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

by Nick Brown

  ‘They were looking for the necklace,’ said Indavara.

  ‘Yes, and I expect they found it. How long since we were at the factory? Two hours at the most. Didn’t waste much time, did they? I imagine he thought they would help him. His last mistake.’

  XXIII

  The expression on Abascantius’s face seemed to suggest anger and dismay in equal measure. He scratched his head and stared up at the ceiling.

  Cassius and Indavara sat on a couch opposite him. Shostra had just brought them cloths and hot water. Indavara was picking shards of glass out of his leg, then cleaning the little wounds.

  ‘This could have been avoided,’ said Abascantius, pointing at Cassius, ‘if you’d taken him alive at the factory. When you go to apprehend a suspect in a building, always send a man to the rear. That’s elementary, Corbulo.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Cassius knew he had been stupid; and now a man was dead. It was a horrible feeling – to know one’s actions had precipitated such a thing, but he refused to allow himself guilt. He had neither the time nor the energy for it; certainly not for a stupid thief who’d been betrayed by his own kind. He watched Indavara remove a blue sliver of glass from his shin.

  ‘This necklace,’ continued Abascantius. ‘You’re sure it came from the cart?’

  ‘I can’t be entirely certain, sir, but from what the dealers said there have been no other new pieces like that on the market. It’s unlikely to be a coincidence.’

  Abascantius tapped his fingers against the side of the couch. ‘Well, I can’t deny you’ve made progress today. This killing is a setback but you must press on. We need to find out more about this Nabor. Don’t be afraid to throw some money around. Now, what about last night?’

  Once again, Cassius divulged everything except a single incident; in this case Antonia’s kiss. Abascantius seemed very interested in what she’d found out about Octobrianus and was also surprised to hear of Scaurus’s behaviour. He whistled when he heard about the comedian’s jibe and questioned Cassius about every detail of the governor’s reaction.

  ‘Scaurus was lucky,’ said the agent. ‘Ordinarily, Gordio would have taken exception to such an affront. Evidently he has other matters to concern him.’ Abascantius hunched forward. ‘A man was seen visiting his home in the early hours of this morning – the second such incident this week. A Persian, no less.’

  ‘What do you think it means, sir?’

  ‘Gordio’s always been ambitious. Aurelian’s a long way away now. And Marcellinus is out of the city.’

  ‘You don’t think he’d move against the Emperor?’

  ‘Someone has the flag. And that someone now has a lot of leverage.’

  Abascantius looked up as Shostra reappeared carrying his master’s cape. He was with a big, grizzled man of about fifty, who was armed with a long sword and a wooden cudgel tucked into his belt.

  ‘Message just arrived, sir,’ said Shostra. ‘He’ll meet us as planned.’

  ‘Good.’

  Abascantius stood up and pointed to the stranger. ‘That’s Major, by the way. Bodyguard I use from time to time.’

  Major offered a barely noticeable nod.

  ‘Any other progress, sir?’ Cassius enquired as he and Indavara stood.

  ‘More hearsay and speculation. I am looking into the affairs of the most powerful men in this city. Each has his fair share of enemies; there are any number of people with good reason to incriminate them.’

  Abascantius pressed his fingers against his brow, then rubbed his eyes.

  ‘It’s getting dark. Get yourselves home and cleaned up. At dawn I want you back in the Jewish Quarter.’

  Abascantius walked up to Cassius and prodded him in the chest. ‘And don’t set foot back in here unless you have something solid for me. Understood?’

  As they walked back to the villa, Cassius felt the need to distract himself: not only from the nagging pain in his hands, arms and legs, but also from the mounting pressure of the investigation. All things considered, Abascantius had been lenient. Finding Nabor had been largely down to luck; losing him had been simple ineptitude.

  As there was little likelihood of Indavara striking up a conversation, Cassius mentioned a matter that had been at the back of his mind since the previous evening.

  ‘Tell me, what’s your upper limit? As far as women go.’

  Indavara shrugged. ‘I don’t know, I think any more than two is a bit stupid really. Another fighter I used to know said that with three girls or more a man really needs two—’

  ‘No, no, you misunderstand me. I mean in terms of age. How old a woman would you go with?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, how old are you?’

  Indavara shrugged again.

  ‘Gods, numbers aren’t your strong point, are they? I reckon you’re about my age. So what’s the oldest woman you would sleep with?’

  ‘Thirty, maybe.’

  ‘Yes, thirty. That’s usually what I say.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Let’s just say I’m thinking about revising my upper limit.’

  Indavara suddenly dropped back, and concealed himself in the shadow of an ivy-covered wall.

  ‘What’s up with you?’

  The bodyguard beckoned Cassius closer then pointed across the street. Descending from the slopes above was a party of men. There were two legionaries at the front, two at the back. In the middle was the slight figure of General Ulpian, and just behind him his African bodyguard. The legionary was a good foot and a half taller than the general, and even at that distance Cassius could make out the bulging muscles of his arms and legs. The group disappeared behind a temple, heading for the centre of the city.

  Indavara exhaled loudly. ‘Didn’t think I’d ever see him again.’

  ‘The African? You know him?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘But you’ve met him?’

  ‘Yes. In the arena, several years ago. He’s the man who took my ear off.’

  Simo didn’t greet them when they arrived back at the villa, so Cassius assumed he was still out. As he was thirsty and Indavara was hungry, they made straight for the kitchen. They found Simo there. He was sitting at the table, facing away from them, head bowed. He was weeping.

  ‘Best stay in there for now,’ Cassius said. As Indavara withdrew to the atrium, he stood over Simo.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  Simo wiped at his face with a handkerchief, then stood.

  ‘Sorry, sir.’

  Cassius put a hand on his shoulder. He’d never seen the Gaul so upset; and imagined he must have heard terrible news. There had been little contact from his family while they were in Cyzicus. Just a letter or two from Simo’s brother: a freedman who’d relocated his family to Tarsus just before the Palmyran occupation. The Gaul’s mother was long dead. Only his father had remained in the city but he was illiterate, so there had been no way for Simo to stay in touch.

  ‘Sit down. And tell me what’s happened.’

  Cassius waited for Simo to sit, then took a chair beside him. Simo wiped at his eyes again.

  ‘I shall tell you, sir, but there is something I must explain first – something about me.’

  Cassius was pretty sure he knew what was coming. ‘You’re a Christian.’

  Simo looked surprised. Then he nodded.

  Cassius sat back in the chair. ‘I suppose I’ve known for a while. Hardly a great mystery. I’ve never once heard you utter the name of Mars or Jupiter or Fortuna. Those times I couldn’t find you in Cyzicus. You were visiting one of your temples, I suppose.’

  ‘A church-house, sir, yes.’

  ‘Why did you never tell me before? I think you’ve known me long enough to appreciate there was nothing to fear.’

  ‘Honestly, I’m not sure, sir. Why did you never ask?’

  Cassius shrugged. ‘Perhaps we both thought it more convenient to say nothing. What does this have to do with your father anyway? He too is a Chri
stian?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He’s alive, then?’

  ‘I think so. I went to his house and found it empty. One of his neighbours told me he’d been taken to the city prison.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘You’ve heard of Bishop Paul, sir?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Though few people could have maintained less of an interest in religious affairs than Cassius, the reputation of Antioch’s Christian leader had spread far and wide. Paul of Samosata had been the city’s bishop for more than a decade but he had acquired a reputation as a fame-hungry narcissist who liked to surround himself with beautiful young women. He had also enjoyed the support of Zenobia, but shortly after her defeat his rule was challenged by the Church authorities. Aurelian had granted them the power to make their own decision and Paul was deposed.

  Simo looked at the floor as he spoke. ‘My father and several others were at the bishop’s residence when the city sergeants came. They tried to resist and were arrested. They’ve been locked up while the governor decides what to do with them.’

  ‘And what news? Has anyone been able to visit?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir. But I found out there’s a meeting at a church-house tonight. An elder – a friend of my father’s – will be there. He may know something.’

  ‘I see.’ Cassius stood up. ‘When is this meeting?’

  ‘The second hour of night, sir.’

  ‘I shall come with you. And I’ll do my best to get you into that prison. The spear-head should help.’

  Simo clasped his hands together. ‘My thanks, sir. Truly. I wish only to see him.’ The tears started again.

  ‘All right, Simo. That’s enough of that. We’ll find a solution. Can’t have my manservant in such a state – you’ll be useless to me.’

  Cassius’s father had taught him that a wise man tried to solve his slave’s problems, especially if they were likely to hinder his work. But that wasn’t the only reason he wanted to help. The big Gaul had made the most difficult period of Cassius’s life a lot easier. He genuinely cared about his master, Cassius knew that and – though he would never speak of it openly – he welcomed the chance to repay that debt.

  Simo was still drying his eyes.

  ‘Why don’t you keep your mind off things by preparing some dinner?’ said Cassius. ‘What about that Gaulish dish with the tripe and onions? I could do with a good feed. But first I need you to pick some glass out of me.’

  Simo frowned. ‘Glass, sir?’

  ‘Don’t ask.’

  The church-house turned out to be a woodcarver’s workshop that backed on to the city walls just west of the Beroea Gate. Simo hadn’t been there before, and had to ask for directions several times. He was careful who he approached; apparently there had been a few violent clashes between followers of Paul and Bishop Domnus, now the official leader of the Christian community in Antioch. As they walked along a darkened alley towards the rear of the workshop, Indavara asked the latest in what Cassius considered to be a series of inane, annoying questions, most of which he’d been unable to answer.

  ‘So Christians and Jews both believe in one god?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is it the same god?’

  ‘Yes. No. I’m not sure. Why are you asking me?’

  Indavara hurried after Simo, who had stopped near a wooden door. Cassius put a hand in his way.

  ‘Not now.’

  Simo knocked on the door. After a while it opened a few inches and a middle-aged man carrying a candle peered out. He looked over Simo’s shoulder. Cassius tried to look friendly. Simo had tactfully suggested that he wear a normal tunic and belt: the meeting was being held in secret, and a Roman Army officer was unlikely to meet with a favourable reception.

  Simo exchanged a few whispered words with the sentry, who then closed the door again. When he returned, an older man was with him. This man smiled solemnly at Simo then opened the door wide and let them in. The sentry locked the door behind them as the older man led the visitors into a cramped courtyard. Most of the space was taken up with stacks of timber, the rest by pieces of furniture. Through an open doorway, Cassius saw a group of people inside the workshop.

  ‘Who are these men, brother?’

  ‘My master,’ answered Simo. ‘Cassius Quintius Corbulo. And his bodyguard, Indavara.’ Simo gestured to the old man. ‘This is Elder Nura, sir.’

  ‘Good evening,’ said Cassius.

  Nura was still inspecting him and Indavara.

  ‘You look worried,’ added Cassius. ‘But you needn’t. I’m with the army but I have nothing to do with the city authorities. I am simply here to help Simo.’

  Nura smiled warily. ‘The Lord tells us that we should look for the good in all men. Come, we shall talk inside.’

  While the sentry remained at his post, Nura took another candle and led them through the doorway. There were in fact a dozen people stuffed into the small room, some on chairs, others standing, all listening to another older man, who sat reading quietly in Aramaic from a small book. Cassius was surprised to see there were more women than men. Wherever Paul of Samosata had found his young beauties it evidently wasn’t here – they were a dowdy, serious-looking lot. Though no one said anything as they passed, a couple of the men seemed to recognise Simo.

  The next room was a store-front with a wide, shuttered window. Nura found some stools and Simo helped him arrange them around a table. As the others sat down, Nura lit an oil lamp. He was a very slight man, with bushy eyebrows and a patchy beard of grey and white.

  ‘Have you seen your father?’ he asked Simo.

  ‘No. I only found out about what happened today.’

  ‘I wish there were better news,’ Nura said as he too sat down. ‘The last time we were allowed in to see the prisoners was almost two weeks ago.’

  ‘How was he?’

  ‘He had been struck about the head several times during his arrest, but he seemed well enough, and in good spirits.’

  ‘You’ve heard nothing since?’

  ‘No. There are ten of them in there, and some have decided not to eat. Do you remember Brother Albar?’

  Simo nodded.

  ‘He seems determined to martyr himself.’ Nura lowered his voice. ‘Though I sometimes wonder whether it’s truly the glory of God he wishes to honour. We went to the prison with food, but the women became hysterical – crying, hurling themselves against the bars. I should never have let them go. The guards threw us out and no one has been allowed back since. I thought of appealing to the governor, but I suspect we have become a troublesome inconvenience for him.’

  ‘And what about this Bishop Domnus?’ asked Cassius. ‘Surely you could appeal to him?’

  Nura turned to Cassius. ‘Never, sir.’

  ‘Clearly I’m no expert in these matters,’ Cassius replied, ‘but there seems little chance a ruling allowed by the Emperor himself will be reversed. Surely you people would be better off accepting Domnus as your leader.’

  ‘I’m afraid there’s rather more to it than that, sir,’ said Simo.

  ‘This is not simply a matter of leadership,’ added Nura. ‘Domnus preaches ideas that we do not – and cannot – subscribe to.’

  To Cassius, it seemed rather ridiculous that followers of a cult that had suffered persecution in recent years – and might easily face it again – could not even agree among themselves.

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘We, the followers of Bishop Paul, contend that our Lord Jesus Christ was a man, not a god.’

  ‘What was he, then? A priest?’

  Nura grimaced.

  ‘An oracle?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘It’s rather complicated, sir,’ observed Simo.

  Cassius glared at him. ‘I’ll manage.’ He turned back to Nura. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Christ was God’s son – his divine representative, the essence of God in human form. Yet he was not a god himself.’

  ‘But Christ has b
een dead two hundred years. If he was so precious and powerful to you, why is he not considered a god now?’

  ‘He is now one – with God,’ explained Nura.

  ‘Ah yes – the one god thing. I was forgetting. So Domnus disagrees with this?’

  ‘He considers it heresy. As does most of the rest of the Church.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it be wiser just to give in? You’ve lost your leader and you seem to have lost the argument. You’re here meeting in secret, half your number in prison. Why not simply alter your beliefs?’

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘People do it all the time, Simo,’ Cassius snapped impatiently. He nodded towards the other room. ‘Was every man and woman in there born a Christian?’

  ‘No,’ admitted Nura. ‘Neither was I.’

  ‘So you changed your beliefs. Why not change again?’

  Nura leaned forward. ‘Would you, sir?’

  ‘If it meant avoiding prison, or death? Absolutely.’

  Nura continued, apparently assuming Cassius wasn’t serious. ‘Bishop Paul taught us that a man cannot aspire to be God. But our Lord Jesus Christ showed us how a man might live the best life he can; so that when he faces the final judgement, he might be permitted to join the righteous in the kingdom of eternal joy.’

  ‘I presume that your Bishop Paul set a similar example, and that all the tales I’ve heard about him are mere slander?’

  ‘Evil lies, spread by our enemies. I can assure you that there is no such thing as “mere slander” for a man in such an important position.’

  ‘And where is he now?’

  ‘We don’t know.’ Nura sighed. ‘But we pray that he be returned to us.’

  ‘Then you seem to be on your own.’

  ‘No. Our Lord and his angels are forever with us, even in our darkest hours, when the black demons try to divide and destroy us.’

  As Nura was beginning to sound like one of those men who harangued passers-by in town squares, Cassius decided he’d heard enough.

  ‘Where is the prison?’

  ‘On the east side of the island, not far from the hippodrome.’

  ‘We shall go there tomorrow.’