The Emperor's Silver: Agent of Rome 5 (23 page)

‘Oh.’

‘Goodnight, sir.’

Cassius quickly shut the door and bolted it. He stood there for a moment, gazing up at the windows facing west, where the last red rays of the sun speared the darkness.

It was all so damned tenuous; and once again he was basing the investigation on hunches and a few disparate threads that might add up to very little. Still, he was grateful for the help offered by Diadromes and Cosmas; staying off the streets was a definite advantage at the moment.

Indavara and Simo’s beds had arrived the previous day. There seemed to be no end to Diadromes’s generosity and the mattresses were well made and stuffed with straw. They had also been given two cushions each, and Indavara still wasn’t quite used to such soft support for his head. He twisted and turned for a while, unable to get comfortable.

‘Are you still awake?’ asked Simo.

‘Yes, unfortunately.’

‘Do you think Master Cassius meant what he said?’

‘Probably.’

Indavara adjusted the light blanket he used in the summer months. The tower was dark and silent. Outside, he could hear a cart bumping along the street.

‘Simo, who were these people you were giving bread to?’

‘Some were Palmyran refugees. Some were ill. Some were just poor. They gather near the docks, living off scraps. We’d only given out a few loaves when the men came. It has nothing to do with belief; just common thievery. They took the bread right out of the hands of the old and the young and the sick.’

Simo whispered a prayer to himself.

‘What about the city sergeants – they’re supposed to deal with crime, aren’t they?’

‘Not if it means helping Christians.’

‘None of your lot will fight back, I suppose?’

‘Actually one man tried to. He is a legionary – he follows the Faith but has to keep it a secret from his fellow soldiers.’ The tone of Simo’s voice changed. ‘I fought too.’

Indavara turned on to his side, facing the Gaul. ‘They’ll try again, your friends – to feed these people?’

‘I expect so. Without me, though.’

‘Maybe not. What if I came to help next time?’

‘Indavara—’

‘Don’t worry, I would leave my blades here. I just … I would like to help.’

‘But what about Master Cassius?’

‘Leave him to me.’

The following morning, Diadromes’s clerk arrived with two letters (Cassius had asked the deputy magistrate to have his office collect any post that arrived for him at the basilica). The letters were bound together: one was from Abascantius, one from Marcellinus.

Cassius read them in his room after breakfast. Marcellinus had written only a few lines but had made it clear that – whatever the gravity of the investigation – he was to employ caution when dealing with men of rank. Abascantius seemed more upset by the wasting of time and overall lack of progress. Both of them concluded by reminding Cassius that he had to move quickly; Minister Sabinus had now brought the situation to Aurelian’s attention and the Emperor was enraged by the thought of his likeness and new coinage being exploited by criminals. Abascantius reckoned Cassius had about two or three weeks to make a breakthrough. Once Sabinus’s patience ran out he would send a senior treasury official to take charge.

Having read all that, Cassius felt somewhat guilty about the prospect of another unproductive day spent waiting around to see if Cosmas got anywhere.

The one material the gang would definitely need a lot of was bronze; and it would come in via either the roads or the port. Cassius called Simo up and dictated a letter to Diadromes; it was surely wise to capitalise on the Syrian’s goodwill while the favour remained fresh in his mind. Cassius asked him to find out if the municipal tax collectors or anyone else maintained records on those outfits within Berytus that imported, stockpiled or made use of large quantities of bronze. He requested that any information be sent to him at the tower immediately.

When Simo finished writing and headed for the stairs, Cassius added a final instruction.

‘You wouldn’t dream of visiting your new friends on my time, would you? I am not going to change my mind about this. You deliver the note then come straight back.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Cassius spent the morning up on the roof, working on the translation again. After completing another three pages, his pen ran dry. Unfortunately, Simo wasn’t yet back from the basilica so – instead of going to prepare some fresh ink for himself – he sat there daydreaming, slumped on the table, head resting on his arm.

One of his uncles had a friend in Rome who published military texts. Cassius imagined returning home with his translation complete, then visiting bookshops with his mother and father, seeing his new work upon the shelf.
Cassius Quintius Corbulo, author
. He liked the sound of that.

‘Corbulo!’ shouted Indavara from below.

‘What?’

‘Want to do some sword work?’

Not particularly
. ‘I suppose so. Where? I’m not doing it outside with every bugger watching.’

‘I’ve found somewhere quiet. Close by.’

Cassius sighed. ‘Very well.’

‘Somewhere’ turned out to be a small sanctuary just down the street. Like the tower’s, much of the wall had collapsed but the interior was shielded from prying eyes by overgrown trees and bushes, most of which had been dried to a crisp by the summer sun.

‘Wonder which god or goddess it was for?’ said Indavara, tapping his wooden sword against his knee as they made their way inside.

‘No way to tell now,’ said Cassius as he pushed a thorny branch out of his way. In the middle of the sanctuary was an open space and a dusty square where a large plinth had once stood.

‘How could it get like this?’ asked Indavara. ‘Shouldn’t the followers look after it?’

‘Perhaps it was for a god who fell out of favour. It happens. Or it may have been built by people who no longer live here.’

‘Do you know if there is a sanctuary or shrine for Fortuna in Berytus?’

‘Probably somewhere, though it seems your friend Aphrodite is the local favourite. Ask Cosmas if you want to go and pay your respects.’

Indavara kicked a clump of weeds. ‘How could they just abandon their god? I could never forget my Fortuna.’

‘Only because you believe she has helped you. What if things took a turn for the worse? Everything went wrong and she seemed to have forsaken you? What then?’

‘I would pray to her to help me. And I believe she would.’

Cassius began his warm-up, swinging his arms across his chest. ‘Sometimes I envy you your conviction. It makes things rather simpler.’

‘Well, you often tell me I am simple.’

‘That is not what I meant, as well you know.’

Indavara stopped in the middle of his own exercises. ‘I remember you once saying you liked the idea of Simo’s “kingdom” – where everyone you’ve ever known and loved is together and happy for ever.’

‘An appealing idea; but far too perfect to be something I could ever believe in.’

‘Do you envy Simo? His con …’

‘Conviction – a strongly held belief. No, I can’t say I do. I think conviction can easily become delusion; and then we get incidents like last night.’

‘He was just trying to help people.’

‘All well and good. But he belongs to me; and his first priority is to help
me
. Clearly he needs regular reminders of that.’

‘But …’

‘But what?’ Cassius looked up at the sky and wiped his already damp brow. ‘By the gods, it’s hot.’

‘Nothing,’ said Indavara. ‘Let’s fight.’

‘Promise not to stand on me this time?’

‘Yes. Promise not to catch my chin?’

‘No.’

A dozen clucking quail bustled out of the trees. It was now mating season and two of the plumper males were pecking at the ground with their bright red beaks, trying to impress the females. Alexon was sick of the noise so clapped at the birds, driving them back into the greenery.

He looked over at Amathea, who was sitting at the edge of the meadow, which was growing drier and paler every day. Skiron was squatting by a bucket, washing his hands. He and the hunters had only just finished their work; digging up the ground on either side of the drive, ready for the flower beds Amathea wanted.

Alexon walked over to his sister, who narrowed her eyes when she saw the expression on his face.

‘We don’t have to show him. But I would like the option, that’s all.’

Alexon nodded and sat down next to her.

Amathea continued with her sewing. ‘Anything from Sidon?’

‘Yes. They’ve moved all of it. They want double next time.’

‘Excellent. How are they paying?’

‘Sapphires, amethysts and ivory.’

‘Ah, ivory. I might have another necklace made up.’

Alexon glanced sideways at his sister. Her mouth, to be precise. That perfect mouth. Even on the hottest, driest day, the plump, full lips glistened invitingly.

‘He’s here,’ said Skiron. The hunters had walked over to the other side of the meadow to practise with their bows.

Alexon heard the gate bolt being opened, then shut. Kallikres appeared, again walking hesitantly up the drive.

‘Over here,’ said Alexon.

As he came closer, the sergeant looked at Skiron, who was standing close to his mistress, sinewy arms folded across his chest.

‘Good day,’ said Amathea, putting her sewing to one side.

Kallikres did not reply.

‘Well?’ said Alexon. ‘Your note mentioned a new problem.’

‘I don’t know the details but a man has arrived in the city. He seems to be working with Deputy Magistrate Diadromes – one of his sergeants has been out on the streets, questioning informers about two very specific things.’

Amathea brushed her glossy hair away from her eyes. ‘Is this a guessing game? Continue.’

‘Firstly, your friend Florens. Secondly, a gang that might be producing counterfeit coins.’

Alexon slumped back in his chair. He’d tried to control everything, predict everything; but it was always so difficult in their line of work. He looked up at the villa and hoped this wasn’t the beginning of the end. Another end. He wanted to stay.

‘Who is this man?’ he asked.

‘Possibly treasury,’ said Kallikres. ‘I don’t know.’

‘We need a name.’

Amathea shrugged. ‘They were already asking about the coins – probably doing the same in every city. And we already knew that Florens had been spotted.’

‘Sister, it is one thing for them to look for the coins, another for them to look for
us
.’

‘Where is Florens now?’ asked Kallikres.

‘We’ll get to that,’ replied Amathea. ‘My brother is right – we need a name plus whatever else you can get – who he works for, what he knows.’

Kallikres shook his head. ‘Diadromes’s department is entirely separate from mine. It’s only because my superior happened to be at the magistrate’s residence that I even knew this man was here. I had to call in a favour to find out what Diadromes’s lackey was up to. Any more digging and someone will get suspicious. Everyone’s jumpy enough as it is with all the protests.’

‘We need a name,’ repeated Amathea.

‘I tried. This man doesn’t want anyone to know he’s here.’