The Emperor's Silver: Agent of Rome 5 (43 page)

Neither of them particularly felt like hanging around at the headquarters – especially with all the curious sergeants watching – so they adjourned to the fish restaurant. Cosmas warned that it might take him a while to get the information Cassius had requested and it was almost midday when he joined them.

‘Hot again,’ he said, plucking his sticky tunic off his chest as he sat down beside Indavara.

Cassius examined the scrap of paper the sergeant had just given him.

‘Those are the names of all the refuse collectors fined for improper use of a dump in the last year.’

‘Nine. That’s their business – refuse collection?’

‘There’s quite a demand for it, especially in the centre where space is limited. They have a fleet of carts and labourers – they take the rubbish, sort what they can to sell on, then get rid of the rest.’

‘Why are three underlined?’

‘The list didn’t specify at which location the penalty was incurred but I did a bit more asking around and those three are the only fined outfits that use that dump.’

‘Ah, well done. You can take us to them?’

‘Certainly, though I need a drink first.’ Cosmas waved at one of the maids and ordered some wine. Cassius refused on behalf of himself and Indavara – they’d already had two each.

‘Anything more on the smugglers?’

‘Up to a dozen arrests now, and half a warehouse of seized goods. The lead officers are reporting directly to Pomponianus but Diadromes has found out that the bronze was for selling on – to a furniture-maker in Ouzai. Nothing to interest us, I’m afraid. Oh, I’m also supposed to remind you about that daily report for the magistrate.’

‘I haven’t forgotten. Let’s just hope there is something more to report.’

It took them an hour to reach the first place; largely on account of an altercation between a group of performers and a squad of legionaries. The dancers and actors (genuine actors this time) were performing an unsubtle play mocking both Nemetorius and Pomponianus. Fortunately, a senior city sergeant arrived and calmed the situation.

The refuse-collecting business was housed in a fenced yard with three large carts, one of which was being repaired. They found the owner – a surprisingly young Greek – inside a shack, doing his accounts. He looked alarmed when Cosmas mentioned the fines but cheered up when Cassius put a denarius on his desk and enquired about red amphoras. The Greek disclosed that his outfit had previously disposed of the broken vessels at the dump but for the last eight months had been selling them on to a builder who used them for foundation material.

The next outfit was only a few streets away. The yard was similar to the Greek’s but silent and secured by a locked gate. Cosmas called out but no one appeared.

The third place was half a mile away but considerably closer to the dump. This outfit was the largest of the three, with half a dozen carts lined up and a crew of five labourers sorting through a pile of scrap metal and wood.

Cosmas questioned them and discovered that the owner was out. He showed the men the fragment of amphora and they laughed, replying that it could have come from anywhere. Having been buoyed by Indavara’s discovery, Cassius felt a familiar sense of frustration returning.

As they had spoken in Greek, he took up the questioning. ‘So all of you have unloaded similar amphoras at that dump?’

‘Many times,’ said one of the Syrians.

‘And seen the children looking inside them?’

‘When they’re there,’ said the man. ‘But they usually just take the ones that aren’t too badly damaged – someone can use them, I suppose.’

‘None of you remember any of them ever finding coins? It would probably have been fairly recently.’

The man shook his head, as did two of the others.

Cassius noticed that the other two didn’t seem to be responding. ‘What about them?’

‘They don’t speak Greek.’

Cassius was about ready to slap the man. ‘By the gods. Do they speak
Aramaic
?’

‘Yes.’

‘So ask them!’

The conversation went on for a while. Cassius didn’t understand much of it but perked up when Cosmas said, ‘Ah.’

‘What?’

The sergeant pointed at the younger of the two workers. ‘He remembers the children finding the coins. When he saw they were bad fakes he let them keep them.’

‘Does he remember where the amphoras came from?’

Cosmas grinned.

The Baths of Marcus Aurelius were housed in a large, oval building ringed by a double layer of arches. The steam that rose from various points within and around it soon disappeared into the ether, unlike the smoke rising from several factories close by.

‘Strange place to put it,’ observed Cassius as they passed a row of litters. The passengers that emerged were all elderly gentlemen.

‘I believe it’s because there was no other space close to the main aqueduct channel,’ said Cosmas. ‘The factories need the water supply too, of course. And one of these as well.’

Having passed through the circle of conifers that surrounded the baths, they came to a patch of unsightly waste ground. The small pile of refuse in the middle of it was composed mainly of seashells, animal bones and some mouldy hides.

Cassius and Indavara listened as Cosmas spoke with the helpful labourer, who’d been given a denarius for his troubles. From where they stood, Cassius could see smoke rising from six different buildings. This was a busy location with good communications. Perfect, in fact, except that—

‘These places would have been checked, right?’ asked Indavara. ‘The “inspections”?’

‘Yes,’ said Cassius. ‘But they might have missed something. Those coins came from somewhere. Somewhere around here.’

Cosmas and the Syrian had finished talking.

‘Here’s how it works,’ said the sergeant. ‘This fellow’s outfit has a contract with certain factories and workshops in this area. Usually the clients leave their refuse here for the carts to take to the main dump. But sometimes the refuse collectors go straight to the premises.’

‘The red amphoras?’

‘He’s sure they came from this area because he’s been on the route for several months. But he can’t remember if they came directly from a factory or from here. However, he knows who dumps what and he reckons there’s only four outfits around here who use amphoras.’

‘Four, eh?’

‘He can show me,’ said the sergeant. ‘Do you want to come?’

‘Probably best for us not to show our faces.’

‘Won’t take me long.’ Cosmas pointed back towards the trees.

‘There’s a nice little sanctuary behind the baths.’

‘We’ll be waiting.’

The sanctuary was indeed pleasant. Cassius and Indavara sat on a bench and watched as a priest and a group of young followers swept the paths and watered the flowers. The statue of the god was too far away for Cassius to identify.

He closed his eyes and told himself to calm down; there had been so many dashed hopes, after all. But he couldn’t help feeling hopeful. Were the counterfeiters close? Perhaps even casting coins as they sat there?

He took a breath and resolved not to think about it until Cosmas returned.

‘Simo hasn’t been with you?’

‘What?’ replied Indavara.

‘These visits to the Christians. Simo hasn’t been with you?’

‘No.’

‘She pretty, this girl?’

‘Yes.’

‘I think it would be good for you, to have—’

‘There’s Cosmas.’

As he strode over to them, the sergeant took a handkerchief from behind his belt and mopped his face.

Cassius and Indavara stood.

‘Three,’ said Cosmas. ‘Three with forges. I remember all of them from the inspections last week but I assume you’ll want to check again?’

‘What are they?’

‘One is a glass factory, one makes iron railings and one makes sarcophagi.’

‘Sar … what?’ asked Indavara.

‘Big stone coffins,’ answered Cosmas. ‘For rich people.’

‘That’s it,’ said Cassius. ‘It’s that one.’

‘How can you be sure?’ asked the sergeant.

‘Transportation. Sarchophagi are big and strong – think how many coins you could get inside. But even better than that …’

‘No one will ever open them.’

‘We have to get inside that factory,’ said Cassius.

‘It’s almost the eighth hour. They’ll be closing soon.’

‘Tomorrow morning, then – catch them unawares.’

‘After the inspections, though?’ said Cosmas. ‘We’ll need a good excuse.’

‘We’d better get thinking, then.’

Alexon knocked on the door, then waited.

‘Come,’ said his sister after an unnecessarily long time. He opened the door and found her sitting in front of her best oval mirror, the maid Lyra brushing her hair. Behind her, the sky glowed orange through the window.

‘It worked,’ said Alexon. ‘He’s on his way up the drive.’

She held up her hand and Lyra stopped. ‘Well done, brother. I must admit I was beginning to doubt your methods. Shall we see him in the upstairs lounge? I think that would work best.’

‘I agree.’

‘Finish quickly, Lyra.’

Alexon paused in the doorway, watching.

He saw Amathea’s face in the mirror; she was looking at the maid. ‘Why do you still have that bandage on? It’s been weeks.’

‘Yes, Mistress, unfortunately—’

‘You must get rid of it. It’s so unsightly.’

‘Yes, Mistress.’

Alexon closed the door. He hoped all would go well. He wanted – needed – her so badly.

Five minutes later, Skiron escorted Kallikres up the stairs and into the lounge. The attendant crossed his arms and looked on as Alexon beckoned the sergeant forward. He and Amathea were sitting on opposite ends of a couch just in front of the balcony, their necks warmed by the evening sun.

Alexon put down his wine. ‘I’m glad you’ve seen sense at last.’

Kallikres stood there wringing his hands, eyes flitting between them. ‘The boy. Where is he?’

‘You simply can’t bear to be without him,’ said Amathea. ‘What’s so special? Does anything you ask him to, does he?’

‘Nobody knows where he is,’ answered the sergeant.

‘We have a few things to discuss,’ said Alexon.

‘What about the boy?’

‘First we talk. Skiron says you have something for us.’

‘Only if you tell me about the boy.’