The Emperor's Silver: Agent of Rome 5 (21 page)

Cassius noted some furniture stacked up below the stairs; a bed, a cupboard, some small tables. Simo seemed more interested in the state of the floor, which was covered in patchy reed matting and hundreds of rodent droppings.

Indavara was already heading up the stairs. ‘I like it. I really like it.’

Cassius turned to Diadromes. ‘Security it is. Thank you.’

The Syrian gave him the keys. ‘Have your man make a list of anything you need and give it to my clerk. I believe there’s still a stables just over the road so that’s the horses taken care of.’

‘Latrine?’ said Cassius.

‘Good deep hole over there,’ said Diadromes, pointing into the shadows. ‘Ventilation bricks too.’

‘You will put up a curtain, Simo.’

‘Yes, sir. Master Diadromes, might I enquire – water?’

‘There’s a well at the back, covered with a big slab of granite. As long as you can get that off it should be fine. I’m afraid I have to be going. Tell you what, Crispian, I’ll come over later with Cosmas around sundown. Oh, and thank you again, you have no idea how much easier you’ve made my life. I don’t recall the last time I saw my wife with a smile upon her face.’

Diadromes marched out of the tower and back to his horse, already barking orders at his clerk.

Simo had located a broom. He started sweeping then stopped, as if there were no point even beginning such a huge task.

‘Don’t worry, we’ll give you a hand,’ said Cassius. ‘And you heard what he said about the list.’

‘Chuck me the keys,’ yelled Indavara from the stairs. ‘This door’s locked too. I want to go up top.’

Cassius threw them to him then glanced around once more.

‘Happy, sir?’

‘
Happier
, Simo. Gods willing, I may even sleep tonight.’

For once, Cassius actually fulfilled his promise of helping out. Though there was seldom any need for him to involve himself in practical labours, he was not unused to them. He had grown up surrounded by servants but his father had always insisted he learn every skill associated with looking after his various horses and, as a boy, he’d spent countless hours helping the gardener in the villa grounds. Cassius had also dirtied his hands during training. He had cleaned and repaired kit, mucked out stables, cooked meals and heaved amphoras around; the legions made few concessions to status or prospective rank during the first few weeks of instruction. Generally, he found such work grindingly tedious, but he recognised that a few hours here and there was probably good for him. So while Indavara and Simo tidied the ground floor, he filled a bucket with water, grabbed a rag and climbed to the top of the tower.

He had already been up to check the view but resolved not to do so again until he’d finished his work. The timber floor was filthy; Simo could attend to that. The stone surround and the underside of the roof would also need attention – whichever birds had been occupying the place seemed to have discharged shit at every conceivable angle on to every surface.

Cassius decided to focus on the table and chairs. The birds hadn’t done too much damage here but all the wood was covered in a thick layer of grime. Barefoot and clad in his oldest tunic, he soaked the rag and got started. Once the table was done, he decided he in fact deserved a break after all; he walked over to the surround and looked out at the city.

Like Tripolis, Berytus was built upon an angular promontory, the western corner of which pointed directly at Cyprus, some hundred miles across the Great Green Sea. To the north was the harbour and the two long breakwaters that protected it. Dozens of high masts could be seen there, and Cassius counted thirteen large vessels at sea. Sails billowing, the ships seemed to be sliding effortlessly across the calm water. The sailing season was now in full flow; cargoes and passengers would be heading south towards Egypt and west towards the rest of the Empire.

The harbour was surrounded by dozens of large warehouses and Cassius also spied several tall cranes. Directly south was the centre and the open spaces of the forum. Here were three of Berytus’s largest structures: the basilica, the theatre and the university.

Cassius moved across the tower and looked west. The city’s sprawl hadn’t yet reached the coast in this direction; there were several miles of golden sand dunes separating it from the sea. At the corner of the promontory was a slender lighthouse of pale stone. He could see smoke drifting from the top of it; the bronze mirror within would reflect the firelight outward, helping ships find their way.

Cassius threw the rag into the pail and looked east. Berytus was hemmed in by a spine of mountains, the low flanks of which were covered by dense, green forest. The highest of the peaks was Lebanon itself; said to reach almost two miles into the sky. For most of the year the mountain was capped by snow but now the summit was grey. Cassius could see at least three roads leading through steep passes, connecting the coastal plain to the fertile Bekaa valley, the rest of Syria and beyond. He wondered how many miles he was from Alauran, the desert fort he and the tiny garrison of legionaries and auxiliaries had defended against the Palmyrans three years earlier.

Despite the glare of the sun, faces appeared: Strabo, Secundus, Barates – the brave, resourceful veterans who had helped him. All gone. All dead because they fought under the flag of Rome. There had been others, too, since Alauran. Major, the bodyguard killed in Antioch; Eborius, the fellow officer killed by the rogue centurion Carnifex in Cyrenaica; and all the men lost in Arabia while fighting to recover the black stone.

Death had claimed them all. Death had been near so many times. Cassius had hoped this assignment would enable him to feel something close to safe, something close to normal. But not after Bostra, not after Tripolis. They were coming for him.

Who? Why?

‘It’s very quiet up there,’ said Indavara from below. ‘Haven’t fallen asleep, have you?’

Cassius shook his head and dragged himself free of the reverie. He couldn’t help the dead and they certainly couldn’t help him.

‘’Course not.’ He walked back to the pail and plucked the rag from the water.

With the possible exception of a few select soldiers and servants, Simo and Indavara were the two hardest-working men Cassius had ever met. Despite his bulk, Simo rarely stopped moving and was supremely efficient. Though far less organised, Indavara threw himself into virtually any physical task with a single-minded energy that at times seemed almost manic.

Descending to the first floor and calling Simo up the steps to collect the pail, Cassius saw that the pair had already tidied and swept the ground floor. The Gaul announced that he had completed and dispatched the list and that Diadromes’s clerk would return with the supplies by the tenth hour. Once rid of the pail, Cassius walked over to one of the windows and looked outside. Indavara was bent over and walking away from the door, flinging rubble aside to create a path to the street. He had stripped down to his training kilt and was already attracting interest from a pair of girls hanging washing on a roof not far away.

Cassius examined his new bedroom; he had claimed it shortly after they arrived. There were a few holes in the timber but the flooring looked sound. The only contents were a large, strong-looking bed frame, another small cupboard and a chamber pot. Simo had already brought some of Cassius’s ten saddlebags upstairs and laid them out on the bed. He employed a numbering system, and Cassius knew that number two contained his most prized belongings.

He took out the spearhead and put it in a corner. Then he found the hardwood box. In her letter, his mother had reminded him to display his figurines no matter how much he was travelling. This time he was determined to do it; he felt guilty for ignoring her request for much of the last three years. He took the box over to the largest window, beneath which was a niche of suitable size. After brushing some dust away, he opened the box and placed it on its side so that the figurines seemed to be standing up and watching over the room. Later, he would give the niche a proper clean and place some candles there; perhaps offer a libation.

Several months ago, back in Bostra, he had decided to make a consistent effort with his worship of Jupiter, hoping that the god of gods would hear his repeated pleas and keep him safe. He resolved to visit the local temple as soon as he could and pray to this little shrine every day. Despite the threat that hung over him like a black cloud, he was at last starting to feel a little better. He had secured a useful ally in Diadromes, this tower seemed ideal, and now he had the gods watching over him too. He had done all he could.

The deputy magistrate was once again late, which made Simo very happy; it gave him an extra hour to continue his efforts and prepare some food. While he worked on downstairs, Cassius sat at the newly clean table at the top of the tower with Indavara.

‘Is that you?’ he asked.

In the early days the bodyguard had given off quite a stench, but Simo had since civilised him and taught him the importance of daily washing.

‘Probably,’ said Indavara, munching his way through a handful of almonds. ‘Some lazy swine didn’t bother to clean off all the bird shit up here so I had to do it.’

‘Fair point; but perhaps you should wash before our esteemed guest arrives? Plenty of water, isn’t there?’

‘There is – since I hauled ten buckets of it up from the well. What exactly were
you
doing all afternoon?’

‘Cleaning my room.’

‘And sleeping. I heard you snoring.’

‘I’m not going through that again – I don’t snore. You’re the snorer, though to be fair we really need to invent a new word for the noise you make. I’ve never heard a rhinoceros in the wildest throes of passion but I can’t imagine it’s all that dissimilar.’

They had only a single candle alight so it was too dark for Cassius to see Indavara’s reaction.

After a while the bodyguard sniffed. ‘Actually, maybe you’re right.’

‘Of course I’m right. A fresh tunic too, perhaps?’

Indavara got up and started down the ladder. As he reached the bottom, a loud voice echoed through the tower.

‘Evening, all! Is the new master at home?’

‘Indeed he is,’ answered Cassius.

Diadromes came up first, followed by a small man who Cassius assumed to be the sergeant Cosmas.

‘Sorry about the gloom. Simo will be up in a minute with a lamp or two.’

‘Here, a welcome gift.’ Diadromes put a flask on the table.

‘Thank you.’

‘Ah, it’s nice to be back up here.’ The Syrian walked over to the surround. ‘All the lights – I used to imagine the different scenes in all the different houses. Romans and foreigners, citizens and slaves, rich and poor.’

Cassius considered iterating that few of the poor would be able to afford to light their houses but he didn’t want to spoil the moment.

‘Good evening, sir,’ said Cosmas, who had quietly moved round to stand opposite Cassius. He had a heavy Syrian accent and a slight lisp.

‘Good evening. Please take a seat.’

Cassius shouted down through the trapdoor: ‘Hurry it up with those lamps, Simo.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Cosmas sat down but Cassius could see nothing of his face, which he found rather unnerving.

‘Looks like you’re settling in well,’ said Diadromes as he sat beside the sergeant.

‘I think we have all we need.’

‘If you don’t mind, Cosmas has some questions for you – about exactly how a counterfeiting gang might operate.’

‘Of course.’

By the time Cassius finished answering, Simo had brought up two lamps, some glasses and more food. Indavara came up too. He greeted the visitors then set about lighting the lamps while Simo poured the wine.

‘Finest Massic,’ proclaimed Diadromes proudly. ‘From my cousin’s vineyard near Naples.’

‘Ah.’ Cassius hid his distaste. To him, ‘finest Massic’ was a contradiction in terms; it was a strong, unsubtle wine that his father refused to allow through the door.

As the orange glow of the oil lamps drew their faces from the darkness, Cassius looked across at Cosmas. The diminutive sergeant was a dark-skinned man with an angular nose and a striking face. His beard was as black as his hair and just as thick. Cosmas thanked his superior for the wine and drank, peering at Indavara over the rim of his glass.