Agent of Rome: The Imperial Banner (The Agent of Rome)

by Nick Brown

  The boy was perhaps fourteen. Cassius had seen frozen expressions like the one on his face many times – the neutral visage of those who couldn’t be sure how best to react, and therefore chose not to react at all. The boy was tall, and Scaurus had to reach high to grip the back of his neck and turn him towards the seated guests. Everyone stopped talking and the other servants suddenly became still.

  ‘Clumsy oaf, this one,’ said Scaurus, ‘almost tipped a steaming bowl of water on me yesterday. What shall we do with him?’

  Nobody said anything.

  ‘Perhaps I should feed him to my lampreys?’

  Several men – Magistrate Quarto among them – laughed.

  ‘No,’ continued Scaurus, his tone softening, ‘I like to think of my slaves as my children. They must not only be disciplined but educated, and cared for.’ He was now stroking the slave’s hair with his fingers. ‘Go,’ he said quietly. ‘Be careful next time.’

  The boy walked away, shoulders stiff with fear.

  ‘My guests, later we shall have more entertainment, and we shall drink and toast as never before.’ Scaurus spread his palms towards the tables. ‘But I have had my chefs working on this lot for weeks, and some of it is getting cold. So eat! All of you eat!’

  Having lived on simple fare for the past month, Cassius found he had rather lost the taste for rich food but there was no mistaking the quality of what was on offer. Ignoring the endless varieties of seafood, the hams, the sausages and the fatted liver, he settled for a plate of scrambled eggs with some salted cheese. He also took some bread from one of the identical loaves within reach of every guest. On top of each loaf, written in a white glaze, were the words Unshaken, Unthrown.

  ‘What’s that about?’ he asked Antonia.

  ‘The city’s motto. During the reign of Caligula there was a terrible earthquake here. A seer named Deborius created a talisman to protect the city against further disaster – a porphyry column; and written upon the base was that phrase. It was struck by lightning during Domitian’s time. The column was destroyed but the base was left standing.’

  ‘You’re glad this latest disaster is over with, I presume?’

  Antonia – who had hardly eaten a thing – picked at a stork wing and put some of the pale, thready meat on her plate.

  ‘I remember the Persians. Compared to that, one might not even have known the city was occupied. I will say I enjoyed seeing their arrogant bitch of a queen knocked off her perch, but we should be glad she fled instead of trying to making a stand here.’

  The servants began to remove the first course, and others hastily refilled glasses. The wine was hardly watered at all, and Cassius reminded himself to drink slowly; he had to keep a clear head. Before the second course arrived, Scaurus summoned the drummers to the dining room. He arranged them in front of the statue of the Tyche, then addressed his guests once more.

  ‘As promised, a little more entertainment. Trust me when I tell you that you will not believe your eyes. A word of warning, Quarto: stay in your seat and keep your hands to yourself!’

  The magistrate laughed along with the rest of the guests, his rolls of fat undulating under his tunic. Scaurus turned towards an anteroom.

  ‘I give you – the dancing girls of Cadiz!’

  As the drummers struck up a pounding beat, a troupe of dark-skinned, half-naked young women filed into the room. They had clearly been selected for their similarly shapely physiques and were wearing far more jewellery than clothing. Beaming, eyes wide, the girls formed a line in front of the drummers and began to move. Scaurus, clapping along in time, gleefully observed the reactions of his male guests. Ignoring Antonia’s disdainful tutting, Cassius watched, transfixed, as the girls moved in perfect time with the drums, swaying their hips and making shapes in the air with their fingers. Scaurus went over to the nearest girl.

  ‘My favourite!’ he shouted above the din of the drums. He gazed down at her full, jiggling breasts, then darted forward and licked one of her dark brown nipples. The girl laughed gamely, not that she had a great deal of choice.

  A few of the guests cheered or applauded. Many people – Cassius and Antonia included – turned quickly to gauge the governor’s reaction. Gordio took care to make no obvious expression at all. His wife looked appalled.

  Scaurus’s display set the tone for the rest of the evening. As Abascantius had suggested, the Antiochenes did indeed seem ready to enjoy themselves. The diners left their seats and mingled; and, as lamps and lanterns were lit, the sound of urgent, light-hearted conversation built gradually to a tumult. The host alternated the drummers with the other musicians and was throwing food to his leopard by the time the fifth and final course was served. It included truffles, the arrival of which triggered the usual discussion about what they actually were. The guest sitting to Cassius’s right was a firm adherent to Plutarch’s theory: that they were made of mud cooked by lightning.

  A few moments after a slave announced the third hour of night, Scaurus – now decidedly unsteady on his feet – went and stood by the statue. As he rubbed the Tyche’s leg, then leaned against it, Cassius noted more than a few disapproving looks. The host completed a number of toasts, including a mention for both Marcellinus and Gordio. The governor was now accompanied only by his wife; the twins had left after the third course. Magistrate Quarto then gave a short, slurred speech praising Scaurus which met with rapturous applause.

  The final toast was to the Emperor himself. The host had his guests stand and he walked past each of the tables to ensure everyone had a full goblet, then announced they would take a drink for every letter of the Emperor’s name. Lucius Domitius Aurelianus contained no fewer than twenty-four and the more committed drinkers needed refills to complete the task properly. With that, Scaurus announced that the evening’s formalities were over. He summoned a rotund, plainly dressed individual and announced that he was the funniest man he’d ever met.

  ‘A comedian,’ Cassius said to Antonia behind his hand. ‘How novel.’

  ‘Consider yourself lucky. I remember the year he read us some of his poetry.’

  Scaurus sat down next to Magistrate Quarto and they were joined by General Ulpian, who also seemed to be enjoying himself. Octobrianus, meanwhile, was speaking to another man, still maintaining the neutral expression he had displayed all evening. Governor Gordio was again talking to his wife.

  Cassius thought of what Abascantius had asked him to observe. Did the fact that both Quarto and Ulpian seemed so relaxed suggest they couldn’t possibly be involved with the theft of the banner? Gordio and Octobrianus appeared – by comparison at least – more tense and preoccupied. Did that suggest they might be? Or did each man’s behaviour simply reflect his nature? Cassius wondered if anything at all could be learned simply by watching the men. Abascantius clearly thought so.

  The comedian began with a few vulgar quips, several of which were at the expense of promiscuous older women, eliciting yet more tuts from Antonia. He then moved on to mocking the Palmyrans, Zenobia and her lackeys in particular, and the guests responded with some zeal. When he ran out of related material and the laughs died down, Scaurus bounded up and whispered in his ear.

  The next few jokes were all aimed at Quarto, largely to do with his weight. The comedian seemed wary, but was clearly even more concerned about defying his employer. In any case, the magistrate seemed too drunk to care, and laughed along merrily. Then there was a crack about the governor, centering around the apparent impossibility of removing him from his post. It was tame stuff – almost complimentary in fact – but the guests seemed unsure how to respond. Even the host seemed nonplussed by the awkward silence.

  ‘Scaurus has gone too far,’ whispered Antonia.

  Governor Gordio looked around at the sea of faces, then smiled benignly and raised his goblet. This prompted a cheer, and a long round of applause. Gordio took a drink and put his arm around his wife’s shoulder. She seemed thrilled by the way he’d handled it.

  ‘He’s popul
ar,’ said Cassius.

  ‘Very,’ replied Antonia, still clapping. ‘And why not? Everybody loves a survivor.’

  Scaurus took the hint and dismissed the comedian. He and his cronies – Quarto and Ulpian included – then began some highly convoluted drinking game. Within a few moments, Gordio and his wife left, only stopping to offer a brief thank you to Scaurus. Many of the older guests took this as their cue to depart. Antonia nudged Cassius and nodded across the room. Octobrianus was already on his way out.

  ‘A prior arrangement, perhaps,’ she suggested.

  Cassius stifled a yawn.

  ‘I don’t think we’re going to learn much else here tonight,’ Antonia continued.

  ‘I agree. Shall we?’

  ‘I’ll go and say goodnight to Scaurus. Meet you at the front door?’

  Cassius nodded, bade farewell to his fellow diners, then walked back through the villa. He stopped by a window and looked down at the river. A pair of tribunes had lured the dancing girls outside and they were all splashing around in the water. Had he not been hung over and under orders to keep a low profile, he might have thought of joining them. Antonia caught up with him and took his arm as they walked back in to the reception room.

  ‘Well?’ he asked.

  ‘They’re drunk.’

  Heading for the door, they passed several couples canoodling in the shadows. One lady sounded like she was enjoying herself greatly.

  ‘A lively city, Antioch,’ said Cassius.

  ‘You should see the Maiouma,’ replied Antonia.

  ‘The what?’

  ‘Maiouma. Old cult festival. Celebrated every three years. Next one is in the spring. Bascially it’s an orgy.’

  ‘I must remember to get my leave request in early.’

  Antonia smiled as they headed down the steps towards the street. To their right, carriages were lined up in rows. One well-dressed individual was rambling incoherently and having to be manhandled into his litter by his attendants. Antonia waved to her driver and, after a good deal of manoeuvring, he pulled up in front of the steps.

  ‘Gods, it’s as black as Hades out here,’ she said. ‘I’d have thought Gordio would have had all the street lanterns going again by now.’

  ‘Ah yes, the famed lights of Antioch.’

  ‘Olive oil prices apparently,’ Antonia explained. ‘Would you like a lift home?’

  ‘Much obliged.’

  Without Indavara in tow, Cassius had no desire to walk back through the darkened city alone. He helped Antonia up, then took a seat next to her.

  ‘Your shawl is there, madam, if you need it,’ the driver said over his shoulder.

  ‘Yes, Vedrix. I have it.’

  Though there were several layers of cushions, the combination of the carriage’s iron wheel rims and the uneven city streets made the journey a noisy and uncomfortable one. To Cassius’s amazement, Antonia fell asleep on his shoulder just moments after they crossed Hadrian’s Bridge.

  He’d never met a woman quite like her. She was so confident and assured; witty too. These were not typically female attributes, and in truth it was no surprise she wasn’t married. Even so, Cassius admitted to himself that he liked her, and he could see why Abascantius valued her so highly.

  Antonia’s villa was close, just a stone’s throw from the eastern bank of the Orontes. She awoke as the driver pulled up.

  ‘We’re home?’

  ‘You are,’ said Cassius.

  The driver got down and stood beside the horses, subtly remaining out of sight.

  Antonia sat up and checked her diadem was still in place.

  ‘Well, young man. I must admit you do seem quite the gentleman. Evidently not all of Abascantius’s people are as unpleasant as him. Remind the pig to pay me promptly this time, would you?’

  ‘I shall.’

  Antonia put her hand against Cassius’s chin and tilted it up. ‘You have a wonderful profile.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  She squeezed up close to him. ‘If you ever need to relax, get away from whatever awful job he gives you, come and see me. I’ll help take your mind off things.’

  The thought of this, which might have seemed rather distasteful to Cassius earlier in the evening, suddenly seemed almost attractive.

  ‘I shall remember that.’

  Antonia put her hand on his face again, and turned him towards her. She kissed him full on the lips, and flicked her tongue inside his mouth.

  ‘Goodnight, Cassius.’

  ‘Goodnight, Lady Antonia.’

  ‘Vedrix will drive you home.’

  XXI

  A note arrived just as Cassius was dressing the next morning: Abascantius wanted to see him at his villa at the tenth hour and suggested he spend the day investigating whatever else he considered to be a priority. Taking an apple from a fruit bowl in the atrium as he passed, Cassius wandered outside and found Simo and Indavara already in the courtyard. The Gaul was sweeping dust out of the corners. Indavara was exercising; he was wearing only a loincloth and doing press-ups at a frankly ridiculous speed.

  ‘Morning,’ said Cassius.

  Indavara nodded as he sprang to his feet and embarked on a series of stretches.

  ‘How was the dinner party, sir?’ asked Simo.

  ‘Rather entertaining actually; drummers from Ethiopia, dancing girls from Cadiz. And the food’ – he nodded at Indavara – ‘well, you’d certainly have enjoyed yourself.’

  Indavara shook his head. ‘I have to eat less. I’m putting on weight.’

  ‘You’re thickset, that’s all.’

  ‘I’m getting fat. Weak too.’

  ‘Weak? Gods, man, you look like you’re carved out of rock compared to me.’

  Indavara continued to stretch as he spoke. ‘When I was in Pietas Julia, all we did was train, eat and rest. Every day that passes I get fatter, slower. I’ve no one to practise with, no way of staying sharp.’ He looked genuinely depressed.

  ‘Well, you can start by getting dressed and fetching your sword,’ said Cassius. ‘We’ve a busy morning ahead.’

  Indavara went inside.

  ‘Simo, when you’re done with your jobs here, feel free to take some time for yourself. I’m sure you’re eager to visit your father. I shall take the spare keys, just make sure you lock up properly and be back by dusk.’

  The Gaul grinned and went about his sweeping with a new vigour.

  Cassius had three leads in mind, and he hoped to make initial enquiries regarding each of them before meeting Abascantius. First stop was Antioch’s basilica. It was on the eastern side of the city’s central plaza, where the Avenue of Herod and Tiberius met the other colonnaded street that ran west to Hadrian’s Bridge. The plaza was oval, two hundred yards across at its widest point, and also housed the forum, the meeting hall for the provincial assembly, and the capital’s largest theatre. In an open area on one side of the forum, a class of teenage students sat on benches, listening attentively to their teacher.

  The centre of the plaza was dominated by three enormous statues: one of the beloved Tyche, one of Tiberius and one of Caesar. The Tyche was surrounded by locals, either on their knees praying or leaving offerings at the statue’s base. Market stalls had been set up too, though Cassius noted they were highly regimented and monitored by a dozen of Quarto’s sergeants.

  He and Indavara jogged up the wide steps and under the open arched doorway of the basilica. The two legionaries flanking the entrance nodded respectfully to Cassius, who was in full uniform, including his helmet and scarlet cloak. This was unquestionably an occasion for formality.

  Inside the rectangular, well-lit hall, scores of administrators worked at tables on either side of the central aisle. There was a quiet sense of urgency about the place; a few senior men in togas strolled up and down while the clerks bent over their work. Cassius was afforded gracious assistance by the first man he approached, who told him where to find Antioch’s military records office: it was housed in anteroom number eighteen at
the rear of the basilica itself. Outside the room was a single legionary who took a long look at the spear-head and an even longer look at Indavara before allowing Cassius to enter. Indavara had to wait outside.

  The room was in complete chaos. Mounted on three of the walls were scores of empty wooden racks and the tiled floor was covered with piles of boxes, writing tablets and rolls of papyrus. The clerk on duty sat in the middle of it all, facing away from Cassius.

  ‘Morning.’

  The clerk turned round, then stood up. He was about thirty; a thin man with dark, wavy hair and an angular chin.

  ‘Corbulo, Imperial Security.’

  ‘Petronax. Archivist.’

  ‘With plenty to archive, I see.’

  ‘It’s a disaster. The Palmyrans had their people in here – made a right mess of everything. Nothing’s where it should be and I’m not getting any help until next week. Anyway, what can I help you with, sir?’

  ‘It’s a bit of a long shot. I’m after a man missing his thumb and two fingers on his right hand. It occurred to me that if he is or was a legionary, there might be a record of it.’

  ‘It’s possible, sir, but if he was injured like that, he would probably have left service.’

  ‘But some injured men stay on, if they’re able to continue other duties. And if he was invalided out, a record of the injury might have been made.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘What records do you have here?’

  ‘I’m told that everything in here is from the Third and Sixteenth Legions – last twenty years.’

  ‘And there’d be a file on every legionary?’

  ‘There should be. But some officers are more conscientious than others. It’s likely that every soldier’s name would crop up somewhere: when recruited, if given special duties, or when retired or killed. But to find something on injuries or distinguishing marks you’d need their personal file.’