The Emperor's Silver: Agent of Rome 5 (20 page)

Simo tugged down on the middle of the scarlet tunic and made an adjustment to his left cuff. ‘Perfect, sir.’

Indavara was leaning against the pillar, arms crossed. ‘You remind me of that peacock we saw in Tripolis.’

‘Oh, sorry, sir. I almost forgot.’ Simo took the spearhead badge from his own tunic and carefully pinned it onto Cassius’s.

‘Careful, Simo, you know how much that linen cost. You two wait here.’ Cassius couldn’t imagine he’d be in any danger inside the university and wanted Sallustius’ attention to be solely on him. He strode up to the entrance and received a polite greeting from the two city sergeants on duty. Inside was a high, broad corridor with a gleaming floor.

An elderly man sat at a desk with nothing on it. ‘Good day, sir.’

‘Good day. Room thirty-two?’

‘Down to the end then right, sir. Third door on your left.’

Halfway along the corridor, he passed six students. They had been chattering but quietened as they passed him. Cassius felt a warm surge of manly confidence as the students cast concerned glances at his sword; a long blade with a bronze eagle at the base of the hilt. Most of the young men would arrive at the university in their late teens to embark on five years of study, so some would be Cassius’s age or older. When he considered what he had seen and done since arriving in Syria three years ago, the thought of coming here seemed almost ridiculous. Sometimes – very occasionally – Cassius felt proud that he was a successful army officer instead of a fledgling orator.

He passed a room with the door ajar and heard a loud professor lustily outlining the intricacies of liability law as applied to offender and accomplice.

Cassius reached thirty-two and knocked on what looked like mahogany. Another elderly servant opened it and gestured for him to enter. The vice-chancellor certainly didn’t stint on attendants; another man was standing by a table well stocked with food and drink while another was wafting a large fan.

Sallustius himself was at the far end of the chamber, behind a colossal, highly polished desk, also mahogany. He was facing away from the door, hands clasped behind him, looking out at a garden. Despite the folds of his toga, Cassius could tell he was quite fat.

Sallustius turned, hands still behind him. ‘Good day, Officer Crispian.’

Greek, of course – the language of learning.

‘Good day, Vice-Chancellor.’

Sallustius did not come forward to offer his arm; a first attempt to put off his guest perhaps. ‘Please have a seat. My office is rather warm but Musa here is doing his best.’

The servant – almost certainly a slave – was employing a slow, long wafting motion that did seem to be cooling the room a little. Once he had removed his helmet, Cassius patted down his hair and gestured at the desk. ‘May I?’

‘Please.’

He put the helmet down very carefully.

‘A drink?’

‘No, thank you.’ Cassius glanced at the two busts that framed the window. One he couldn’t identify, the other was definitely Ulpianus, famed jurist and graduate of the university.

Sallustius had an unusual face. Clearly the fat didn’t help, but it seemed to have no shape to it and even his greying hair was a curly, greasy mess. The eyes, however, were narrow and bright blue. Cassius doubted they missed much.

‘I don’t recall the last time an army officer requested an appointment with me. This is most unusual.’

‘But not too unpleasant, I trust?’

‘So far, no. However, I must press you to explain why you are here. As you will appreciate, I am a busy man.’

‘As I understand it, one of your areas of responsibility is enrolment.’

‘Ah. Let me guess – you are here on behalf of Aradates?’

‘No.’

‘Diadromes, then. I didn’t know he had any friends in the army.’

‘We are related.’ This was Cassius’s idea; the simplest way to explain his interest.

‘I see.’

‘As you will know, the university has not offered his son a place for the next academic year. This is causing a good deal of unhappiness in the household and the wider family.’

‘That is regrettable but we turn away hundreds of prospective students every year. We can take only fifty.’

‘I am aware of the numbers. I was once offered a place here myself.’

‘Is that right?’

‘In the end I chose the army instead.’

Sallustius glanced at the helmet. A fly was buzzing around the red horsehair crest.

‘The lad is only sixteen,’ Cassius continued. ‘Yet he passed the entrance exam with ease and has excellent references. Surely another student can make way?’

‘I do not see why another student – and another family – should be so disadvantaged. Young Master Diadromes can apply again next year.’

The fan stopped moving for a moment while the slave changed hands.

Cassius changed his approach. ‘It may be the case that my cousin did not present his arguments in a manner befitting this institution. He is not a learned man, but he is exceptionally capable and hard working. His son has inherited these attributes and possesses a plethora of his own. Vice-Chancellor, I am sure you would concur that it is in the interests of the university to extend a warm welcome to the best and brightest, regardless of breeding or background. This institution is known as “the mother of law”. No good mother favours one son over the other. Young Diadromes wishes to better himself; to serve this city, to serve Rome and – above all – to serve the law. Does he not deserve a chance?’

Sallustius put his elbows on the desk and interlocked his fingers. ‘I must say you demonstrate a delicacy of expression not commonly found among the martial class, Officer Crispian. I’m sure you would have done well here. Sadly, as far as your cousin’s son goes, my hands are tied.’

Cassius glanced at the bust. ‘Domitius Ulpianus, is it not?’

‘It is. A remarkable man. I had the great privilege of meeting him as a boy.’

‘Remarkable indeed. I have always been fond of one maxim in particular: “to live honourably, to harm no one,
to give each his own
”.’

‘Once again, you have chosen your words well. It may be the case that some within the university make judgements based on what you term “breeding and background” but I am not one of them. My great-grandfather was a freedman. I and the rest of the admissions board reviewed young Diadromes’s application along with the others and the decision has been made. This is not a fortress, nor a basilica, nor a court. This is the University of Berytus; we make law here. We do not bend rules.’

Cassius had rather enjoyed coming up with his little speech, even though he’d known it was probably a waste of time. At least now nobody could say he hadn’t tried the honourable way.

‘Diadromes is willing to make a substantial contribution to the university.’

‘Is that right? Personally, I hate to talk about money, but I must always consider what’s best for this institution.’

‘I am reluctant to mention a specific number with your men present.’

‘Please, they are all my personal slaves. The most sensitive of matters are discussed in this office every day.’

‘Fifty aurei – for every year of the lad’s study.’

‘A sizeable sum.’

Clearly not sizeable enough.

Diadromes had already told Cassius his absolute maximum.

‘One hundred, then.’

‘Very generous.’ Sallustius obviously had a number in mind too, and that wasn’t it. ‘But as I said earlier, my hands are tied. I’m afraid there’s nothing more to be discussed today.’

Sallustius was about to get up but he stayed where he was when he realised his guest wasn’t leaving.

Cassius sighed, his last hope of a gentlemanly discussion gone. He had learned quickly that the world often worked this way; what was now his world at least. That didn’t make it any less depressing.

‘Unfortunately, you have left me no choice other than to bring up another matter. You still wish your slaves to remain?’

‘Of course.’

‘Very well. I believe it involved your brother and a young—’

Sallustius clapped his hands together. ‘Leave us, you three. Immediately!’

Once outside, Cassius passed on the good news to Diadromes’s clerk, who departed at a run. Cassius took off his helmet and gave it to Simo.

‘So you got what you wanted?’ asked Indavara, still leaning against the column.

‘What I wanted? This wasn’t about what I wanted. When is any bloody thing about what I want?’

‘Only asked.’

Cassius took a light cloak from Simo to cover his tunic. ‘Diadromes got what he wanted, yes. I’ve delivered – now it’s his turn. This house had better be worth it.’

It wasn’t a house; Cassius reckoned it would take him a while to decide whether it was worth it. The street was located in a quiet area of Berytus mostly occupied by townhouses, workshops and bakeries.

Indavara sniffed the air. ‘I love the smell of bread.’

Simo dropped to the ground and gazed in dismay at the wall, though as there were more bricks on the ground than actually on top of each other, Cassius wondered if you could really call it a wall.

‘Oh no,’ said the Gaul. ‘It’s in a terrible state.’

‘I like it,’ said Indavara.

The tower looked rather like those Cassius had seen in the deserts of Arabia and Syria, except it was circular. As Diadromes’s clerk tied off his horse and walked towards it, Cassius used him for scale, estimating that the tower was no less than forty feet high and about fifteen wide. There seemed to be only one door; a reassuringly solid lump of wood banded with iron. There were many windows; all small, grilled and round. At the top, newer stone had been used to construct an open area beneath a pointed, tiled roof supported by three columns.

‘Well, what do you think?’ Having just arrived, Diadromes reined in beside Cassius. Once again, he could easily have passed for a mid-ranking citizen, though today he was wearing a chain of office around his neck. Hanging from it was a miniature silver club.

‘Certainly looks secure,’ said Cassius as he dismounted.

‘Might need a bit of a tidy-up but I doubt there’s a safer residence in all of Berytus.’ Once on the ground, Diadromes called his clerk over and threw him his reins. He then retrieved a heavy ring of iron keys from a saddlebag and led the way towards the door.

Cassius followed him, inspecting the dusty, weed-strewn ground that surrounded the tower. ‘Was there ever a path? Or a gate?’

‘Not really,’ said the Syrian cheerfully. ‘I was never too bothered about the exterior, to be honest.’

He grinned as Indavara and Simo joined them by the door. ‘Between you and me, this is where I used to play dice with my friends; brought the odd girl here too. Until my wife made an honest man out of me, that is. I was going to sell but I just couldn’t do it. Must have had it fifteen years or so now.’

‘It looks like a guard tower,’ said Indavara as Diadromes brushed dirt off the rusty lock and slotted in the key.

‘That’s exactly what it was. Years ago this spot was beyond the city walls. There are a few inscriptions scratched inside by soldiers. The oldest one mentions Marcus Aurelius, would you believe?’

The key was refusing to turn. ‘Always was a bit stiff. Ah, there you go.’

Hinges groaning, the big door opened. Diadromes pushed it all the way back and jerked out the key.

Cassius waved dust away from his face as he followed him inside.

‘A tad smelly but that can be sorted out easily enough.’

‘A tad dark, too,’ said Cassius.

Diadromes pointed at the wooden stairway constructed against the wall opposite the door. ‘That runs up to the bedroom, then there’s another one up to the roof. I believe I left the table and chairs. Excellent view too.’

Indavara and Simo wandered around, peering into the shadows.

Diadromes grabbed Cassius’s arm. ‘Sorry, I forgot to thank you – must be the excitement. You can imagine what a happy house I left behind. My son and my wife are thrilled.’

‘I told Sallustius that you knew nothing of my visit. I doubt he’ll give you any more trouble.’

‘I am in your debt, Officer Crispian. If this place isn’t suitable I’m sure we can find something else. I suppose it all depends on which is more important: comfort or security.’