Nick Brown: The Emperor's silver

Indavara was on his side, eyes screwed shut. ‘Sweet Fortuna, please help me. Simo?’

‘It’s … well, it’s very red. But everything’s where it should be.’

Cassius put a hand on the bodyguard’s shoulder. ‘Thank you. A shame you had to kill them, but thank you.’

‘If that whoreson’s done any permanent damage I’ll kill him again.’

Simo took off his cloak and covered Indavara. ‘I’ll get you some wine.’

‘Strongest we have. By the gods it hurts.’

Leddicus walked over to Cassius. He had searched the assailants and was holding several lengths of rope, a hood and a gag. Cassius realised why the trio had been armed with clubs instead of swords.

‘Clear what they were here for, sir. Any idea who might want to capture you?’

‘No.’ Cassius stared down at the rope. ‘Or why.’

‘You must be Corbulo.’

Cassius belatedly realised there was a man sitting at a desk on the other side of the office. He was partially obscured by a stack of wooden chests.

‘Indeed.’ When he went to greet him, Cassius noted the narrow purple stripe running from the shoulder of his tunic to the waist. ‘Sir.’

The tribune didn’t get up but they shook forearms.

‘Vitalian, Fifteenth Legion. And you’re Abascantius’s man.’

‘Yes,’ said Cassius, though he didn’t much care for the description. ‘Do you know where he is?’

‘Getting some lunch, I believe.’

The raised eyebrow was enough; it was in neither of their interests to say much more about the infamous agent known throughout the East as ‘Pitface’.

Vitalian was about Cassius’s age, possibly a bit older; a slender, thoughtful-looking fellow who was already losing his hair.

‘The Fifteenth,’ said Cassius, who’d been taught the dispositions of Rome’s legions by his father before his sixth birthday. ‘Cappadocia. Did you come all that way with the Emperor?’

Vitalian was sitting on a stool, back against the wall. ‘Every mile.’

‘How long before the grand army arrives?’

‘Less than a week, they reckon.’ Vitalian nodded down at the papers in front of him. ‘Trying to rustle up some extra horses from the local estates – we’re running very low. Grain too.’ He grinned. ‘Isn’t that supposed to be your job?’

Agents of the Imperial Security Service were commonly known as ‘grain men’ because the original function of the organisation had been to find provisions for the legions. Being so widely spread and well informed about the provinces, the Service had gradually transformed itself into an intelligence-gathering organisation and expanded the repertoire of missions it carried out for Empire and Emperor. As Cassius had discovered in the last year, they were seldom of the safe variety.

‘I wish. Don’t suppose you’d like to swap posts?’

‘No thank you,’ said Vitalian. ‘I heard about how you only just got out of that scrape with the tribesmen down south.’

‘It will all have been for nothing if a decision isn’t reached soon.’

‘The negotiations, you mean?’

‘The Tanukh – that’s the tribesmen – have come to the table but they’re not getting what they want. I would hate for it all to-’

‘Ah, Corbulo, there you are.’ Abascantius hurried in with a well-stocked plate in one hand and a scroll in the other. He dumped both on his desk by the window, seemingly unconcerned by the half-dozen grapes that rolled on to the floor.

He walked over to Cassius and gripped his shoulder. ‘Are you all right, then, lad?’

‘I was … rather shaken last night, sir, but I’m fine now.’

‘Indavara?’

‘He took a blow on the jaw and another one to … to a more sensitive area.’

‘Ah, well, I’m sure his sausage and beans are as tough as the rest of him.’ Abascantius looked at Vitalian. ‘Give us half an hour, would you, Tribune?’

‘Very well.’ Vitalian stood and picked up the pile of papers.

‘Plenty of grub in the kitchen,’ added Abascantius. ‘You need feeding up, after all.’

Vitalian frowned at this but nodded politely to Cassius as he left.

‘Officer.’

‘Tribune.’

Abascantius kicked the door shut behind him and returned to his desk. ‘Cannot believe I have to share an office. And there’s some other snivelling wretch arriving tomorrow. Sit down, Corbulo.’

There was no seat on the opposite side of Abascantius’s desk and the only one Cassius could find was Vitalian’s. By the time he’d sat down on the stool, the agent had unrolled the scroll and spread it across the desk. It was a very new-looking map and – even examining it upside down – Cassius could see that it showed the south-east corner of the Empire, including Arabia and Egypt.

‘You’ll be staying with the grand army, sir?’

‘Looks like it.’ Abascantius studied the map. ‘The route is yet to be finalised and trying to get the general staff to agree is like trying to balance small marbles on a big marble.’

When he took his hands off, the scroll rolled itself up. ‘Anyway, that can wait.’ The agent lowered his heavy frame on to a chair nothing like big enough for him. ‘I’m more concerned with what happened last night.’

Cassius was about to suggest that he be relocated as swiftly as possible but Abascantius hadn’t finished.

‘This morning I checked the bodies and their gear as you requested. I agree that there’s nothing there to help us, presumably as intended. Did you say they spoke Greek?’

‘Yes, sir. Which doesn’t tell us much. No discernible accent either.’

‘So, any ideas?’

‘Dozens, sir. They kept me awake all night. That and the atrium. Despite Simo’s best efforts it still smells of blood.’

Abascantius grabbed the plate, then picked a corner off a wedge of cheese and popped it in his mouth. ‘Can’t be because of the business with the Persian flag, or that rogue centurion you took care of in Africa: I can’t see who would be left alive to bother with you, and even if there were they’d want you dead, not captured.’ He noted Cassius’s expression. ‘You don’t agree?’

‘If it was someone seeking revenge, they might have wanted to hurt me … torture me.’

‘Possible, I suppose, but surely it’s more likely to be connected to this Tanukh business.’

‘Yes, sir. Given the timing, that is the logical conclusion.’

‘Specifically?’ Abascantius scratched a nasty-looking rash on his forearm then picked up a roll.

‘I see two alternatives, sir. The person behind this could be someone left over from Ilaha’s forces. Perhaps even the German mercenary or Ethnarch Kalderon – seeking revenge for my role in foiling their plans. Or it could be some faction within the Tanukh – I promised them a permanent deal on the import tax and now the talks have stalled. I presented myself as an envoy of Rome. I gave my word.’

Abascantius deployed a cynical look. ‘You said what you needed to at the time – to get yourself out of there and stop that deluded charlatan Ilaha. The Tanukh are realists. They know as well as we do that they’re not going to revolt. Especially with the Emperor and four legions coming their way.’

‘Sir, once order has been restored in Egypt the Emperor will return to Rome and the legions will leave. This province and Governor Calvinus will still be stuck with the same old problems. Men gave their lives to create this opportunity. There is a chance for a real solution, one that will-’

Abascantius – now devouring the roll – held up a hand. ‘Not your problem, young man. Especially as you’re not going to be around much longer. I’m sure you concur that it’s best to get you away from here for the time being.’