The Emperor's Silver: Agent of Rome 5 (12 page)

The girls took so long in the kitchen that Cassius considered taking a walk; he knew there were other taverns close by. But even though they were now so far from Bostra, it didn’t seem wise to wander the darkened streets alone.

Eventually, Kitra and Hanina returned to the parlour, their main duty now to keep the guildsmen’s glasses full. The fussy Neokles would catch their eye whenever one of his compatriots was getting low and repeatedly prompted them to bring fresh bowls of nuts and dried fruit. The innkeepers were getting louder, telling jokes and funny tales – mostly about guests past and present.

Cassius continued his charm offensive with Kitra and Hanina, adapting his style according to whom he was talking to. Kitra seemed genuinely concerned about Indavara so Cassius told her an old injury was troubling him. Hanina seemed keen to talk and spent her spare moments asking about his travels.

But when a guildsman returned from the latrine to announce it was blocked, the unfortunate girls were dispatched to investigate. Cassius would have retired then but his wine had just been topped up. He felt quite proud of himself; his last mug of the day was his third.

Talk in the parlour had turned to local politics. Cassius listened in and heard mention of several notable figures, including the procurator and the magistrate. Someone made a hushed comment and there was a moment of silence. Cassius turned and saw that half the guildsmen were staring at him. In a way the timing was fortuitous; it had just occurred to him that Neokles’s guests might be of use.

He got off the stool and walked over, smiling. ‘Gentlemen, please do not censor yourselves on my account.’

‘Apologies, Centurion Crispian,’ said Neokles, ‘I would not want you to feel uncomfortable.’

‘Please. This is not my city. Continue as you would normally. I shall soon be retiring, though I did wonder if I might ask for a few minutes of your time.’

Neokles stood. ‘Of course, what can I do for you?’

‘I meant all of you.’ Cassius looked around the group. ‘What is the name of this distinguished association?’

‘The Guild of East Tripolis Inn and Tavern Keepers.’

‘Ah. Today I met with Assistant Procurator Dominicus and I dare say I’ll be meeting him again. As a gesture of mutual cooperation, I could perhaps put in a word for the guild. Is there a particular matter you might wish me to mention?’

For a moment no one spoke. Then a corpulent character wearing a heavily embroidered tunic caught Cassius’s eye. ‘Excuse me, Centurion.’ He spoke a few sentences in Aramaic. The others considered his point then gave their assent.

‘We would be most appreciative if you could bring up the subject of military billeting. We have heard that several centuries will be passing through in the coming weeks and there has been an unfortunate tendency to favour the western side of the city because it is fractionally closer to the army compound. We would like to see this imbalance redressed.’

‘I shall ensure that the assistant procurator knows of your concern.’

The large man walked over and they shook forearms. ‘Theopropides, chief of the guild.’ He grabbed a chair for Cassius while the others cleared a space.

‘Many thanks. I shall be back in a moment.’ Cassius went to his room and retrieved the spearhead and the page of information from the land register.

‘Need me, sir?’ said Simo, getting up off his bed.

‘Yes – to make notes.’

While Simo grabbed some writing materials, Cassius returned to the parlour. He doubted the innkeepers would know a lot about the casters, but they were clearly familiar with the great and the good of Tripolis. As he sat down, Neokles placed his wine on the table.

Cassius laid the spearhead next to it. ‘It is best that you know who you are addressing. I am Centurion Cassius Oranius Crispian, currently attached to the governor’s staff of Arabia.’ He thought it best not to mention the Service – partly to protect his anonymity in Tripolis, partly to negate any unpleasant associations his audience might have with ‘grain men’. He had used centurion with Neokles because ‘officer’ would confuse him.

‘I am here on an assignment given to me by Marshal Marcellinus himself. I’m sure it goes without saying that this is all in confidence.’

‘Of course,’ said Theopropides, pushing silver bangles up his chubby arm.

‘Now, if I may, I will read out some names. I am not looking for scandal or secrets, merely some background information. It occurred to me that you gentlemen might be extremely well informed.’

‘Please,’ said another of the guildsmen.

Cassius pushed his chair back a little so that they couldn’t see the list. Simo grabbed himself a stool and sat behind him, ready with writing block, paper and pen.

‘Scribonius Maursus.’

Theopropides took the lead. ‘Local landowner, his main estate is south of the city. Interests in shipping and olive oil.’

‘Three vineyards also,’ said another man.

Simo scribbled the first of his notes.

‘Not particularly concerned with politics,’ added Neokles. ‘His brother represents the family on the city council.’

Cassius nodded appreciatively. He would have liked to ask about the man’s reputation and the very scandals he’d claimed not to be interested in but the guildsmen would instantly clam up. Despite their enthusiasm, he was a visitor and had offered them only a comparatively small favour; the innkeepers would not be impolitic enough to impugn their betters in so open a way.

‘Good, thank you.’ And so it went on. Cassius considered all the information useful but there was nothing of real interest until the sixth name: an individual named Vesnius Isatis. Theopropides offered the basics on his business interests but said nothing more and no one else seemed keen to contribute.

Eventually, Neokles spoke up. ‘You might mention his name to Assistant Procurator Dominicus. He would … know more, I’m sure.’

‘Very well.’

Cassius continued down the list. The guildsmen passed on what they knew. Simo made his notes.

The penultimate name was that of one Numerius Afer. Upon hearing it, Theopropides hesitated, grimaced, then took a sip of wine. One man was about to speak but another held up his hand. Then an argument broke out in Aramaic. Neokles leant close to Cassius and apologised. After a short time, Theopropides silenced the others and continued in Greek.

‘Brothers, it is a matter of public record. The centurion here will learn this and more besides as soon as he mentions the name to Dominicus or for that matter anyone else in Tripolis.’ He turned to Cassius. ‘Several months ago, Afer’s business concerns were appropriated by the procurator and sold off. It later emerged that he had built up an enormous tax bill. He also had to sell off some land and relocate to a smaller property. The next name?’

Once they had finished, Cassius thanked the guildsmen effusively and reiterated his promise to speak to Dominicus about military billeting. Once back in his room, he sat down at the table.

‘Here, sir.’ Simo put the notes down in front of him.

Cassius was more interested in what he’d copied down at the basilica. Despite his supposed financial difficulties, Numerius Afer had purchased no less than four hundred acres of land north of Tripolis. It was both the most recent purchase and the most costly; almost thirty thousand denarii.

‘Anything useful, sir?’ asked Simo as he prepared his master’s bed.

‘Maybe, Simo. Maybe.’

‘Sir, sir, wake up. Sir!’

‘Yes, yes.’

Cassius was in the middle of a very pleasant daydream about Kitra. In fact the object of his desire was a composite: Hanina’s face and Kitra’s body. In any case, it took him a moment to remember he was sitting on a bench in the basilica garden.

‘There, sir,’ said Simo, pointing at the path.

Deputy Procurator Dominicus was striding along, a dozen subordinates in his wake. Still dozy, Cassius staggered as he stood up, then jogged between two sprawling bushes towards the path.

‘Deputy Procurator.’

Dominicus stopped and turned so abruptly that some of his men collided with each other. The administrator could not hide his annoyance that he was being dragged away from his daily work once more.

‘Good day, Officer,’ he said with a thin smile.

‘Good day. I have a couple of questions for you.’

Dominicus barged his way through his men and led Cassius into the shade of the basilica wall. ‘Yes?’

‘There are two individuals I need to know more about. One is named Vesnius Isatis. I gather he has had some difficulties of late.’

Dominicus flicked away a fly that was circling his head. ‘That’s something of an understatement. He’s a notorious womaniser. A few months ago, his long-suffering wife finally reached the end of her tether. She put a list of his conquests outside the forum for all to see. Apparently it was only the recent ones but it still filled a page. The scandal ruined his reputation in Berytus – he managed to offend just about everyone who mattered. I used to know him quite well – only socially, you understand. He doesn’t have the initiative to be involved in some criminal scheme, nor the time for that matter.’

‘I see. The other man is Numerius Afer.’

‘I believe he’s had his own difficulties,’ said Dominicus, ‘financial, that is.’

‘Apparently. Him I am definitely interested in.’

‘What do you need?’

‘Anything really – business interests, property, family, employees.’

Dominicus pointed at the basilica. ‘I’ll lend you one of my clerks, Planta, for the morning. He’s worked here for more than twenty years, knows everyone in Tripolis.’

‘Thank you.’

They walked towards the entrance. ‘Officer Crispian, on behalf of the procurator and the magistrate I must ask you to tread carefully. I asked the same of Quentin. You may be operating with the authority of Marshal Marcellinus himself but even the suggestion of involvement in a criminal plot could be very damaging for one of our citizens.’

‘I understand.’

‘Come, I’ll have someone find Planta for you.’

Despite possessing only one arm, the clerk soon proved himself to be both enthusiastic and capable. Cassius spoke to him in the same office he’d been assigned the previous day and Planta immediately confirmed that Numerius Afer had indeed fallen on hard times. Afer did not hail from one of the local families; he was in fact Sicilian, though Planta reckoned he had been in Tripolis for more than a decade. The clerk then suggested finding out what he could from the local census completed the previous year. Cassius asked him to do so, then took a walk around the basilica. He belatedly realised he had failed to pass on the concerns of Neokles’s guild about billeting. Then again, he’d only mentioned it to secure their cooperation and – judging by their clothing and jewellery – Theopropides and friends weren’t exactly struggling.

He found the other two waiting in the garden. Simo was reading (a religious tract this time) while Indavara was sitting with his arms crossed, looking rather depressed.

‘I’m starting to wish you’d taken that Egypt job instead.’

‘Not me,’ said Cassius as he sat down.

‘Reading all that stuff, talking all bloody day. Don’t you get bored?’

‘This is proper investigative work. A cerebral exercise and – to be frank – something I seem to be rather good at. Let’s hope that Service man in Siscia is good at it too; he might find out something more for you.’

Cassius had sent the letter to the army way station first thing that morning. There was no quicker way to get a message across the Empire. More than a thousand miles separated Tripolis and Serdica but, with a bit of luck, Abascantius’s contact might be reading it within two weeks.

‘And I’ll tell you something else,’ added Cassius. ‘If I can find this gang I might even impress Marcellinus enough to free myself from Abascantius’s grip.’

‘What are we waiting for now?’ asked Indavara.

Cassius was looking at the path. ‘Him.’

Planta was a bulky man with a peculiar gait. The left side of his tunic was sewn up, presumably to hide some ugly wound or withered limb. Despite his disadvantages, he had a youthful face and a hearty manner. Cassius had also taken to him because – unlike many easterners – he used Latin, not Greek.

‘There you are, sir.’

‘What have you got for me?’

‘The relevant pages.’ Planta was carrying a writing block and some papers with holes in one side. Evidently he had physically removed them from the census.

Simo stood, allowing Planta to sit on Cassius’s left, between him and Indavara. The clerk nodded politely to the others. ‘Good day.’

‘Good day,’ said Simo.

‘Good day,’ said Indavara. ‘What happened to your arm?’

Simo tutted but Planta didn’t seem to mind answering. ‘It happened when I was a lad. I was helping my father replace some tiles when I slipped and fell. The arm was so badly crushed it had to be removed.’

‘Surgeon?’ asked Indavara.

Planta gave an ironic smile. ‘My father. He had been a soldier. He did it with a wood axe, then sealed the wound with pitch.’

‘You were lucky,’ said Indavara.

‘Very,’ said Planta. ‘Though I didn’t think so at the time.’