The Emperor's Silver: Agent of Rome 5 (35 page)

‘This threat you spoke of when we first met – any indication that you are in danger here?’

‘Not yet but—’

‘Come, I shall escort you to the stables.’

Once beyond the looming shadows of the basilica, they walked in bright sunlight across one corner of the forum towards the giant stables used daily by hundreds of city officials. They hadn’t gone far when a pair of elderly men each accompanied by a retinue of at least a dozen ceased their conversation to bid Diadromes a polite ‘good day’. Diadromes returned the greeting but kept moving.

‘Council members. If I were to engage them in conversation I’d be lucky to get away in time for dinner.’

‘Busy day?’

‘Oh yes. I doubt I shall get to the baths – again. By this evening I must sort out a dispute with a shipping agent about harbour fees, amend an urgent set of regulations about what is to be considered white bread and what is to be considered brown, and then there is the smuggling ring you uncovered. Plus tomorrow we have a trade delegation coming in from Hierapolis. They’ll expect to see the weaving factories but Pomponianus isn’t sure we should risk it – wouldn’t want another incident to upset the visitors.’

‘Gods. At least I only have one problem to deal with. Well, that and my impetuous bodyguard.’

‘Ex-gladiator, I presume?’

‘Indeed. Generally he’s fairly biddable but when it comes to the rough stuff he … doesn’t hold back.’

‘Thoroughbreds are often highly strung. But please keep him under control. If your name comes to Pomponianus’ attention again, he may decide to take more of a personal interest in your presence here.’

As it was now mid-afternoon, the stables were quiet. The younger lads were gathered outside, throwing walnuts into a clay pot. But one enterprising type was keeping a close eye out for potential tips and hurried over to Cassius.

‘Fetch your mount for you, sir?’

‘Certainly. Name’s Crispian.’

‘Won’t be a minute, sir.’ The lad sped away.

‘Deputy Magistrate!’ A young groom who had just emerged from the stalls ran up. He was wearing a long apron covered in horsehair.

‘By Jupiter, here we go,’ murmured Diadromes.

More grooms came out of the stables to see what was going on.

The young man bowed to Diadromes. ‘Good day, sir.’

‘Good day, Sorio.’

‘Sir, what’s to happen to Ravilla? Is Nemetorius going to have him flogged? Or worse?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘You won’t let them kill him, will you, sir? Not for throwing a few stones.’

Cassius withdrew; he didn’t need this much attention. Diadromes didn’t particularly seem to be enjoying it either. More grooms had arrived and the boys had abandoned their game.

‘That is a matter for the magistrate and the courts.’

Sorio wasn’t the only one with questions:

‘Why’s the army got him, sir?’

‘When will he be punished?’

‘What does the magistrate think?’

‘You know what that Celer’s like, don’t you, sir?’

The grooms had pressed in around the deputy magistrate quickly.

Diadromes remained calm. ‘Now listen, lads. We can’t have people assaulting women and children in the street. You all know that. The sergeants did their job and Centurion Nemetorius too. Back to the stables with you now.’

‘It’s you should be magistrate, sir,’ said Sorio. Some of the others cheered.

‘You’re very kind but I’m too busy with my present post to stand for election.’

‘Down with Pomponianus,’ shouted someone.

‘Now,’ said Diadromes sternly. ‘Let’s have none of that. We all want what’s best for Berytus.’

‘Not Celer,’ said another. ‘He wants what’s best for him. The rest of ’em aren’t any better. There’s only you what knows the life of a working man.’

‘Look, lads, I don’t have time for this now. But I’ll ask you to stay away from these protests. I wouldn’t want any of you getting into trouble.’

‘It’s the weavers you have to worry about there, sir,’ said Sorio. ‘Never known them so angry.’

‘Everyone just needs to calm down,’ said Diadromes. ‘Besides, it’s too bloody hot to get agitated. Oh, did I tell you this one – man goes to the surgeon. “Sir, sir, everyone keeps ignoring me.” “Next, please!” “Sir, sir, have you got anything for a headache?” The surgeon gives him a hammer. “Try this.” “Sir, sir, I keep thinking I’m a dog.” “Sit on that chair and we’ll talk about it.” “I can’t, I’m not allowed on the chair.”’

Cassius thought this a rather desperate manoeuvre but by the time the Syrian had rattled off half a dozen more japes, the grooms were too busy laughing to pester him. With a wink at Cassius, Diadromes bade the young men farewell and headed back towards the basilica. Cassius heard a few complaints about how he hadn’t really listened to them as he went to meet the lad with his horse. He gave a good tip, mounted up and rode for the nearest street; he didn’t intend to stop for anything.

Simo’s hands were slick with blood. As he continued to carve cuts from the slab of meat, Cassius lowered his aching body on to a stool and drank the wine he’d just poured himself. He had taken only one wrong turn on the return trip but even that had been enough to produce an anxious minute or two. While running back to the tower from the stables he’d passed Indavara, who was too busy pulling a pail up out of the well to notice him.

‘How is he?’

‘Keeping busy, sir. First it was weightlifting; then he cleared the rest of the rubble outside; now he’s filling every spare container with water. He’s barely said a word. What happened, sir?’

Cassius described the incident. ‘He almost killed him, Simo.’

The attendant had stopped carving.

‘And do you know what he has been talking about all morning?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Abandoned babies. How terrible it is. How terrible the world is – all the cruelty and suffering and death.’

Simo looked down at the meat.

‘I wonder where he would have heard talk like that.’ Cassius pointed at the Gaul and kept his voice low. ‘Now you listen to me, and you’d better take it in this time. He is not like you or I. He does not have – or at least cannot recall – a good family or upbringing to see him through. Most of what life he remembers was spent in an existence that I don’t even want to imagine. For all his physical strength, he is fragile. And the next time he loses control of himself who knows what he might do? Or to whom?’

‘Sir, I have not tried to bring him into the Faith. But he is curious.’

‘Perhaps. But do not weigh him down with these burdens – worrying about every waif and stray, agonising over every supposed injustice. It does no bloody good to anyone; and certainly not him. Now, tonight, you will cook a pleasant meal and we will drink together and we will talk only of the good parts of life. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, Master Cassius.’

‘I hope so, Simo. Because I will not allow you to drag him down.’

Cassius tried his best. After they had eaten what was indeed a fine dinner – peppered pork belly and green beans followed by nut cake – he tried to start up a game of ‘guess the emperor’. Unfortunately it died a swift death and it became irrefutably evident that the evening would be a struggle when Indavara didn’t finish his meal. The bodyguard spent most of his time staring out from the top of the tower at the dark sky.

Cassius then began reminiscing about good times the three of them had spent together; the drinking competition with the crew of the
Fortuna Redux
,
touring the markets of Bostra where every imaginable food and good was available, seeing the remarkable King’s Tomb of Petra. Simo played along but Indavara said little. When the Gaul cleared the plates away, Cassius recalled some of the more notable girls he and Indavara had encountered and suggested a trip to a brothel. The bodyguard shook his head emphatically, remarking that the girls there were ‘just another type of slave’. Cassius was out of ideas.

They sat there in the darkness. From below came the sound of Simo quietly singing as he washed up the dinner things. Around them, the streets were quiet. A light breeze was coming in off the sea. The single lamp on the table flickered.

‘How is he?’ Indavara asked after a while, the first time he had mentioned the incident with Scato.

‘He’ll be all right.’

‘His neck?’

‘He’ll be all right. Especially when he sees the money.’

‘I’ll give you all the coins.’

‘No. We’ll go halves, like I said.’

‘I don’t know … I don’t know why.’

Cassius stood up. ‘Well, he shouldn’t have hit you. We all lose our temper sometimes.’ He walked past Indavara to the edge of the tower, patting his shoulder as he passed him. ‘Try not to worry about it, these things happen. Gods, I can’t believe I missed the baths
again
today. What do you think about going along tomorrow? You can do your exercises, I can have a swim. Well?’

‘If you like.’

Amathea lay back, soapy water lapping against her skin. Her hair was tied up but the lower strands were dark and wet. Sweat glistened on her cheeks and neck.

‘Leave us.’

The maid put down a bottle of oil and did so, closing the door behind her. Alexon could hardly breathe; it was a warm afternoon and the bath-house was clouded with steam and scent.

‘Anything?’ asked Amathea.

‘Good news, I think.’

‘You found him?’

‘No, Skiron is still looking.’

Amathea shook her head.

‘But I have cultivated another source,’ added Alexon quickly. ‘A legionary, or rather an ex-legionary.’

‘You have leverage, I trust?’

‘He is in debt. Heavily.’

‘You used a go-between, of course.’

‘I am not a complete fool, sister.’ Alexon wished he hadn’t said that.

‘Go on.’

‘All this business about an Egyptian spy – no one has heard anything about it before or since the factory raids, so in all likelihood it was a ruse. Apparently this man working with Diadromes was at the eastern gate. None of the legionaries know him – probably works for the treasury. But we have a name: Crispian. Usually with some big bodyguard.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Not yet. Kallikres may know more but until we—’

‘There are a lot of people waiting for our coins, brother. Sidon, Antioch, the Cappadocians. Is there really anything to concern us?’

‘We cannot be sure yet. Crispian’s not housed with the army or the sergeants so we can’t track him. We don’t know if he’s still investigating or not.’

‘And the work crew?’

‘They left the facility secure and are lying low. They can continue production with an hour’s notice. But I would prefer to hear from Kallikres first.’

Amathea reached for her glass, showing the swell of both breasts before sinking beneath the slick of white foam once more.

Alexon – who was still holding his riding cape – moved it in front of his groin. While he tried to think of something unarousing, Amathea sipped at her wine and gazed up at the steam swirling above the bath.

Alexon found he could not think of anything else. Perhaps she would relent this time. ‘Amathea, I am rather dirty – from the ride. Could I—’

From outside came the noise of heavy footsteps then a rap on the door. ‘Master Alexon. Are you there?’

‘Wait, Skiron.’

Alexon met him outside. ‘Any luck?’

The attendant hadn’t even had time to take off his riding gloves. ‘No. The tricky swine is clearly trying to avoid us.’

‘You don’t think he’s gone? I mean permanently?’

‘No, sir, not without the boy. Shall I keep searching?’

‘Yes.’ Alexon returned inside. ‘Still no sign of Kallikres. Perhaps we can use the boy as bait.’

‘I don’t know why you haven’t done so already, brother. Use whatever methods you must to bring that deviant under control. We cannot afford to delay delivery to our customers for much longer.’

‘I know.’ Alexon put his cape on a chair. ‘So … may I join you?’

‘If you wish, it is a large bath. I should tell you, though – it is that time of the month. There may be some blood in the water.’

Alexon knew full well it wasn’t that time of the month. But what could one say to such a thing?

‘Ah. I shall get on with this Kallikres business, then.’