The Emperor's Silver: Agent of Rome 5 (10 page)

‘Good,’ said Cassius. ‘It is important that as few people know about this issue as possible.’

‘I see.’ Dominicus sat down and adjusted his toga until he was comfortable.

Knowing his uniform would get him a long way at the basilica, Cassius was in a scarlet tunic and wearing the widest and most martial of his belts. He also had his sword belt over his shoulder, though he had left the helmet at the inn – it was far too hot. He held up the sword as he sat to avoid scraping the floor.

‘You are aware of the ongoing investigation into counterfeiting?’

‘Isn’t the treasury in charge of that?’

‘It is. But Marshal Marcellinus has also asked the Service to get involved.’

Though he masked it reasonably well, the mere mention of Marcellinus caused a change in Dominicus’ expression. Cassius held the equivalent rank of a centurion and the spearhead marked him out as a specialist officer but in normal circumstances a soldier wouldn’t dare make demands of a senior city official. Being a ‘grain man’ wasn’t all bad; especially when one was acting on behalf of the Emperor’s second-in-command.

‘I need some information regarding recent significant land purchases in Tripolis and the surrounding area. Would you have that type of information here?’

‘Yes. Any change in ownership has to be reported. That information would appear on the land register, including the value – for tax purposes.’

‘I’m interested in purchases from the last two months.’

Dominicus put a finger on his chin to check what looked like a shaving cut. ‘What would you consider “significant”?’

‘It depends. What’s the going rate for a square mile of decent farmland around here?’

‘Anything between one and two thousand denarii.’

‘It would probably be a large plot.’

‘If memory serves the register is divided up. The roll for the largest purchases deals with values of above ten thousand denarii.’

‘Could you provide me with that immediately?’

‘Certainly within an hour, I should say. I would need some sort of authorisation from the magistrate’s office.’

‘I don’t have time for that. Marshal Marcellinus considers this an urgent matter.’

Cassius was prepared to take out his letter but the second mention of Marcellinus was enough to persuade Dominicus.

‘Very well.’ He stood. ‘Will you wait here or should I have the information copied out and sent to you?’

‘I shall go for lunch then return.’

Dominicus checked the shaving cut again then left.

Cassius put the spearhead in his satchel. It was two feet long and didn’t quite fit so he put the sharp end (protected by a cork) in first, leaving the shaft sticking out of the top. He gave the satchel to Simo.

‘Let’s go and fetch Indavara; I expect he’s ready for some lunch.’

Behind the basilica was a walled garden where the bodyguard had taken refuge from the heat beneath a tall pine. Spotting Cassius and Simo, he ambled over.

‘Feeling better?’ asked Simo.

‘A bit.’

‘Pitiful effort,’ said Cassius. ‘I doubt you had more than four or five mugs. I can do that and still recite a dozen different poems.’

One of the soldiers on duty opened the gate at the rear of the garden. Cassius nodded to the legionary and his compatriot as they walked out on to the street.

‘Still a good night,’ said Indavara.

‘Maybe for you,’ said Cassius. ‘That bloody Neokles spoiled my fun. You didn’t waste much time, though.’

Indavara blushed and smothered a grin.

‘Lucky swine,’ said Cassius. ‘You’re fortunate I let you have Kitra.’

‘
Let
me? It’s not my fault if she knows a real man when she sees one.’

Cassius unleashed a roar of laughter at that. He would allow the bodyguard this victory; relations with women were one of the areas where Cassius was so unquestionably superior that there was no real element of competition. Come to think of it, apart from perhaps running, there were very few areas where they were close enough to compete. All things considered, Cassius reckoned that was a good thing.

‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘where are we going for lunch? We’ve got an hour to kill so we might as well sit down.’

‘The soldiers said there’s a decent place by the statue of Marcus Aurelius. Plenty of choice, apparently.’ Indavara nodded along the broad avenue that ran west from the basilica towards the coast.

‘Let’s give it a try,’ said Cassius, leading the way. The avenue was busy with folk of all kinds, and they also had to get past a line of six plush litters, the occupants of which remained completely hidden. Emerging from under a portico, the trio passed a series of street entertainers who had attracted quite a crowd. There was a troupe of mimes, a juggler (who they stopped to watch for a couple of minutes), a pair of adult acrobats no taller than four feet, and – least popular of all – an elderly woman playing a flute.

Seeing the impressive bronze statue of Marcus Aurelius high above the multitude ahead, Cassius began looking for the tavern.

‘What was it called, this place?’

Receiving no answer, he turned round.

Only Simo was behind him. ‘I don’t know, sir.’

‘Where’s Indavara gone?’

He looked back through the endless stream of pedestrians. The bodyguard was standing in front of the flautist, staring at her.

Cassius tutted. ‘Fetch him, would you, Simo.’

The Gaul navigated his way back through the crowd. Cassius moved closer to a nearby stall to avoid the worst of the foul-smelling throng. He watched Simo speak to Indavara but the bodyguard didn’t move. Simo spoke again and gripped his arm but Indavara completely ignored him.

‘By the gods.’ Cassius hurried back, cursing at a pair of young girls who seemed unable or unwilling to get out of his way.

‘What are you doing?’

The flautist seemed rather disturbed by Indavara’s stare. She stopped playing, lowered her instrument and looked curiously back at him.

‘Indavara.’

He was standing completely still, arms by his sides. ‘That tune … I know it.’

‘So what?’

‘I know it,’ he repeated, now staring at the ground.

Simo said, ‘Do you mean …’

Cassius said, ‘From before?’

‘I … I think so.’

Cassius inspected the woman. Her clothes were thin and dirty, the flute roughly carved. The cloth hat between her bare feet contained only a few brass coins.

‘Keep playing.’

The woman’s only response was to adjust the headscarf that covered most of her grey hair. Cassius tried Greek but again got no reply. Simo spoke in Aramaic. The woman smiled and started playing again. It was a simple, repetitive tune, no more than a dozen notes in all.

Indavara gazed at her.

‘You sure you haven’t heard it somewhere else?’ said Cassius. ‘We’ve been through a lot of cities, heard a lot of tunes.’

Eyes now wet, Indavara whispered something to Simo.

‘What?’ asked the Gaul.

‘Ask her to stop. Tell her to stop.’

Simo did so.

Cassius took a sesterce from his money bag and dropped it into the hat. The old woman bowed to him.

Indavara seemed frozen to the spot. He was still looking at her but had wiped his eyes before the tears fell.

‘Do you remember something more?’ asked Simo.

‘I – I thought so, but …’

‘Simo, ask her where the tune is from.’

The attendant had to think for a moment about his Aramaic. Despite his best efforts the woman couldn’t help. ‘Her mother taught it to her but she doesn’t know where it comes from.’

‘Damn it,’ said Cassius. ‘Tell her to keep playing. Loudly.’ He turned to the passing crowd and spoke up. ‘Anyone here know this tune? A denarius to anyone who knows it.’

At the mention of money, several people stopped and listened.

Indavara put up a hand. ‘Corbulo, don’t. There’s no point.’

‘Nonsense. We might learn something more. You need to know.’

He repeated his announcement and soon a dozen people had gathered. When the flautist stopped for a moment Cassius yelled at her to continue.

An old man with a walking stick came to the front and spoke in Latin. ‘I don’t remember the name but I know where it’s from. My neighbour used to play it on
his
flute. He was a Gaul and he said his province had the best music in the world.’

‘You’re sure?’ said Cassius.

The old man listened carefully. ‘Certain. I always liked that tune.’

Cassius addressed the small crowd once more. ‘Anyone know the name? Anyone?’

When there was no reply, he gave the old man his denarius and turned to Indavara. ‘Gaul. Do you think you heard it there? Do you think that’s where you might be from?’

‘I – I don’t know.’

‘Let’s get to that tavern. I reckon you could do with a drink.’

Indavara said little over a brief (but good) lunch and Cassius left him with Simo in the garden when they returned to the basilica. Dominicus was already in the waiting room and escorted him to a small office where he could work undisturbed. The assistant procurator gave him a papyrus roll: the land register showing the largest transactions for the year. Politely asking Cassius to look after it, Dominicus left, shutting the door behind him.

Upon the office’s table were a bronze pen, a pot of freshly mixed ink and some blank paper. Holding the wooden roller with one hand, Cassius unravelled the paper with the other. Once he could see it all, the roll was almost a yard long. Unsurprisingly, the ink was brightest at the bottom. The land register listed the location of the plot, its size (plus a description of number and type of buildings), the buyer, the seller, the date of sale, the price and tax paid. There was also a reference number for a more detailed report.

Cassius found a sale from around two months earlier and rolled up the papyrus so he could focus on transactions after that date. There were nine sales in total, most of them to a single buyer, a few to partnerships. Cassius filled up the pen and started writing. Next to the buyer’s name he noted the date and location. He began to wonder how much real use the information might be but he wanted to get started; and as Quentin hadn’t considered this angle it might not be a complete waste of time. The treasury agent had sent a message to the inn that morning; one of his clerks would deliver a summary of their interviews with the casters later in the day.

Once the list was complete, Cassius rolled up the register and put the page of notes in his satchel. The servant waiting outside went to fetch Dominicus, who escorted him out. When they stopped at the rear door, Cassius thanked the assistant procurator, who cordially asked whether he could offer any more help.

‘There might be one more thing – purchases of gems and precious metals. Would there be any record of those?’

‘Not here. Such transactions are private – conducted between traders and private individuals. No tax is paid unless the valuables are moved through toll gates.’

‘As I thought. Thank you again. Good day.’

‘Good day.’

Three hours later, Cassius was awoken from a mid-afternoon nap by Simo, who had a mug of milk for him.

‘Any good?’ he asked as he sat up.

‘Very, sir. Fresh this morning, according to Neokles. There is a man here waiting for you. On behalf of Master Quentin.’