator Sigilis who, as his employer, you would expect to be the first person to be informed, and yet today he knows the praetorian’s movements for the last week? He’s either playing his own game or there’s something we’re missing in all this, but whatever it is, the sooner we get our men trained and out there to start tracking him around the city the better.’