The Leopard sword e-4

by Anthony Riches

  ‘Are you two a pair of tunic lifters? No problem if you are, there’s a couple of boys upstairs if that’s what-’

  The younger man held up a hand, and she fell silent as he took a sip of his beer and sighed appreciatively, aware of the men seated around him.

  ‘Best beer of the day, that is.’ He shook his head at the girl, smiling up into her disgust at being so abruptly turned down. ‘No disrespect, love, but these days when I go looking for paid female companionship my tastes run to a slightly older lady than your good self. You’re just too young and fresh for me.’ He raised a hand again to forestall the next offer. ‘I know, you’ve got “older” ladies up there as well, and again, no disrespect, just probably not my type either. We’re just going to sit here and drink our beer, and at some point some nice gentleman or other will tip us off to the location of an establishment capable of furnishing us with appropriate mature company. Or, in the case of my colleague here — ’ he pointed to his companion with a sly glance around the room to confirm that he had an attentive audience — ‘a painted and strapped-up whore with tits like a cow’s udders and an arse like the back end of a cart horse, who fucks like a fully wound bolt thrower and sucks cock like a Greek sailor after a week at sea.’

  A chorus of muffled sniggers followed the young woman as she walked away, and the older of the two soldiers raised his beaker in ironic salute to his colleague, his voice a low growl.

  ‘Nice fuckin’ work, Tertius. You’ve chased away the only woman I’ve seen that’s been worth more than a denarius all night. And I’ll bet she’d a been nice and tight.’

  A seam-faced man leaned across from the table next to them, his features creased in a wry smile.

  ‘No, friend, your mate had it right. She’s the best of a pretty bad bunch, and she wasn’t joking about the boys either. Both of them are her brothers, and they’re both younger than she is. Yeah, I know..’ He grinned into Tertius’s disbelieving expression. ‘And her old mum’s up there too. It’s tough times, what with the gangs getting their fingers into every pie going. But if you gentlemen are looking for a higher-class of female company then pull up a chair, buy me a beer and I’ll tell you what’s to be had in Tungrorum for a man with a taste for the better things in life.’

  The look on Centurion Tertius’s face was one of weary triumph, while Sanga’s expression, like any veteran finding himself in the presence of his own centurion, first spear and tribune, was one of stone-faced inscrutability.

  ‘We struck it lucky in the third bar we visited. The men we watched leaving the grain store when the place closed for the night were all there in a tight little huddle, drinking their beer and planning a night of whoring, as it turned out. All it took was a little play-acting by myself and the soldier here, and the spending of a little coin to back up our story as to how we came to be out on the town, and we found ourselves invited along with them to the Blue Boar. When we got there it was clear that they were regular customers, because the lump who was keeping door let them in without a word, and us too once they’d vouched for our behaviour. And it wasn’t a cheap place either.’

  First Spear Frontinius raised a wry eyebrow.

  ‘I presume that you were both forced to sample the establishment’s services in order to maintain the fiction of being a pair of soldiers who got lucky at your standard bearer’s expense?’

  Sanga struggled to maintain his mask of imperturbability, one corner of his mouth twitching slightly, and Frontinius allowed a long, hard stare to linger on him, but Tertius was speaking again, his voice free of any trace of irony.

  ‘Yes, sir. It would have been strange if we hadn’t, if you take my meaning. Mind you, it didn’t hurt that Morban’s reputation for taking bets on anything and everything seems to have spread across the city. The whorehouse’s hired muscle was in stitches when our new friends told him our little story.’

  ‘And?’

  Tertius frowned at Scaurus’s question.

  ‘Tribune?’

  Scaurus rubbed his eyes with one hand, stifling a yawn with the other.

  ‘Centurion, whilst this is all very gratifying, you’ve not yet got to the crux of the matter, have you?’

  Tertius nodded apologetically.

  ‘Indeed not, Tribune. To keep the story short, the prefect seems to be justified in his suspicions about the traffic in and out of the grain store. As we expected, the men we hooked up with are labourers, paid to haul the corn off the farmers’ carts and into the grain store, and then to put it onto the carters’ wagons for shipment to the legion fortresses. That much was evident from the first beer, since they were still in their work clothing, but it was only after we’d got a few more wets down our throats that we got a few more clues. Soldier Sanga here managed to blurt out that jobs in the store must be well paid.. ’ The officers collectively winced, each man imagining the moment of uncomfortable silence as Sanga’s apparently naive words had sunk in. ‘But he said it in such a morose way that all they did was laugh at what they took for jealousy at the amount of silver they were throwing around. One of them leaned forward and tapped his nose, with a smile, mind you, and said that there were things that happen in the store that it would be best we didn’t know about, and he rubbed his fingers together like he had a coin between them. It was pretty clear to me that they’re the men that do the dirty work when there’s mouldy corn to load onto the outbound wagons, slipping it in with the good bags, and in return they get a big enough backhander to enjoy themselves properly once in a while.’

  ‘So they didn’t actually tell you how the fraud works?’

  Tertius shook his head at Prefect Caninus’s question.

  ‘No, Prefect, and they were never going to. They wouldn’t trust a couple of men they’ve just met with that sort of information. It could take another month of drinking and whoring for them to get to the point of opening up that much.’ He saw Frontinius’s eyebrows rise in unspoken comment and quickly continued. ‘But in the absence of our having that sort of time to spend, I think it’s fairly clear that there’s something worth investigating.’

  When the two soldiers had left the room Prefect Caninus nodded to Marcus, sitting in his enforced silence in the corner.

  ‘Well done, Centurion. I think we have enough information to wrap up this fraud with no more than a few quick raids. If we arrest all of the likely participants at the same time one of them’s bound to panic and incriminate the rest of them.’

  Scaurus shifted uneasily.

  ‘And just who are you suggesting we should arrest on the grounds of some grain store workers having more money to spend than ought to be the case, Prefect?’

  Caninus shrugged.

  ‘That all depends whether we want to scare them into inactivity, and have the gains of their crime vanish into thin air, or to catch every man involved and recover the money they’ve been salting away. And that sum, Tribune, is likely to be large enough to put everyone involved very much in the emperor’s eye.’

  He watched intently as tribune and first spear exchanged glances. Scaurus shook his head slowly, his eyes locked on the prefect’s.

  ‘That’s not a status I crave, Quintus Caninus. The attention of the throne can be a double-edged sword, as anyone with any experience of imperial politics will tell you. I’ll settle for recovering the gold and making sure that it is returned to its rightful owner. So, whose doors would you have me send my men to kick in? I’m presuming that you want me to put on a display of overwhelming force?’

  ‘What in Hades are you doing, Tribune? Do you have such delusions of grandeur that you think you can arrest me and assume my responsibilities in your ceaseless quest for power? Do you imagine that I won’t…’

  Albanus, standing under the watchful eyes of a pair of Tungrian veterans in the middle of the basilica’s main chamber, was literally spitting his indignation at Scaurus, who sat before him with an expression of weary contempt. Julius, standing close behind the prisoner with his vine stick in one hand, reached out
and tapped him hard on the arm with the baton. As he did so the tribune raised an eyebrow, pointing with one hand at the fuming procurator.

  ‘The next time my officer’s vine stick touches you, the force used will be sufficient to silence you. And it will be repeated as many times as necessary to achieve that objective. Bruised or unmarked, either way you’ll be silent when I command it. Shut your mouth and consider for a moment which outcome you would prefer, if you will.’

  The two men stared at each other in silence before the tribune gestured with his raised hand to the stony-faced Julius, who stepped back with another tap of the stick, smiling quietly to himself as the procurator flinched at its touch. Albanus composed himself, looking down at the broad flagstones on which he stood before Scaurus’s chair. Lifting his head to look at the tribune, he waited in silence for permission to speak.

  ‘Very well, Procurator, now that you’ve had some time to consider our relative positions in this redefined relationship, do please continue with whatever further expression of outrage you had in mind.’

  When he spoke again, Albanus’s previous fury had been replaced by a more calculated approach, part submission, part sardonic sneer.

  ‘Thank you so much, Tribune, for allowing me to voice my opinion. You have my admiration for your ploy of dragging me from my bed and forcing me to stand here, while you sit in comfort, to reinforce the difficulty of my position. It’s interesting psychology, Tribune, but I’m afraid-’

  Scaurus cut him off before he could warm to his subject, his tone matching the look of disparagement he was playing on his prisoner.

  ‘I am sitting, Procurator, because I’ve been on my feet all night organising a series of raids on multiple locations within Tungrorum. Would you like to hazard a guess at who else we might have bagged this morning? No? Enlighten the prisoner, if you will, Centurion.’

  Julius read aloud from his tablet, his parade-ground-hardened voice harsh in the room’s echoing silence.

  ‘Four grain store workers, the grain store loading and unloading supervisor, two records clerks, the store manager, your deputy, Petrus, and yourself, Procurator.’

  Scaurus stood up and stretched, then took the two paces that set him toe to toe with the procurator. When he spoke his voice was pitched low, but with an edge of unmistakable ferocity.

  ‘All of you, Albanus. I’ve rolled up the entire organisation that was engaged in perpetrating your fraud against the empire, every man in the city with any official part in the store’s management. They’re all being questioned as we speak, and doubtless one or two of them will sing in order to earn a more lenient sentence. Not that we really need them to, of course, the evidence is already more than convincing. Centurion?’

  Julius opened the door to the antechamber and hefted a corn sack into the room. Scaurus walked over to it, opened the top and sank his fist deep into the black, mould-crusted grain within before pulling it back out. He opened it under Albanus’s nose, watching as the procurator’s face creased in reflexive disgust.

  ‘Rotten grain. Not just a dusting of mould, but actually rotting in the bag. A bag that was found, I hasten to add, in a separate granary, well away from the sound supplies. So you were still accepting sub-standard grain into the store, but it was being stored apart from the legions’ supply of good corn.’ He raised a hand, forestalling Albanus as he opened his mouth to comment. ‘No, no need to say it. I’ll say it for you. There’s been no crime committed simply because your men found a bad bag, and segregated it in a separate store built purely for that necessary expedient. But the rebuttal to such justifications is usually to be found in the detail, Procurator, and so it proves in this case. Just how many such bags do you think we found, eh? No answer? You need to take more of an interest in the workings of your operation, Albanus. We found seven hundred and forty-three spoiled bags in total, most of them nowhere near as bad as this, although not one of them would get past a legion stores officer.’

  He dropped the corn in his hand back into the bag, rubbing his hands in distaste at the mould stains that remained on his skin.

  ‘Nasty stuff, bad grain. Quite unusable for anything, including animal feed. Except, that is, for the purposes of fraud. One or two bags quietly pulled from the back of the store and loaded onto each cart, an irritation for the stores officer at the other end when they’re eventually opened and found to be rotten, and doubtless you’ve had a few letters come back down the road already, detailing the problem and asking you to keep a closer watch on what gets loaded, but still well within the usual incidence of spoiling. It’s a work of genius, Albanus, to ruthlessly weed out the usual percentage of bad grain and then turn it to your own profit. Although of course you’re quite sure I have no way to prove my allegations, aren’t you?’ He stared at the silent Albanus for a moment, and the procurator looked back, his blank expression betraying his uncertainty as to whether or not the soldier had any means of proving the allegations he was making. With a sigh, the tribune nodded to Julius. ‘Centurion?’

  Julius stepped out of the room, and returned with a heavy wooden box under his arm. Albanus took one look and blanched, his eyes widening. The tribune met his gaze and then gestured to the box, a tight smile on his lips.

  ‘Yes, indeed. Your hiding place was well chosen, and quite expertly camouflaged, but like most soldiers my men are experts in finding hidden valuables. The flagstone under which you had it hidden was just a little lower than the stones around it, which was more than enough to excite their interest. And so this is the moment when you know without any doubt that I have you, all of you, in the palm of my hand. I’ve no proof of the actual physical action of the fraud yet, although I expect that your accomplices will be singing like birds given a little vigorous encouragement, but this find has provided some very interesting evidence as to the profit you’ve been taking from it.’ He opened the box and lifted out a scroll, unrolling it and reading in silence for a moment. ‘An impressive sum, Procurator, and still growing at a rate that implies ongoing activity. But not enough to account for the full profit, nowhere close to it, even after the deduction of the bribes you’ve been paying to your staff. I’m guessing that you have a partner in crime, someone with control of the sale of grain, perhaps even the milling. You steal the good corn by substituting the mouldy grain, for which you’ve paid a pittance, then you pass it on to your business partner and he handles the onward sale into the city. The evidence is consumed within days of the theft and everyone’s happy. The farmers get to sell corn with no market value, even if they make little enough on the deal, you make a healthy profit on the price you charge your business partner, and he sells on the stolen grain at market rates and makes his own turn. Yes, everyone’s happy. With the exception of one rather significant party to the deal, now I come to think about it. The Emperor Commodus, Procurator, would be less than delighted at this state of affairs, if he were to be made aware of it. He’s being defrauded of thousands of denarii every month, and I can assure you that no emperor has ever reacted well to having his purse lightened, even if it is by a well-bred character like yourself.’

  He turned away, strolling across the chamber and taking a spear from one of the Tungrians. Walking back, he put the weapon’s vicious point under Albanus’s chin, a look of disgust on his face.

  ‘And since the emperor can’t be here in person to register his unhappiness with your actions, I’ll just have to take his place in dispensing justice to you. Imperial justice, Albanus.’ He stood the spear on its butt spike with a scrape of metal on stone and leaned closer, whispering his next words. ‘Harsh justice.’ He walked away across the room, shaking his head in apparent sorrow. ‘A skilled executioner can nail a man up in such a way that he’ll live on the cross for two or three days before succumbing to thirst, torn between asphyxiation and the terrible pain in his feet when he pushes up against the nail hammered through them to ease his breathing. And that’s before we consider the carrion birds that will do their damndest to get at your eyes whil
e you’re still breathing. And how are your family going to take it when the news reaches them that you’ve been crucified as an example to others, I wonder? Of course the emperor may take a lenient view of your crime. He might spare your family their property, and their lives. Or he might not. He might take the view that they are fully responsible for your actions, and have the praetorians turn them out onto the streets. Confiscation of the family properties might give him some feeling of recompense, as might the indignities that I can assure the soldiers will visit upon them in the process. They get so little entertainment, you see, that the chance to make sport of fallen aristocrats is a great opportunity for them, and so much better value than simple whoring.’ He walked away from the shivering procurator, speaking aloud again. ‘It goes without saying that I have the power to make this all a lot less unpleasant, for you and your loved ones. I can commute your sentence to something a little less drastic, just as long as we recover the proceeds of your crime. But that can’t happen unless you give up the identity of your business partner.’