Saviour of Rome [Gaius Valerius Verrens 7] (33 page)

Greed, he acknowledged, was part of it. And yes, weakness. He had always been a weak man, easily influenced by others. When Ferox had asked him to alter a few figures, first in return for the odd favour or a hint of promotion, and later for money, it had seemed a relatively small thing. A favour for a respected superior, or so he’d told himself. But it had grown so quickly it had felt like standing in front of the reservoir sluice gates when they were opened. Before he realized it he was drowning in a sea of corruption.

And, despite his every effort to wriggle free, he’d been drawn ever deeper into the plot. Eventually the day came when he woke up aware that unless he did
something
it would end with a visit from
that dreadful Harpocration and a shallow grave in the forest.

At first, when the mystery man approached him, it felt like salvation. He promised immunity, rewards and Nepos’s sandalled feet under Licinius Ferox’s desk. Nepos had almost gone on his knees in relief. Yes, yes, he’d cried, take me away from here and I will tell you everything you need to know. Of course, that wasn’t enough. The mystery man promised to spirit him away, but first he must know everything. Hour after hour Nepos sat with him repeating over and over the little Ferox allowed him to know, answering questions about answers he’d given weeks earlier to questions he didn’t even remember. The one thing he’d kept to himself was the involvement of Marcus Atilius Melanius. Melanius would be his last throw of the dice, the bargaining chip he would use when the time came that the mystery man no longer needed him. More, always more. ‘I need evidence,’ the mystery man insisted. ‘Not just names, but numbers. This conspiracy is like an octopus, with tentacles everywhere. Severus, Ferox and the others cannot control it on their own. You are Ferox’s man. Who does Severus use to falsify the licences? Fronton sends bread for four hundred men to the Red Hills mine, yet he’s paid for six hundred. Someone must sign it off. This is a bureaucracy. Nothing can be done without a piece of papyrus or a scroll. I need those pieces of papyrus and copies of the scrolls.’

Oh, he’d tried, standing for minutes outside an office willing himself to go inside. Hovering with his hand over a pile of papyrus scraps, unable to will his fingers to close on one. Just as he’d not been cut out for conspiracy, he didn’t have the disposition for spying. He’d managed to steal a few minor documents, passing them over with shaking hands, the papyrus damp with the bearer’s sweat. But minor documents weren’t enough. The mystery man knew Nepos had access to the information he wanted. That’s why he’d been recruited by Ferox in the first place.

So he’d reverted to forgery. Now that he could do. Nepos knew more or less what should be on the papers the mystery man was interested in, so he created what he believed was wanted. Simple enough to take a pile of blank papyrus and he had his own copy of the departmental seal. What could be better?

It all went so well … until the night the mystery man pulled out another document and placed it next to the one Nepos had just delivered. ‘You see, Hostilius,’ he’d said gently, ‘they do not tally. Why is this? Could it be that you have been deceiving me? If that is the case, I will grieve for you, because it’s the axe for you, my boy. No immunity, or reward, or promotion. Just the cold edge against your neck. The pause for one last breath. Then …’

Naturally he’d wept and pleaded and raved as if his life depended on it, because it did. He’d given up Melanius, but to no avail. He’d accused the mystery man’s other informant of forging his own documents. But no. The mystery man had watched as the papyrus was taken, there was no doubt of its authenticity. But if you have an informant who has access to this, why do you need me? Because you are important, Hostilius. You have attended their meetings; my other little spy is a minor player in this drama, while you have shared centre stage. Besides, if I didn’t need you I would have to give you up. It wouldn’t be the nice, quick, friendly axe for Hostilius Nepos if Claudius Harpocration thought you’d been betraying his friends, would it? It would be the hot coals and the gelding knife and the pliers and the leaded whip. No, Hostilius, you have one last chance to bring me what I need. We will meet again two days from now and you will bring me the papers or your name will be on Harpocration’s desk by morning.

He spent the next day in the depths of a Red Hills mine praying to the god of the underworld to bring the tunnel down on his head rather than end up under the knife of Claudius Harpocration. Eventually, he came to understand that the mystery man had left him no choice. He could draw a razor across his own throat or do as he was ordered. Oddly, it turned out it wasn’t so difficult after all, once you’d steeled yourself to do it.

The following night he’d gone to the meeting place with a satchel of papers and waited. And waited. And waited. The mystery man had never turned up and Nepos returned to the house, confused and disappointed, but not frightened. The next day he looked for the sign that would initiate a new meeting, but he found nothing.

Days passed without contact from the mystery man and disappointment had given way to elation. He was gone for good. Hostilius Nepos was free. His life would continue, without threats of hot irons and axes. He had a choice now. Continue to do what Ferox asked of him, which was simple enough, but … Or he could disappear. Leave Asturica Augusta by night and make a new life somewhere they appreciated engineers and weren’t stealing the gold from the Emperor’s fingertips.

But was he truly free?

If the mystery man had vanished, it was unlikely he’d done it intentionally. That meant someone had made him disappear. And if he was dead, what had he blurted out before he breathed his last? If he’d uttered the name Nepos there would be only one outcome.

Hostilius had woken up sweating in the night knowing that without the mystery man he’d never feel safe again. If he stayed in Asturica death was the only way out, either when the conspiracy was discovered, or when Ferox decided he was no longer needed. If he fled, they would find a way to place the blame for the entire scheme on him. He would be wanted throughout the Empire. A man who had stolen the Emperor’s gold. A reward on his head and the prey of every bounty hunter or mercenary.

His days passed in a bemused, fear-filled trance and he dulled his nights with wine.

He reached the top of the stairs, opened the door and stepped inside. For a moment he felt like weeping and he had to use the wall as support. What will become of me, a small child asked inside his head. Yet at a deeper level he gradually became aware that something was different. A scent tickled his nostrils he didn’t associate with this time or this place. A mix of hard-ridden horse and unwashed clothing.

The sound of flint on iron and an oil lamp flared. Nepos bit back a scream as a terrible face appeared before him, the merciless eyes of a wild beast glaring in the flickering yellow light, nostrils flared wide above a sneering thin-lipped mouth. The face of a demon, all deep shadow and stark planes and lines that looked as if they’d been carved out by a knife point. He’d believed nothing was more terrifying than
the thought of being in the hands of Claudius Harpocration, but the owner of this terrible countenance must be capable of inflicting agonies from a man’s worst nightmares.

‘Good evening, Hostilius.’

He started at the voice from behind. A voice he recognized? A tone that promised a possible reprieve from the awful creature who had paralysed him with a single look. He felt faint with relief, but still he couldn’t break the hold of those feral, predator’s eyes.

The scrape of a couch being dragged across the floor. ‘Sit, please.’ He backed up until he could feel a padded surface and almost collapsed on to the seat. A shadowy figure appeared at the edge of his vision and advanced to take up position on a second couch opposite the first. ‘Do you recognize me, Hostilius?’

‘Of course.’ Tension made Nepos’s voice sound brittle and cracked. ‘You are the man who visited the mine.’

‘Then you know you have nothing to fear from me.’ Nepos glanced at Serpentius who had broken off from staring at him to light a second lamp. Valerius saw the look. ‘My friend is here to ensure my safety – and yours.’

From somewhere Nepos dredged up the courage to demand: ‘Why should I need protection?’

‘We will come to that, but first I want to ask you a few questions.’

‘You claim you mean me no harm, yet you have broken into my home with this … and they say you killed a man.’

‘A misunderstanding,’ Valerius said. ‘But one that meant I could not contact you in the normal fashion. Though, of course, if I’d done so
they
would have known, and I doubt you would want that.’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Nepos seemed to have trouble breathing.

‘Do not be coy with me, Hostilius.’ The tone didn’t change, but the words held a clear warning. ‘In this matter I represent the Emperor Titus Flavius Vespasianus Augustus. You were not aware of that fact during our previous discussion, but now you are, you should reflect on what it means for you.’ At the mention of the Emperor sweat broke out on his scalp and the beads ran unchecked down the tunnel manager’s
deathly pale features. ‘Do you know why we are here?’ Nepos hesitated and Valerius got to his feet, so that he loomed over the smaller man. ‘I would consider your answer very carefully.’

Hostilius Nepos’s emotions had swung from terror to relief when the threat of immediate execution faded, and back again. Mention of the Emperor instantly brought his mystery man to mind. Of course, when he’d vanished they’d send a replacement. And this oh-so-capable, scarred, one-handed veteran was just the man they’d choose, with his pet wolf tagging along for security and any dirty work that needed to be done. But how much did the one-handed man – belatedly he remembered the name Verrens – know? His identity, clearly, but what else? He must discover the answer to that question before he placed his neck back on the block.

‘It is about the gold.’

‘That’s right, Hostilius,’ Valerius encouraged him. ‘And the work you were doing for Marcus Florus Petronius.’

The name came as a complete surprise. It was on the tip of Nepos’s tongue to deny all knowledge of him, but he felt the heat of the wolf’s gaze and blurted out the truth. ‘I never knew his name.’

‘Do you know what happened to him?’

Nepos shook his head. ‘We were supposed to meet, but he never turned up.’

‘And just when you had something big for him.’ The rasping voice came from the wolf and sounded like an accusation. It sent a shudder through Nepos. Did they think he had betrayed this Petronius?

‘I—’

‘The first thing we will require,’ Valerius cut in on the defensive whine, ‘is the evidence you were to hand him that night.’

Nepos was aghast. ‘But I do not have it. When – Petronius – disappeared, I feared they would come for me next. Naturally, I returned the papers before they could be reported missing.’

Valerius suppressed his disappointment, but Serpentius wasn’t so sanguine. The unmistakable metallic whisper of a blade being drawn cut the silence.

‘You must believe me,’ Nepos stuttered. ‘I do not have them.’

Valerius nodded to Serpentius and he replaced the sword.

‘That is a pity, Hostilius, because it means you will have to steal them again, No,’ he silenced the inevitable protest, ‘there is no other way. Your life depends on it. I know how Petronius worked. He chose you because you were at the heart of the plotters’ bureaucracy. A reluctant part, I have no doubt, but an active one. When the governor arrives to destroy this nest of snakes, as he will, you will be condemned along with the rest,’ Nepos emitted a groan at the dread word, ‘unless you do as I say. Now, what was in the papers?’

Nepos twitched as Serpentius slammed a chest lid somewhere in the house. ‘I believe it was lists of disbursements and the dates they were handed over.’

‘You believe?’

‘These documents were protected by some kind of cypher, but Petronius said it didn’t matter because he had the key.’ He looked up apologetically. ‘I was not his only informant.’

Valerius had been concentrating on the tone of the engineer’s answers, listening for any hint of deceit. Nepos had gone from denial to reluctance, but the Roman sensed he’d now reached the stage of resigned capitulation. ‘Tell me how it worked and how you became involved.’

First Nepos confirmed the identities of the conspirators. ‘I believe the original idea came from Severus, but Melanius was the true architect. He had names for his fellow conspirators. Severus was the Facilitator; Julius Licinius Ferox the Sceptic; Harpocration the Enforcer; Fronton the Weakling.’

‘Did Ferox mention Proculus, the
praefectus castrorum
at Legio? Or a man called Calpurnius Piso?’

‘To my knowledge, Proculus is not an active member of the group, but it is certain Melanius holds some sort of sway over him. He was persuaded to give Severus almost sole use of the Parthian auxiliaries under Harpocration. When it comes out he either knew of the thefts and turned a blind eye or actively cooperated he will die with the rest.
Even if he is guilty of simple incompetence his career is over. I think he believes it in his best interests to work with them. The name Piso has never been mentioned in my hearing.’

‘Very well, continue.’

‘It was just after Sulpicius Galba, who was governor then, marched for Rome, that Ferox came to me. He brought a bundle of scrolls and placed them on my desk. He said he had found a mistake, indeed several mistakes. The output figures are wrong, he said, I am sure they were much lower. I checked them and found they were correct. But he insisted, most strenuously. When I didn’t cooperate he mentioned a name. There was a lady. A husband. Such a pity if he were to find out. He was my superior, so I had the documents replaced. A few days later a purse of gold arrived and a letter thanking me for my strenuous efforts on behalf of the Empire. When he returned and suggested I report the yields one fifth lower than the actuality,’ a shrug of resignation, ‘what could I do?’

‘How does the actual theft happen?’