The Emperor's Silver: Agent of Rome 5 (44 page)

‘We will,’ said Alexon.

Kallikres blinked and ran a hand across the back of his head. ‘The officer is named Crispian.’

‘We know that.’

‘He got the sergeants to inspect factories, looking for coins or equipment or …’

Amathea was shaking her head. Production had been suspended for several days now and she wasn’t the only one becoming impatient.

‘We know that too,’ said Alexon. ‘What about now?’

‘Apparently the magistrate isn’t happy about how this Crispian and his bodyguard have been throwing their weight about. Especially as they haven’t found out anything – about your operation anyway. There’s this smuggling ring—’

‘We know. What about Crispian? Who is he?’

‘Still not sure. Possibly—’

Amathea tutted.

Kallikres held up his hands. ‘I haven’t finished. The governor wants Crispian gone – he’s sure there is no counterfeiting here and doesn’t want any distractions, what with all the problems on the streets. They’ve got nothing on you. Nothing.’

‘You’re sure?’ asked Alexon.

‘As I can be. Please, where is Pedrix?’

Alexon turned to his sister. She smiled.

‘Please,’ begged Kallikres.

‘It’s a shame you didn’t come to us sooner,’ said Amathea.

‘No.’

She stood up. ‘But you left us no choice.’ She walked around the couch and over to the balcony. ‘Come.’

Kallikres’ face crumpled; he covered it with his hands.

Alexon watched his sister trying not to laugh.

Skiron put a hand on Kallikres’ shoulder. The sergeant walked to the balcony like a man facing the executioner’s block. Amathea stood aside and gestured towards the ground.

Kallikres planted his hands on the rail and looked down.

‘Oh … oh, thank the gods.’

Alexon joined them on the balcony. The slave boy was with one of the maids, who was singing quietly as they weeded the terrace.

‘Pedrix will remain here for as long as we do,’ said Amathea. ‘And you will tell us the moment there are any developments we should be concerned about.’ She reached out and tipped up Kallikres’ chin. ‘And when we are finished you can have your little toy back. How does that sound?’

Kallikres wiped his face and nodded.

‘Now leave us.’

Skiron escorted the sergeant out of the room and down the stairs.

‘We should restart production immediately.’

‘Of course,’ said Amathea. ‘I congratulate you, brother. I must remind myself not to be so pessimistic in future. You do have some excellent ideas.’

Alexon couldn’t have cared less about the platitudes. All he wanted was to be alone with her, for as long as she would let him.

Amathea walked up to the balcony and offered him her hand. When he took it, she led him up behind her.

‘I am yours,’ she said.

‘And I am yours.’

He pushed himself into the exquisite softness, hardening instantly. His eyes closed and pleasure washed over him.
At last.

They had both tried to stop him: Simo because he thought Indavara shouldn’t go to the church-house alone, Corbulo because he wanted him to concentrate on his job. Indavara had ignored them both. He wanted to find out about the baby and he wanted to see Mahalie.

But when he knocked on the door and Cobon opened it, the old Syrian wasn’t exactly welcoming.

‘You’re on your own.’

‘Simo couldn’t come. I was wondering about the little one I found. Is he all right?’

Indavara waved a hand at the moths and flies drawn to the lantern hanging by the door.

Cobon stepped out on to the street. ‘Son, there is something I must say to you. While we welcome all, this church-house is really for those who have accepted the Lord into their lives. We appreciate your help but it is not appropriate for you to come here unaccompanied. That is unless you wish to properly join our congregation. That would change things.’

Cobon reached out and took his hand. ‘The Lord loves us all. He will help you lead a righteous life, steer you away from sin and towards eternal happiness in the Kingdom. Come, join us tonight and take your first steps along that path.’

Indavara shook off his hand. ‘I worship the goddess Fortuna. She has always looked after me.’

‘Then I am sorry to say you cannot come in.’

‘The baby?’

‘The child is healthy. We will find a good home for him.’ Cobon backed towards the door.

‘I would like to see Mahalie.’

‘She is not here tonight.’

‘Can you at least tell me where I can find her?’

‘I’m afraid not. Mahalie is no longer part of this congregation.’

Cobon withdrew behind the door. ‘Goodnight.’

Indavara briefly considered pushing his way inside but he couldn’t act like that here, not with these people. The latch rattled as Cobon closed the door. As he walked away, Indavara heard raised voices over the wall, talking in Aramaic. Then the door opened again. He stopped and saw Alfidia by the lantern.

‘I thought it might be you.’

Indavara walked back. ‘Where is she? Why isn’t she here?’

‘She was – earlier. I didn’t hear all of it but something else must have happened at home. She was asking the others for advice but Elder Cobon told her she must do as she was bid; that it was a sin to disobey her master. I tried to stop her but she ran.’

‘How can I find her?’

‘I don’t know. She would never tell anyone where she lived or who her master was.’

Indavara thought of what Simo and Corbulo had said. Perhaps they were right. Perhaps he should have stayed away.

‘That poor girl,’ said Alfidia. ‘I wish we could do something.’

Indavara turned away.

‘Wait. The market. She often talked about the fruit market by the Temple of Juno. She was sent there most mornings.’

‘Allectus Carius Molacus, Department of Municipal Planning, Construction and Maintenance.’

Cassius took the forearm offered to him and shook it. ‘Crispian.’

Molacus looked about forty. He ran a hand through his greasy hair and chewed his lip. ‘I must say this is a very unusual situation. I could really do with another day or two to prepare.’

‘No time for that, I’m afraid.’ Cassius gestured at the waxed tablet Molacus was holding. ‘That’s for me, I assume?’

Molacus gave it to him and took a stylus from a leather case. He was wearing a pale brown tunic with a ring of yellow circles at the sleeves.

‘Have you been in this factory before?’ asked Cassius.

‘Yes, I believe it was last May – installations and plumbing.’

‘You do have a story worked out?’

‘We carry out regular checks on ovens and forges – anything within the city limits that carries risk of fire. The management might be a tad surprised but we never tell them about these inspections – for obvious reasons. I must say I am not comfortable with such deceit. May I see that note from Deputy Diadromes again?’

Cosmas handed it to Molacus, then looked at Cassius and rolled his eyes. Along with Indavara and Simo, they were standing in the same sanctuary they had used the previous day. Cassius was wearing his oldest, plainest tunic; he was to masquerade as Molacus’ clerk.

‘These bloody sandals of yours, Simo. How do you walk around in them all day?’

Cassius decided to pace up and down for a bit to get used to them. He walked over to Indavara, who was sitting on a bench nearby, staring down at a line of ants on the paving stones.

‘Well – do I make for a convincing clerk?’

Indavara glanced up at him from beneath his fringe but said nothing.

‘I see your mood hasn’t improved. I take it things didn’t go well last night?’

Cassius hadn’t expected a reply and he didn’t get it. He walked back to the other three. ‘Well, Simo? Convincing?’

‘Not bad, sir. May I?’

‘Go ahead.’

Simo reached up and ruffled Cassius’s hair, which he always kept short and well combed. The attendant then tugged at his master’s tunic, leaving an unsightly swathe of cloth bulging over his belt.

‘Really?’

‘Sorry, sir.’

‘Much better,’ agreed Cosmas as he took the note back from Molacus. ‘We should go, the gates will be open by now.’

Cassius pointed at Molacus. ‘Please remember that I need to see as much of the premises as possible.’

‘Very well,’ said the Syrian. ‘But a counterfeiting operation in Berytus? It hardly seems credible. And didn’t I hear that the premises have already been inspected by city sergeants?’

‘We have good reason to believe this is the right place,’ said Cassius. ‘You are looking for
anything
out of the ordinary and you’re more likely to notice it than I am. Understood?’

Molacus sighed.

Despite his reluctance, the administrator proved himself a capable actor. He adopted what Cassius imagined was his usual brisk manner and led the way confidently through the gates and into the yard. A nervous young man who described himself as ‘production supervisor’ asked them to wait outside the factory while he fetched the manager.

Cassius looked around. The factory itself was brick-built and high roofed, with thin, arched windows. The only workers in view were gathered around a hoist which was obviously used to move the heavy sarchophagi on to and off carts. Eight vehicles were lined up neatly on one side of the yard.

‘So where does their stone come from?’

‘Most of it’s Proconeesan marble,’ said Molacus. ‘It’s shipped down to the port then brought here.’

‘Blocks of it?’

‘No, they shape the containers at the quarry before shipping. This place does the fine work; carving and so on – whatever the buyer has specified.’

‘Why do they need a forge?’

‘Some of the sarcophagi are given an interior lining, usually lead. They also use metal clamps to secure the lids. I believe this outfit manufacture their own.’

‘Do you know anything about where they go from here?’

‘Not specificially, but the marble is always popular with those that can afford it and it’s an extremely widespread trade.’

‘With a large potential market.’

‘The dead? In Syria? Certainly.’

The manager arrived; a well-dressed fellow sporting several silver rings. He greeted Molacus politely and introduced himself as Bathyllos.

‘Thank you for seeing me personally.’

‘Not at all,’ replied Bathyllos, without so much as a glance at Cassius. ‘Always happy to help the city. I understand you need to carry out some sort of check?’

‘We’ve had a few infractions regarding fire safety measures of late – I just need to ensure that you are keeping the risk to an absolute minimum. We have an excellent record in this area and my superiors are keen to maintain it.’

‘Of course.’

‘I will be checking all the other facilities in the area.’

Bathyllos smiled blandly. Cassius reckoned he didn’t appear notably more anxious than any factory manager would when facing a surprise visit from the authorities.

‘Where would you like to start?’

‘Wherever’s easiest for you,’ said Molacus.

‘Then follow me.’

Most of the building was taken up by one huge workshop where at least twenty artisans were gathered around sarcophagi mounted on sturdy wooden pallets. Many of the masons were working on the sides of the containers, which featured most of the artwork. Cassius could see why the marble was so popular; the handsome white stone was banded with grey and gleamed under the shafts of sunlight illuminating the factory. Using hammers and a remarkable variety of chisels, the men crafted the faces of gods, religious and solar symbols, and intricate garland and wreath designs. Cassius also noted that some were working from drawings and that most of the sarcophagi had names scrawled upon them in charcoal. The visitors attracted a few stares but again Cassius could deduce little from their reaction; there was certainly no sense of alarm.

Bathyllos showed them every corner of the workshop. Molacus made the odd comment and advised that all the window shutters be fully opened; the smell of an oil used to polish the marble hung heavily in the air.

The rear of the warehouse was accessed via a broad, high doorway. To the right was a storage area which opened out on to the yard beside the hoist. There were dozens of finished sarcophagi laid out in rows and Cassius spotted paperwork listing destinations as far afield as Bostra, Zeugma and Circesium, which was almost in Persia.