The Emperor's Silver: Agent of Rome 5 (17 page)

As Simo drew back the shutters, sunlight flooded the room.

‘Gods.’ Cassius turned away and shut his eyes.

‘Uh,’ was all Indavara could manage.

‘Sorry, sir, you did give me instructions to wake you at the second hour.’

‘Yes, yes.’ Cassius yawned and stretched, then hauled himself off the bed. ‘Caesar’s balls, this place looks even smaller in daylight.’

The two beds – Indavara and Simo had shared the double – were pushed up against the window and there was barely five feet between them and the door. Most of this space was now occupied by saddlebags.

‘At least it’s out of the way, sir.’

‘True. I’d rather suffer this than be at some big, well-known place where we’re easily found.’

Cassius glanced at a nearby pile of clothes. ‘No uniform in public. We’re going to keep our heads down while we’re here, which will probably aid the investigation too. Got that?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Indavara?’

He was already snoring again.

‘Shall I wake him, sir?’

‘Ah, let him sleep – I’m not leaving here until I have my appointment with the magistrate. Fetch me my writing materials.’

While Simo dragged a saddlebag over and unbuckled it, Cassius lifted his sleeping tunic and relieved himself into the chamber pot.

‘Urgh! What’s that?’

Someone had already used the pot and there seemed to be as much blood as urine.

‘From Indavara, sir. Less every day apparently.’

‘Wonderful.’

‘You would like a separate room, I suppose, sir?’

Having finished, Cassius lowered his tunic. ‘I would. But for the moment I intend to keep as close to our big friend as possible – for obvious reasons.’

When Simo later returned from the basilica, Cassius was dismayed to learn that the magistrate could not offer an appointment until the ninth hour. They had a meal brought to the room around midday, after which Cassius and Indavara visited the nearest baths. While lounging in the warm room, Cassius spent half an hour considering what he had discussed of the case with Quentin and formulating his enquiries for the magistrate. Once they had finished bathing, both men put on clean tunics and returned to the inn.

Simo had tidied the room and was ready with Cassius’s satchel, in which the spearhead was safely secured. Hoping he looked like a merchant accompanied by bodyguard and assistant, Cassius asked the innkeeper for directions and they set off for the magistrate’s residence – a more private location for the meeting than the basilica.

It was now late afternoon, and even though most of the day’s business would have been concluded, the streets of Berytus seemed unnaturally quiet. They passed a marketplace populated only by a few cleaners and at the Temple of Aphrodite saw only a handful of worshippers.

‘Damned strange,’ said Cassius. ‘Innkeeper didn’t mention any festivals today, did he?’

‘No, sir. Might have been an outbreak of something.’

‘Don’t say things like that, Simo. Makes my skin crawl. By the way, you did give him the money?’

‘Yes, sir. He won’t be telling anyone about us.’

Their route skirted the north side of the city centre, towards the affluent residential district where the magistrate lived. Passing one end of a broad, colonnaded avenue, they found a dozen people staring south. Curious, Cassius stopped and joined them. What looked like a crowd of several hundred was marching towards the forum. He could also hear a chant and see sunlight sparking off the weapons and equipment of legionaries lining the avenue.

Cassius picked out a respectable-looking fellow accompanied by a servant holding a parasol over his head. ‘Excuse me, what’s going on there?’

The man looked him up and down before answering wearily.

‘Another protest.’

‘By whom?’

‘Bloody weavers. Who else?’

A tall man standing in front of them turned round. ‘Watch yourself – my brother’s a weaver.’

‘Why don’t you go and join them, then?’ said the gentleman.

‘Don’t much fancy catching a sword in the neck – got three children to provide for.’

A few others in the crowd were listening to the exchange.

‘Nobody knows who killed that young man,’ replied the gentleman. ‘The weavers have been telling everyone it was a legionary because that’s what they want you to believe.’

‘Maybe that’s what
Pomponianus
wants us to believe,’ said the other citizen, ‘to keep people away from the protests.’

Cassius was also listening: Pomponianus – the man he was on his way to meet.

The tall man nodded up the avenue. ‘Not that brave bunch, though. Perhaps I will join them after all.’ With a defiant scowl, he stalked away.

The Syrian rolled his eyes. ‘What can you do? The ignorance of the lower classes never ceases to amaze me.’

‘What’s at issue?’

‘It started with the corn dole, I suppose. It was withdrawn last month – the governor needs the food for the soldiers.’

‘Same across Syria, though, isn’t it?’

‘Of course.’ Even though the others were no longer paying much attention to him, the gentleman kept his voice down. ‘But here we have over a thousand weavers employed in a dozen factories. When times are tough they take on other work outside hours. The old governor used to let it go but Pomponianus is fining anyone found to be doing extra.’

‘Why bother?’

‘A lot of people in Berytus – myself included – think the weavers are getting too big for their boots. Pomponianus has had trouble with them before and he wants to make sure they understand who’s in charge. The factory owners are all friends of his and there’s an election in September.’

‘I see. And the young man that other fellow spoke of?’

‘There was another protest last week. Usually there’s a few speeches, a bit of chanting and everyone goes home. But on this occasion there was a scuffle. The weavers are saying a legionary stabbed the young man because he was a ringleader. The army are denying it.’ The gentleman ran a finger along one of his bushy eyebrows. ‘Frankly, I hope they grab a dozen of the bastards and burn them in the arena. That would put an end to all this nonsense. Good day.’

With that he strode away, his servant struggling to keep the parasol over his head.

Indavara cast a disparaging glance at him. ‘This Pomp …’

‘Pomponianus.’

‘Yes, him – sounds like a bit of an arsehole.’

‘Not necessarily,’ said Cassius. ‘Can’t have a bunch of rowdy labourers running a city. People need to know their place.’

‘People also need to feed their children.’

Simo was nodding. He desisted when he realised Cassius was watching him.

The magistrate’s residence was an impressive townhouse surrounded by a substantial wall painted pale red. Cassius didn’t want to draw attention to himself but there was no choice other than to approach the main entrance and the four city sergeants armed with hefty wooden clubs. Thankfully the guards were expecting him and opened the gate as soon as he gave his (false) name.

A servant was summoned who then escorted them to a side door, past shaped swards of grass and an elaborate fountain where – despite the season – water still flowed. Half a dozen gardeners were at work weeding and trimming the turf. The servant asked Cassius to wait under a cool portico, then trotted inside. While he drank from his flask, Simo told Indavara about the different varieties of flowers populating the beds between the townhouse and the wall. From within the house came the sound of giggling children.

After about five minutes the servant returned with a tall, brawny man dressed in a fine linen tunic. He looked to be about forty and sported several bracelets and an ostentatious belt-buckle. He was smiling and already had his arm outstretched.

‘Officer Crispian, good day to you, and welcome to Berytus. No, I am not Magistrate Pomponianus.’

They shook forearms. ‘Deputy Magistrate Diadromes. There are three deputies in Berytus. My area of responsibility is trade and commerce, which is why the magistrate asked me to speak with you. He is rather occupied today but I’m sure you’ll meet at some point.’

‘Ah,’ said Cassius. ‘Good day.’

Diadromes already struck him as unusual. Vulgar displays of wealth were rare among city bureaucrats and his accent and manner of speech were rather reminiscent of a street trader.

The deputy magistrate turned his attention to Indavara and Simo. ‘Let me guess – bodyguard and attendant.’

‘Quite right.’

‘Good day.’

This, again, was unconventional, and caught the pair off guard. Even so, they both replied politely, Simo adding a bow.

‘Shall we walk or sit?’

‘I don’t mind,’ said Cassius.

Diadromes pointed at a long wooden bench shaded by the portico and facing the garden. ‘I wouldn’t mind taking the weight off – been traipsing round the cloth market all morning looking for fake silk, would you believe?’

Cassius followed him, noting the pronounced bald patch amid the deputy magistrate’s fuzzy brown hair.

‘So, counterfeiting?’ said the Syrian once they’d sat down.

‘We have good reason to believe a gang might be operating from Berytus. Firstly, none of their coins have – to our knowledge – been sighted here, which suggests they don’t want to draw attention to their centre of production. Secondly, the ex-caster that was spotted here last week.’

‘Well, you’re right about the coins. The letter from your man Quentin was passed to me a while back – I’ve had people checking but no, nothing so far. I must confess I didn’t know about this caster until today – you have the name?’

‘No.’

Diadromes reached into a pocket sewn into his tunic (again, not something most gentlemen would have) and pulled out a scrap of paper.

‘Lucius Sepercius Florens. He was seen by a man from the procurator’s staff who had worked with him back in Italy. There’s a description here too.’ Diadromes gave Cassius the note.

‘Average height and build, cropped grey hair – not massively helpful. Have any enquiries been made?’

‘Yes. No reference to him has emerged yet, though of course it’s doubtful he would risk using his own name, even this far east.’

‘It is essential that we find him. There are no other leads.’

‘I must tell you that Berytus has never had a significant problem with counterfeiting. But we will of course assist your investigation.’

‘Much appreciated. Apart from checking records, what else can be done?’

Diadromes grinned. ‘As you may have gathered, I do not come from money. My father was a freedman and I worked up to this post from second assistant inspector of municipal drainage.’

Cassius couldn’t stop himself chuckling.

‘It’s true – that really was my job. In any case, one of my later posts in the magistrate’s office was chief of criminal investigations. If I and my staff can’t help you, no one can.’

‘Excellent. Can I ask – who else knows I’m here?’

‘The magistrate and my two fellow deputies. That’s all.’

‘I would very much like it to stay that way.’

‘Of course. I will use my most trusted man, Cosmas. He can put Florens’ name out on the streets, see if anything turns up.’

‘As you say, chances are he’s not using it but we must still try.’

‘Indeed. And of course he may have just been passing through.’ Diadromes scratched his forehead. ‘What if I have Cosmas ask about counterfeiting in general? Nobody need know that the enquiry came from you or the Service. As we’ve been checking for the fake coins there’ll be some talk on the streets about it anyway. Cosmas is very discreet.’

‘Very well.’

‘He can also act as a liaison between us.’

‘Good. Thank you.’

Diadromes stood. ‘I’m afraid I must be going. My afternoon will be even busier than my morning.’

‘I saw the weavers’ protest,’ said Cassius as he straightened up. ‘A concern for the magistrate, I imagine.’

‘A concern for us all,’ said Diadromes gravely, causing Cassius to wonder how he might view the dispute. ‘Where can I find you?’

‘I’m staying at an inn over by the north gate – the Dolphin.’

‘I know it.’

‘It’ll do for the moment but if we have to stay for a while I might need to rent. Somewhere secure.’

‘Surely you’re not that worried about this gang?’

Cassius chose his words carefully. ‘Unfortunately, we in the Service occasionally make enemies. Enemies who sometimes seek revenge.’

Diadromes glanced along the portico. ‘I see. Hence the need for your muscular friend.’

‘Quite.’

‘I own many properties. One in particular might suit your needs.’

‘Ah.’

‘I would be happy to provide it to you free of charge.’ It sounded less a statement than a question.

‘Yes?’

‘The thing is, you may also be able to help me, Officer Crispian. A rather sensitive matter, but as a Service man I think you are exceptionally well placed to offer assistance.’

‘If I can help, I will.’

Diadromes looked rather happy. ‘This is neither the time nor the place to discuss it. Would you like to meet for dinner this evening? I know a nice place right next to the Temple of Aphrodite. Shall we say the eleventh hour?’

‘Eleventh it is.’