Agent of Rome: The Far Shore

by Brown, Nick

  Annia looked up. ‘I should like to give them to you both. A symbol of my gratitude. First, for finding those responsible for my father’s death; second, for getting me out of that awful place.’

  ‘That is very kind, miss,’ said Cassius, ‘but we cannot accept. Those were given to your father.’

  ‘You didn’t know him. He would want you to have them. As do I.’

  Annia took out one medal and offered it to Indavara. He glanced briefly at Cassius, then took it. ‘Thank you, miss.’

  Annia offered the second medal to Cassius.

  He stood up. ‘I appreciate the gesture, really, but I cannot accept it. Please excuse me.’

  Later, with the singing sailors already in the galley for their own gathering, Indavara sat on the bed once more, running his fingers across the cold silver of the medal. He didn’t care what the inscriptions said, nor did he care about the eagle – even though he knew what it represented. To him it was simply a gift from her, and a symbol of what he had done.

  In the arena, he had been applauded and cheered by thousands, but those few words from Annia meant more to him than all of it, as did praise from Corbulo and men like Noster and Captain Asdribar and Master Abascantius.

  A gladiator was little better than an animal; a well-trained beast kept only to fight and entertain. But a man – a man had a name, a reputation, a history.

  A man needed a family too. Indavara thought of all those people from Darnis, of Noster and his wife; they’d been through so much together, their ties were so strong.

  Sometimes at night, lying in the darkness, he would try and summon a face – a brother, a sister, a father, a mother? His mind would play tricks, showing him those he’d known in the arena or since, never someone new or unknown. Someone from before.

  Even a place would do. A familiar room or a courtyard perhaps, a river, a field, a forest? But there was nothing.

  Indavara was still glad to have told Corbulo. In fact, he was surprised Corbulo hadn’t asked him more about it yet – he talked so much about everything else after all. Indavara hadn’t expected to ever tell anyone, certainly not him. But if they were going to stay together, work together, it was perhaps good that he knew. All the questions could stop – there was no reason to lie, to hide. Now Corbulo knew, perhaps he would understand.

  Indavara looked down at the medal and used his tunic to wipe his fingermarks off the silver. This – this was something; something to keep and treasure. It would help him remember too; those few precious moments with Annia.

  Once they reached Apollonia he would probably never see her again. The thought tore at him but Corbulo had been right; there was no future in it. Young ladies from rich families didn’t pair off with rough, ignorant men like him. But he believed she liked him and respected him and admired him, and this was enough to bring a smile to his face.

  The medal would go in the little pocket he had sewn into his pack, along with the two figurines of Fortuna.

  A man had a history. He could make his own history now.

  Having eventually dozed off, Indavara was later woken by Simo, who’d come to check his bandages before they joined the others in the deckhouse. Returning to Cassius’s cabin to fetch him, they found him lying on the bed. Simo instantly busied himself by putting away a few odds and ends, but Indavara noticed Cassius wiping his eyes.

  ‘This damned nose.’

  When Simo had finished tidying, he offered Cassius his cloak. ‘Shall we then, sir?’

  ‘You go ahead, Simo,’ said Indavara.

  The Gaul looked to Cassius, who glanced at Indavara.

  ‘Go on. I can help him up.’

  Once Simo had gone, Indavara leant against the wall. ‘Why didn’t you take it?’

  ‘The medal? Didn’t seem right.’

  ‘You deserve it as much as I do.’

  Cassius just shook his head.

  ‘This is about the bridge, isn’t it? You’ve told Simo?’

  ‘I don’t think I can. By the gods, Indavara, the noise of it. And then that silence.’

  ‘What if they had got across? You were right – the rest of us were too stupid or too scared to even realise it. They would have caught up with us and cut us down in moments. Would you prefer it if we and Eborius and the others had been killed? If they’d taken Annia?’

  ‘Of course not. Logically … you’re right. I know that. But it doesn’t change the fact that I have to remember it. Live with it. What I did.’

  ‘You didn’t do anything. We did. Lose sleep over those bastards if you want. I won’t. Any man that chose to side with Carnifex over Eborius deserved everything he got.’

  Cassius gazed up at the black beyond the porthole.

  ‘So, you coming?’ asked Indavara. ‘I can’t get up those steps on my own.’

  Eleven people had crowded into the deckhouse. Annia was sitting up but was still covered with blankets. She had said little and seemed initially to resent the invasion of her quarters, but was now watching with amusement as Noster finally got the chance to have his drinking competition with Asdribar, Squint, Korinth and Opilio. The veteran’s wife seemed almost as keen as the men on the cinnamon wine.

  For his part, Cassius had decided to take it slow and amuse himself by exchanging the odd smile with Clara. Like her mistress, the maid had light blue ribbons in her hair.

  Indavara pointed at the wall above the beds. Asdribar had already added two new mementos to his collection: a pair of crossed Maseene javelins. ‘All that money spent on weapons and we ended up without a blade between us.’

  ‘Yes, rather ironic,’ replied Cassius.

  ‘What about those lessons then?’

  ‘Well, if you’re willing, we can continue them—’

  ‘—at the earliest opportunity?’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘I saw you with that chair by the way,’ Indavara added. ‘Good improvisation.’

  ‘Like you said – him or me.’

  Cassius noted that their glasses were empty. Simo beat him to the jug.

  ‘No, Simo, allow me.’

  ‘Very well, sir. None for me, thank you. I’m still recovering from the last time.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Cassius, filling each glass in turn. ‘We have good cause to celebrate. Things might have turned out very, very differently.’

  ‘Fortuna Redux,’ said Indavara thoughtfully. ‘The good luck that brings you home.’

  ‘Well we eventually had the good luck,’ said Cassius. ‘Home?’ He glanced at Indavara. ‘Well, right now, this feels pretty close to me.’

  The three of them clinked their glasses and took a long swig of wine. Noster’s wife asked a question of Simo. He excused himself and turned towards her.

  Cassius spied a space under the table and stretched out his legs. ‘I remember back in Antioch – you complaining about how you were getting soft, not seeing enough action to keep you sharp. Had enough for the moment?’

  ‘More than enough,’ replied Indavara.

  ‘By the gods, so have I. What a few months – that affair with the flag and then we get dragged into this.’

  Cassius glanced across at Annia. ‘You know neither of us is really good husband material, what with the Service despatching us on hazardous assignments to far-flung corners of the Empire. I fear we shall just have to accept casual assignations for the time being.’

  ‘I think I can live with that,’ said Indavara. He turned to Cassius with a conspiratorial grin. ‘Tell me more about these hearth girls.’

  Historical Note

  As before, I thought some readers might be interested in the factual basis behind certain aspects of the story.

  Client kingdoms like Karanda – the fictional territory featured in the prologue – were immensely important for the Empire. With the relatively small numbers of soldiers and administrators at their disposal, provincial governors couldn’t hope to police every region and often relied on these local leaders. Agreements like the one Cassius delivers were of
course generally weighted heavily in the Romans’ favour.

  I hope readers will forgive Indavara’s shabby treatment of the Colossus of Rhodes. Long celebrated as one of the ‘seven wonders’, the fallen statue was indeed a favourite with the travellers who flocked to the popular island. We cannot be sure of its final fate but some accounts claim that in the seventh century it was sold to a merchant, who had it broken up and shipped to Syria. Historians have calculated that it was well over one hundred and twenty feet high (not including the platform). Weight estimates depend on the clouded question of bronze-thickness, but it is unlikely to have been less than ten tons.

  Travel by sea was every bit as feared and genuinely perilous as I have suggested. The sailing season was widely considered to be between May and October. Long-distance trips outside this period were exceptionally rare and to be avoided at all costs. Apart from the danger of storms and the consequent wear on comparatively fragile craft, increased levels of fog and cloud made navigation using landmarks and stars far more difficult.

  Captain Asdribar was of course given quite an incentive to depart immediately but skippers typically wouldn’t leave port until the winds (and the omens) were favourable. The lists of ancient naval superstitions run to pages, another factor which suggests that securing passage by water would have been a haphazard, unpredictable affair. And, unless you were a Roman emperor, it would also have been extremely uncomfortable. Cassius was very lucky to find himself in a cabin; the majority of passengers slept on deck.

  The character of Squint was born out of a passage from the letters of Synesius, a Greek intellectual from the fourth century. Having concluded a sea voyage to Cyrene, he wrote to his brother about the crew, commenting that ‘the one thing they all shared in common was some bodily defect … they called each other by their misfortunes instead of real names – Cripple, Ruptured, One Arm, Squint; each and every one had his nickname.’

  The corrupt naval officer, Commander Litus, is based on an individual of the same name from the fifth century, who was accused of taking bribes from pirates and slave traders.

  Even given the unusual circumstances of her upbringing, Annia’s character and behaviour must be seen as highly atypical. Although her father’s status would have afforded her a level of influence denied to women from the poorer classes, the course of women’s lives was in large part dictated by their fathers and husbands. As suggested by Cassius’s attitude, the view of Roman men was that women should know their place and preferably stay there.

  Cassius’s pride in, and use of, his patron’s letters accurately reflects the way in which the upper echelons of Roman society worked. Connections were everything, and letters of recommendation greased the cogs of army, administration and government. For example, Pliny tells us that military commissions were handed out first to dependents and friends, and that the person in charge of approving the appointments would need to know nothing more than the applicant’s name! Beneficia was the word used to describe the interventions made by a powerful individual on behalf of someone else. In summary, who you knew was invariably more important than what you knew.

  Darnis was indeed a Roman town on the coast of Cyrenaica. Located in modern Libya, it is now known as Derna. Though I have invented the second earthquake, Cyrene was struck by such a disaster in AD 262. The emperor Claudius Gothicus made efforts to restore the city but it, and the province, never recovered their former status. Another earthquake struck in AD 365 and Synesius describes Cyrene as a ruin.

  Africa had been comparatively peaceful for two hundred years but the third century did see a number of uprisings by various tribes. It is not easy to discern the reasons for these conflicts but corruption and water supply might easily have been contributing factors. The Romans were typically industrious in ensuring their lands were well-watered and we know that their activities disrupted the grazing patterns of nomadic local tribesmen.

  The depths to which Carnifex and his cohorts sink are of course extreme, but Cyrenaica in particular was a hotbed of venality and there is considerable evidence of corruption across the African provinces. One example is that of Allius Maximus, a Roman administrator who tried to demand more than the normal six days of work from local peasants. When they refused, he sent a detachment of soldiers to seize and torture them. It is worth noting, however, that the peasants were able to despatch a letter of complaint to the then-emperor Commodus, who ruled in their favour.

  Soldiers demonstrated a remarkable capacity for exploitation. Often put in charge of tax collection, they were masters of their assigned domain and duly milked every last drop. As well as operating ‘protection rackets’ they would – in lieu of payment – claim property, women or slaves for their own. Complaints of such behaviour came from across the Empire.

  From Ammianus, we have the tale of one Romanus, a military commander stationed in Africa during the fourth century. Claims of negligence were made against him and a tribune named Palladius was sent to investigate. Palladius was also responsible for delivering the payroll and, upon arrival, received the usual ‘kickbacks’ that went along with such a duty. Working in conjunction with two local leaders, he made enquiries and eventually prepared a report in which the accusations against Romanus were upheld. Hearing of this, Romanus threatened to reveal that Palladius had accepted the ‘kickbacks’. The tribune duly changed the report and claimed the charges against Romanus had been unfounded. The two local leaders? The emperor ordered that their tongues be torn out – for falsely impugning Romanus.

  In examining the practices of the military in the later Empire, it almost seems that for many soldiers – officers in particular – financial gain wasn’t just a benefit of military service, it was the raison d’etre. This type of behaviour seems to have reached a peak by the third century and some historians have suggested that such rank corruption was a major contributing factor to the decline of the Empire.

  Though Carnifex is fairly disparaging about ‘barefeet’, there is in fact little evidence of what we would consider racism on the part of the Romans towards the people of Africa. Throughout the Empire, status was far more important than colour or creed and Africans played a leading role in Roman life; providing notable philosophers, orators, poets, generals and eventually emperors, the first of whom was Septimius Severus (who reigned from AD 193 to 211.)

  The punishment of exile was limited in the main to the upper classes. There were two basic forms. If sentenced to relegatio, the exile maintained his citizenship and stood some chance of return. Barring a dramatic change of regime however, those suffering deportatio were unlikely to ever see Rome again. They lost both citizenship and property.

  Remote spots such as islands like Sardinia were favoured, as were isolated locations in the African desert. Anyone who tried to violate their exile could expect far harsher and more violent punishment. In a society where reputation was paramount and the capital the absolute centre of all things, I would suggest that Cassius’s description of exile as ‘a kind of death’ is fairly apt.

  Once again I must express my gratitude to all the historians whose illuminating texts I used whilst researching the book; novelists like myself would be lost without them.

  Acknowledgements

  A tale of two cities this time, with The Far Shore being completed in Warsaw and Norwich between September, 2011 and June, 2012. Bizarrely, the the lowest temperatures were experienced in England (thanks to a very chilly house) which meant many early morning writing sessions clothed in several layers plus hat and scarf.

  Over the past year, my agent David Grossman has again provided invaluable advice in matters both creative and practical. Editor Oliver Johnson expertly guided the third book from early draft to finished product. Thanks also to Anne Perry and all those others at Hodder & Stoughton who contributed; and artist Larry Rostant, who produced yet another striking and memorable cover. I must also mention the authors, reviewers and bloggers whose kind words have helped Cassius et al. reach a wider audience.

  L
astly, sincere thanks to all the readers who have supported the Agent of Rome series so far; I do hope you also enjoy future tales from the third century.