The Emperor's Silver: Agent of Rome 5 (2 page)

They can get in. Whoever they are, they can get in.

Simo looked back around the corner. Only one man was still visible atop the wall. Then he too disappeared. They hadn’t even tried the door to the yard; they must have known it was always locked.

Open it? No, they’ll hear me.

Go round to the front? No time.

There was only one thing he could do.

Cassius Quintius Corbulo put the oil lamp down on the table and stared at the jug of wine. He was trying to cut down, especially since Abascantius had arrived. Three unwatered mugs a day was supposed to be his limit. This would be his fourth. He didn’t want to break the new rule but he just couldn’t sleep.

He was surprised Simo hadn’t heard him get up. Perhaps the attendant was still at the church-house, doing whatever he did with his fellow believers.

Cassius picked up the jug.

‘Indavara! Master Cassius!’

‘Simo?’ Having spilled the wine, Cassius put down the jug and walked around the table to the window.

‘Wake up! There are men here.’

Definitely Simo, but what—

‘At the back of the house. Wake up!’

‘What—’

Cassius heard hissing voices, then feet scuffing the ground.

A man clad in a dark, hooded tunic vaulted through the kitchen window, shattering the amphora he landed on. Before Cassius could even move, a second man came through. He landed cleanly, hood dropping from his head. Cassius could see enough of his eyes to know he had spotted him.

‘Indavara!’

Unarmed and wearing only his sleeping tunic, Cassius turned and ran. His left foot caught a chair leg. He lost his balance and came down on his knees, sliding on the smooth tiles. Hauling himself up, he half expected a blade to sink into his neck. He was almost through the kitchen doorway when scrabbling fingers grabbed the back of his tunic. He tried to pull free but the hand swung him to the right.

Cassius bounced off the side of the doorway and spun into the atrium. Tripping over his own feet he landed on his back in the ghostly pale blue rectangle below the skylight.

The intruder came through the doorway. Because of his black clothing, his head appeared disembodied and the long wooden club seemed to be floating in the air. He lifted it with both hands, ready to swing down.

A fast-moving shape appeared from Cassius’s right. Something cracked as the shape hit the intruder, catapulting him across the atrium and into a wall.

‘Uff!’

The shape shook itself then straightened up. Cassius found himself looking at Indavara’s broad, naked backside; the bodyguard’s bulky frame seemed white under the moonlight.

‘How many?’

‘Two at least.’ Cassius scrambled to his feet and backed towards the window that faced on to the Via Cappadocia. Somewhere near there was a candelabra. He was relieved but not surprised to see Indavara had his dagger, which he slept with.

The second intruder leapt into the light, swinging his club at the bodyguard. Indavara retreated; there wasn’t a lot he could do with the little knife.

Cassius reached the wall. The window shutters were closed so there was hardly any light coming through but he found the candelabra. He grabbed the iron shaft with both hands.

A third man ran under the skylight and cut off their path to the other rooms.

‘Here.’ Cassius put the candelabra in front of Indavara so he wouldn’t have to turn. The bodyguard clamped the knife between his teeth and grabbed the five foot length of metal. Cassius had struggled to lift it but Indavara wielded it as easily as a sword.

From outside came a shout; Simo calling to the sentries for help.

The first man was back on his feet. He ordered the others forward in Greek.

As the pair prepared to strike, Indavara swung. He narrowly missed the head of the man to his left but struck the second warrior’s club, knocking it out of his hands. Before they could counter, Indavara heaved the candelabra at them. It caught both men by surprise and sent them tottering back into the light.

Cassius didn’t see the bodyguard take the blade from his mouth but he saw him dart forward and stab the closest man in the chest. The intruder gasped as he went down. The second warrior tripped over him but managed to roll away as the third man took up the attack.

He jabbed his club at Indavara and stepped over his dying compatriot, who was clawing at his wound, mouth fixed in a silent scream.

Indavara threw the knife into the intruder’s face. It was not a throwing blade and bounced off his brow, but the moment’s distraction was all the bodyguard needed. He leaped forward and launched his right foot straight into his foe’s groin, connecting with a heavy slap. As the intruder crumpled, the man who had tripped flew back into the fray.

He drove an elbow at Indavara’s face, striking his jaw with a shuddering crack. Cassius thought the prodigious blow might fell even the bodyguard. Though dazed, Indavara somehow stayed upright, grabbing his foe’s tunic and holding him so he at least knew where he was. They struggled on for a moment, then stumbled over the candelabra and fell in a heap below the skylight.

Cassius circled them, peering at the ground, looking for a club or Indavara’s knife.

Just as the naked bodyguard got one brawny arm around his foe’s neck, his second victim found enough strength to give him some of his own treatment: he scrambled across the floor and punched Indavara’s unprotected groin.

Cassius had never heard him shriek before.

The sheer shock of it propelled him into action. He grabbed the club he had just located and heaved it down at the intruder, catching him between the shoulder blades. Breath flew out of the man as he pitched forward on to Indavara’s legs.

The bodyguard was panting like a dog, spitting indecipherable curses. His arm was tight under his victim’s chin. Cassius almost felt pity for the poor bastard as his eyes bulged and his head spasmed.

‘Yaaaaaahhhhh!’

The neck bones crunched like twigs underfoot. Indavara head-butted him for good measure then pushed the broken body away. Without a moment’s hesitation, he kicked the last man alive off his legs, then crawled after him. He pulled the intruder’s hood off and gripped the back of his head, hair springing up between his fingers.

‘No, wait,’ said Cassius. ‘We need—’

Indavara drove the head down into the tiles. The noise of the skull cracking made Cassius gag. He staggered backwards and reached for the wall. Holding himself up, he stupidly looked back and saw dark blood seeping from under the crushed head. Cassius put a hand to his mouth but somehow stopped himself vomiting.

The key turned in the door. Lamplight flickered across the room as half a dozen legionaries piled in. They stood over Indavara, who was lying on his back, top half in the light, sucking in breath.

‘It’s all right,’ said Cassius. ‘We’re all right.’

‘Speak for yourself,’ said Indavara.

One of the soldiers cursed as he slipped in a pool of blood.

‘Excuse me.’ Simo pushed his way through.

Cassius pointed at the bodyguard.

Simo knelt beside him and examined his damaged jaw.

‘Forget that,’ said Indavara. He nodded at his groin. ‘Check there.’

One of the legionaries came forward: Leddicus, a friendly veteran who Cassius knew quite well. The soldier pulled back all the assailants’ hoods and examined their various wounds. Cassius had recovered sufficiently to note that all three were between twenty-five and thirty years of age and wearing similarly dark clothing. Judging by their features, they could have been from anywhere from Thrace to Arabia.

‘All dead,’ said Leddicus.

‘See what they have on them, would you?’

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.’