The Emperor's Silver: Agent of Rome 5 (47 page)

‘Now, Skiron.’

‘Yes, Master.’ The attendant spun his horse around and rode off.

Alexon spat on the ground. ‘By the gods, I knew this day was going far too well.’

‘So forthright, brother. You are at your best when we face a challenge. I do so like it when you show your teeth.’

‘I thought we were safe,’ he said as they dismounted.

‘We don’t know anything for certain yet. Even if this Crispian is getting too close we can take care of him.’ Amathea let go of her reins, walked over to Alexon’s horse and took out the whip. ‘The girls still aren’t here. Since you’ve suggested the idea, I must confess I now feel quite keen on it. Come, we must be quick.’

‘Where in Hades have you been?’

Cassius had already breakfasted and was drafting another letter to Abascantius and Marcellinus when Indavara returned.

The bodyguard shut the door behind him and mumbled something to Simo, who was brushing down Cassius’s riding boots. The attendant fetched him some water.

‘Well? Must be the fourth hour.’

Indavara’s hair was even messier than usual and his eyes were puffy and bloodshot. ‘Long night.’

‘And? The factory?’

‘At about the eighth hour some watchmen came past and the guards spoke to them for a minute or two. At about the eleventh hour a group arrived and was let inside.’

‘A group? How many?’

‘Maybe eight or ten.’

‘Eleventh hour, eh? About right if you wanted to get people in without the rest of the workers or anyone else noticing. Well done. You should get some sleep. Tonight could be another long one.’

Indavara took the water from Simo and glugged it down then sat on his bed. He wrenched off his boots, laid back and closed his eyes.

Cassius considered the implications of what he’d heard. A quiet night at the factory – did that suggest all was continuing as normal? Even if the visit with Molacus hadn’t aroused any suspicion, he couldn’t afford to wait around: he had to see inside. With real evidence they could widen the investigation and involve Pomponianus; make sure they caught the whole gang and closed the counterfeiting operation down permanently. Cassius smiled as he thought of writing that letter.

But this one would give no indication of his belief that they were close; it would be a simple summary of how the investigation was progressing. He finished the first paragraph then realised it was better to stop. Cosmas was to spend the day investigating Bathyllos, the owners, and anything else he could find out about the factory. If he discovered anything useful, it would be best to include it. Cassius reread the paragraph – no mistakes – and left the ink to dry. He put his silver pen in the holder and got up from the table.

Indavara still had his eyes closed. Cassius considered asking about the girl but he reckoned the bodyguard might not want to talk about it in front of Simo. In any case, as long as it didn’t affect his work, it wasn’t of great importance. They would be leaving Berytus soon; he would simply have to forget her.

‘That fresh tunic?’

‘It’s on your bed, sir.’

Indavara waited until he heard Corbulo’s door shut.

‘You all right?’ asked Simo, who could always tell whether he was actually sleeping or not.

Indavara sat up. ‘That girl. Mahalie.’

‘Yes?’

‘Her owners – they did things to her. Hurt her. She went to Cobon but he wouldn’t help. He said she had to learn to live with her master and mistress. That was wrong, Simo. He was wrong.’

‘You’ve seen her, then?’

‘Yes. I … saw them too.’

Simo’s face grew visibly paler. He sat on his bed, opposite Indavara.

‘Don’t worry. I didn’t do anything. Perhaps I should have.’

‘That is not the way. Violence is not the way.’

Indavara admired a lot about Simo and Cobon but he’d had just about enough of their stupid beliefs. A promise of paradise after death couldn’t help Mahalie now.

He got up so quickly that the legs of the bed scraped across the floor. ‘It’s
their
way, Simo. It’s their way. But if I did something to them, it’s Mahalie that would suffer. Before we leave this city I am going to get her out of that house. By my Fortuna, I swear it.’

Cosmas didn’t return until the eighth hour. After a shout from Simo, Cassius came downstairs and Indavara roused himself. It was another baking-hot day and the sergeant asked for a drink before disclosing what he’d discovered.

‘Something’s going on there. No question. The previous owner of the factory and the sarcophagus business was named Niarchos – local man, member of the city council, respected family. Three months ago, he sold the entire concern: the factory, the vehicles, the transport contracts, the clients all across Syria and beyond. The clerk at the basilica who dealt with the sale told me it raised a few eyebrows because Niarchos’ family had been running it for more than a century and made good money out of it. But the new buyer paid well over the odds.’

‘So who is he?’ asked Cassius.

‘That’s where it gets interesting. The negotiations and the purchase were run through a third party.’ Cosmas reached into a pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper. ‘A man named Pylades who described himself as an independent broker. His name is on all the paperwork – the purchase was made in cash. Two thousand, eight hundred aurei. They really wanted that factory.’

‘The transport and distribution network is just as important,’ said Cassius. ‘What about this Pylades?’

‘No one I spoke to actually saw the man. His references all went through and Niarchos was happy to move swiftly with such a good offer on the table. The purchase dues were paid on time, as have all other taxes been since. As far as I can tell, the business has continued as normal, apart from one change.’

‘Bathyllos – I bet these mysterious new owners brought him in.’

‘Exactly right, sir.’

‘What about tracking down Pylades?’

‘According to the basilica, his offices are in Antioch.’

‘Conveniently out of the way. Still, I can get Quentin on to it, Abascantius too.’

‘That’ll take time, though,’ pointed out Indavara.

‘It will.’ Cassius turned to Cosmas. ‘Excellent work. With what you’ve uncovered today I’m even more certain. We will try and get inside tonight. I’ll inform Pomponianus that we’re continuing to monitor the factory but not that we’re going in.’

Cosmas grimaced.

‘He is not favourably disposed towards myself or the Service,’ explained Cassius. ‘I need solid evidence before involving him.’

‘I can’t be part of it, sir – not without Pomponianus’ authorisation. And what about Diadromes?’

‘I don’t want to put him in a bind. We’ll say that we were watching the factory then heard noises and decided to investigate.’

Cosmas considered this.

‘Please,’ said Cassius, ‘we have come so far.’

As usual, Cosmas needed a few tugs on his beard to make up his mind. ‘Very well.’

‘You’ll help us? The Service will of course reward you appropriately for this and all your efforts so far.’

‘“Appropriately” is a bit vague for me, sir.’

‘Let us say four aurei if the investigation is brought to a satisfactory conclusion, two if it is not.’

‘Fair enough, sir. Ah, there was one other thing – the factory was closed for two weeks – the first half of last month.’

‘Essential construction work?’

‘Could be.’

‘And if we do find they’re making the coins under there?’ said Indavara. ‘What then?’

‘We grab whatever evidence we can, show it to Diadromes and Pomponianus, then raid the whole place tomorrow. Bathyllos will be the key – if we can turn him, we’ll get this Pylades character and whoever else is pulling the strings.’

‘What time do you want to try it?’ asked Cosmas.

‘Let’s go over the details now,’ said Cassius. ‘We cannot afford to get this wrong. If Bathyllos gets spooked we might lose him and his masters. We have to get in and out without the guards ever knowing we were there.’

Cassius put the libation down then knelt before his makeshift shrine.

Jupiter, god of gods, I give this to you, a symbol of my lifelong and everlasting love and devotion. In return, I ask that you watch over us tonight. The Emperor himself has charged us with this noble mission; please help us succeed.

Clad only in his loincloth, Cassius stood. Lifelong and everlasting? Well, it was on and off, to be honest, but he had offered countless libations and prayers for the last year or so. And although he had prostrated himself in front of all twelve of the great gods, Cassius had recently decided to focus his efforts on Jupiter – it usually paid to go straight to the top.

He kicked off his sandals, then walked over to the bedside table and picked up his spearhead badge – it might be useful to have some form of identification with him. Other than that, everything else he would need was downstairs. He found Simo cleaning his mail shirt as instructed.

Indavara was clearly still not himself. Whenever there was any hint of prospective action he could usually be found checking and rechecking his equipment. But the bodyguard was sitting on his bed, looking down at the figurine in his hand.

Cassius took the old, short-sleeved tunic Simo had put out for him and pulled it on.

‘A snack for you there, sir.’

Cassius eyed the plate of bread, goat’s cheese and olives Simo had prepared for him. He reached for a chunk of bread, then decided his stomach was fluttering too much.

‘You should have something, sir.’ The attendant had laid the mail shirt out on a blanket and was polishing the rings.

‘Pack it up and put it in my satchel for later, would you?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Cassius wandered over to Indavara. ‘Were I of a more sensitive disposition, I might take offence at the fact that I’ve never once seen you holding that very expensive silver-plate figurine of Fortuna I bought you in Antioch.’

‘I have it,’ said the bodyguard without looking up.

‘Buried in a bag somewhere, I expect. May I see that one?’

After a long hesitation, Indavara gave it to him. Cassius noted that the folds of the goddess’s tunic and the features of her face were even more worn than the last time he’d held it.

‘You know you can get these repaired. A skilled craftsman could put the shape back into it – so it looks a bit more like who it’s supposed to be.’

‘I know who it is, that’s all that matters.’ Indavara put out his hand.

Cassius returned it to him. ‘I suppose so. You all right?’

‘Fine.’

‘You didn’t go and see her, did you? This girl?’

‘Leave it, Corbulo.’

‘Very well. Just make sure your mind is on the job tonight.’

From outside came the sound of shouting. Curious, Cassius walked over to the door; the tower was in a quiet neighbourhood and they rarely heard much noise. He peered through the viewing hole and saw a group of about twenty youths marching past. They began a vociferous chant in Aramaic.

‘Wonder what that’s all about.’

‘They are celebrating, sir,’ said Simo. ‘I spoke to the water-carriers about it. The court must have decided on clemency for the youths who defaced the statue.’

‘Probably a flogging, then. Looks like Diadromes got his way with the magistrate.’ Cassius sat down next to the boots Simo had put out for him – a well-worn pair with a thick sole, comfortable and without the nails or studs that could be unreliable on a smooth surface – Cassius often referred to them as his ‘running boots’. Once they were on, he stood up and walked over to the table. ‘Right, I suppose I’d better get this crap on.’ He reached for the brown padded shirt that would go under his armour.