The Emperor's Silver: Agent of Rome 5 (19 page)

‘Unusual, is it not?’

‘It is. I thought staying away from the legions might be a safer course.’

‘Bearing in mind what you told me earlier, that doesn’t seem to be working out very well.’

‘Hazard of the occupation, I suppose. Your son – what about leaving it until next year? Seventeen or eighteen is a more typical age to start at such an institution.’

Diadromes grimaced and ran a hand through his thinning hair. For a politician, he had a remarkably expressive face. ‘The lad wants to go now. He has always been one to change his mind quickly and I promised my wife I would get him enrolled before he changes it again.’

‘I see. Surely you must have some leverage?’

Diadromes sneered. ‘With those pompous prigs? The man in charge of admissions is named Sallustius – he comes from one of Berytus’s founding families. The moment I open my mouth I can see the contempt in his eyes. He has refused me twice and now will not even see me.’

Cassius drank more wine; it was light and refreshing – a perfect accompaniment to the fish. ‘The university is a most prestigious institution – they perhaps consider themselves above the world of favour and influence.’

‘I’d say it depends on who is doing the favouring and influencing. But you, Crispian, are with the Service. Even Sallustius will know of Chief Pulcher, how close he is to the Emperor. He and the other professors make much of their close ties to the capital. There were rumours of a scandal involving Sallustius several years ago. Perhaps if I provide you with the details?’

Now it was Cassius’s turn to grimace. ‘To be honest, I think such a blunt approach unwise. I suppose my spearhead will get me a meeting at least. Then I can get a measure of the man and see what can be done. I wouldn’t hold your breath, however.’

‘All I ask is that you try,’ said Diadromes. ‘I have exhausted all other possibilities and my wife speaks of nothing else. The enrolment lists are published at the end of the month; time is running short. I will ask a third party to arrange a meeting for the morning.’

‘Very well. I shall be interested to see the place at last. Now, this villa you spoke of …’

‘There may be a small difficulty but if I can make it happen I shall. It is well located and
extremely
secure. You will be comfortable and safe there.’

They both drank their wine. Now there was the possibility of ‘a small difficulty’. Cassius didn’t need to be a soothsayer to predict that the small difficulty might become a major one if he didn’t get anywhere with this Sallustius character.

Diadromes raised his glass. ‘To the gods. May they favour us both.’

At first the cook seemed annoyed by the rough-looking man cluttering up his kitchen. But when the maid explained that Indavara was a guest of the deputy magistrate, he offered to prepare whatever he wanted. Indavara eventually settled on a large bowl of sweetened milk filled with roasted nuts and blanched fruit. As the eatery was extremely hot and the other two obviously wanted some privacy, he took his dessert out to the rear courtyard. It was a walled square lit by two lanterns, each one attracting a cloud of insects. Only when he had emptied the bowl and licked the spoon clean did he give any thought to the events of the day.

Indavara admitted to himself that Corbulo’s ‘victory’ had riled him but he’d been planning the ‘attack’ for some time. The man had to realise that sometimes you just had to act. He was so confident of Indavara; too reliant on him. Indavara knew it would take only one mistake; he had seen it often enough in the arena. Even though he trained every day, worshipped his Fortuna and tried his best to stay sharp, his luck would run out some time.

He was about to return inside when he heard shouting. A young man came flying out of the kitchen then slipped and fell, groaning as he landed. An older man was right behind him, already pulling his belt from around his waist.

‘You little turd. How dare you embarrass me in front of my friends. You speak only when you’re spoken to.’

Indavara had seen such things many times. Before being recruited by Abascantius he had worked as a bodyguard for several rich men, which meant a lot of standing around at side doors and back doors. Most masters waited until they were away from their companions before confronting their servants.

The young man knew what was coming; he already had his hands up. Master was a squat individual in a bright orange tunic. He lifted the belt high. Indavara was glad to see that at least he wasn’t using the buckle end.

‘What did he do?’

The Syrian was more surprised than alarmed. ‘None of your bloody business.’

He spun around and lashed at Servant. Even though the belt striped his arm red, Servant kept his defences up. Master thrashed him three times more and – when the arms finally came down – struck a heavy blow across his head.

Whimpering, Servant scrambled back to the courtyard’s rear wall.

‘Please, sir. I – I apologise for my rudeness. It will never happen again.’

Master marched across the courtyard and lifted the belt once more.

‘I reckon that’s enough,’ said Indavara.

‘Who in Hades are you to tell me what to do? Why don’t you piss off?’

Indavara put the bowl down on a nearby windowsill. He was about ready to walk over and strangle this arsehole with his own belt.

To begin with, seeing such things had not concerned him. He had endured far worse, after all, and spared not a thought for anyone else. During those six long years in the arena he had expended every last ounce of energy on his survival. Nothing else mattered.

But the world outside was a complicated place. A place of friends and enemies, powerful and powerless, masters and servants. Corbulo always said the world was cruel and there was no sense in trying to change it. He also said that Indavara and Simo should mind their own business; especially as they worked for him and the Service. But, as time passed, Indavara found it harder and harder to ignore things like this. It seemed to him that Corbulo wasn’t quite right. Life was hard; but some men chose to be cruel.

And now, if he so wished, he could do something about it.

Master swung again, though the belt caught more stone than flesh.

‘What’s the rule, slave?’

‘I must only speak when I am spoken to. I must only speak when I am spoken to.’

Master was breathing heavily. He turned round and put his belt back on, then looked across the courtyard.

Indavara stood below the lantern, glaring at him.

Master glared back; and Indavara wondered whether the man might have decided to take him on. But then the eyes dropped lower, taking in Indavara’s body, and his scars, and the two blades at his belt.

Master summoned a final look of disdain then hurried inside.

Servant checked the welts on his arms then stood up.

‘You all right?’ asked Indavara.

Without a word or a glance, Servant followed Master.

Lying across the bed wearing only a loincloth, Cassius dictated a letter. He guessed Abascantius might still be in Bostra and it seemed advisable to report his arrival in Berytus, if only to reassure his superior that he was moving forward despite the difficulties in Tripolis. Cassius actually winced as he thought of the agent and Marcellinus reading about the disastrous trip to Megakreon’s villa and the ensuing chaos. Most embarrassing of all was the amateurish way in which he had all but accused a law-abiding citizen of being a counterfeiter because of nothing more than uncorroborated, circumstantial evidence.

‘Take that to the way station yourself, Simo,’ he said as the attendant finished writing. ‘And make sure the duty officer marks it correctly – most secret.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Once he had rolled up the letter and sealed it with gum, Simo looked out of the inn window and began rubbing his neck.

‘Spit it out,’ said Cassius, who could always tell when the Gaul had something to confess. They were alone; Indavara was at the stables, visiting Patch.

‘Sir, I spoke to one of the innkeeper’s men yesterday. His father is active in the Faith and attends a church-house not far from here. If there is a meeting, might I be permitted to—’

‘What do I always say, Simo? Of course you may, once all your duties are complete. But make absolutely no mention of my name whatsoever or what we are doing in Berytus.’

‘Of course. Thank you, sir.’

Cassius sat up and pointed at a pile of clothes resting on one of the saddlebags. ‘When I get back I’ll need my best red tunic, my helmet and a freshly polished belt.’

‘This trip to the university, sir?’

‘Indeed. I’d prefer not to parade around with all that on but I need to make a strong impression.’

‘Leave it to me, Master Cassius.’

‘Before you go – where’s my water?’

Simo pulled a bowl out from under the bed. ‘Here, sir, probably only warm now. I can get—’

‘It’ll do.’

Simo carefully put the letter inside a cloth bag which he then hung from his shoulder. ‘I suppose I should take one of the badges, sir.’

‘Yes, you’ll need that.’

Simo retrieved it from another saddlebag and pinned it to his tunic.

Cassius was about to dunk his hands in the water but found himself looking at the attendant. ‘What’s so special about these church-houses, Simo? I mean, I appreciate that it’s your version of a temple but I remember that place in Antioch – just an average house, no finery, nothing to impress. It hardly glorifies your Christ, does it? There aren’t even any statues or pictures of him – does anyone know what he looked like?’

‘The church-house gives us a chance to be together, sir. To study, to pray, to sing. And to honour our Lord through good deeds. I have heard that much help is given to those in need here in Berytus.’

‘And Christ?’

Simo smiled and put a hand against his chest. ‘We do not need pictures or statues, sir. He is within all of us.’

The Gaul left, gently shutting the door behind him.

Cassius shrugged. As he began washing his hands, he noticed his hardwood box on another saddlebag. Simo hadn’t had time to put the figurines out but the top was open and the gods seemed to be giving Cassius another reproachful stare.

‘Just asking.’

‘Ah, I should have joined the army,’ said Diadromes. ‘With your height as well – very impressive.’

‘Can we get this over with?’ replied Cassius as he buckled the helmet strap. ‘I don’t want to keep all this on any longer than I have to. You were going to give me some more information, I believe?’

They were standing behind one of the four vast columns at the front of the university, accompanied by Indavara, Simo and Diadromes’s clerk.

‘Yes, indeed.’ The Syrian took a step closer and spoke quietly. ‘If all else fails, it might be worth mentioning the scandal I spoke of. It involved Sallustius’ brother – also a notable professor here – and a student who has now left. It was claimed that the young man received extra tuition, favourable reports and a good deal of … let us call it personal attention. There was much speculation at the time but Sallustius moved quickly to limit the damage and was able to keep his brother in his post. But rumour has it that this man now has another favourite. If such talk were to reach Rome …’

‘Understood, but I’d like to avoid that kind of tactic if possible.’

Diadromes frowned. ‘You’re a grain man. I would have thought that was precisely your type of tactic.’

‘I am an officer of the Imperial Army,’ said Cassius as he straightened his sword belt. ‘Putting the reputation of the Service aside for a moment, please credit me with some understanding of the concept of honour.’

Diadromes reddened slightly. ‘Of course.’

His clerk subtly approached and whispered in his ear.

‘We are very close to the fifth hour, Officer. Sallustius is not one to tolerate tardiness. Best of luck. My clerk will wait outside for you and let me know how it went. I’ll send Cosmas over to you later.’

Cassius nodded and made a last adjustment to his chin strap. As Diadromes walked swiftly away across the forum, his clerk handed Cassius a piece of paper. It listed the time of his appointment and the room number for the meeting.

Cassius gestured to himself. ‘Well?’