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

He alternated three different routes for his morning walk: today’s took him alongside a lovely stream then past a farmhouse and oil press where the entire family were working hard. Alexon now made a habit of greeting them and often gave a few coins to the children. It was important to make a good impression. Once past the farmhouse, he met a shepherd driving a small flock up the hill. The white-bearded old man doffed his cloth cap and remarked that it was another fine day. Alexon agreed. He leaped nimbly over a stile and cut across the meadow towards the villa.

The owner had told them that it was exactly a hundred feet wide and fifty deep, a two-storey building bookended by modest but elegant towers with a fine terrace overlooking the drive. Ivy covered much of the brickwork, providing a home for dozens of pretty little birds. Above the front door was an old carving of some local god; a female figure reaching for the heavens.

His sister was already on the terrace, awaiting their visitor. Alexon glanced down at the main gate. Kallikres had just tethered his horse. He shut the gate behind him and started up the sloping drive, head bowed.

‘A pleasant walk, brother?’ asked Amathea.

‘Very, thank you.’

Alexon sat next to her, under a parasol.

Skiron, their steward, looked on silently from the side of the terrace. He was fifty-something but had the upright stance and muscled physique of a man half that age. He had no hair upon his head and a pair of bulging, piercing, bright blue eyes. He had been with them for years.

‘Oh, you’ve almost finished it,’ said Alexon, looking at the sewing draped across Amathea’s lap. She had been working on the tablecloth for some time and he was pleased she had persisted; it seemed to help her relax. She smiled and pushed the needle into the cotton once more.

Though they were not identical twins, the resemblance was obvious. Both were slim and tall, with less than an inch of difference in height and only four at the waist. They had the same flawless skin, green eyes and dark brown hair. In Alexon’s experience, everyone found one of them attractive, many people both. It had often occurred to him that even naked their superior breeding and status would have been clear. In their clothes of Egyptian linen and Oriental silk, and with their jewellery of gold and silver, it was unmistakable.

‘They’re here,’ said the steward. ‘In case we need them.’

‘Thank you, Skiron,’ said Alexon.

Kallikres came up the steps warily. He was wearing a well-made tunic and a wide-brimmed hat which he now removed. He ran a hand through his curly black hair – which glistened with sweat – and offered a thin smile.

‘Good day to you.’

Alexon nodded.

‘Good day,’ said Amathea.

Alexon gestured at the chair opposite them. Kallikres found himself facing the sun; he had to squint just to look at them.

‘Wine?’ asked Alexon.

‘Thank you.’

Skiron came forward and poured it from a silver jug into a multicoloured glass. Kallikres drank half of it in one go.

‘Well?’ said Alexon. ‘You wanted to see us?’

‘Yes. One of your men was spotted at the market yesterday. By a Milanese clerk who remembered his face. The clerk told the procurator. The procurator told the magistrate.’

‘We are aware of this situation,’ replied Alexon calmly.

Kallikres leaned back and crossed his arms. ‘I told you to be careful. And yet there he was, walking around in broad daylight without a care in the world.’

‘Steps have been taken,’ said Alexon. ‘There won’t be any more mistakes like that.’

‘One is enough. I thought you people were professional.’

Alexon kept his tone conciliatory. ‘Not everything can be foreseen. That’s why we have you – to keep us informed. What action is being taken?’

‘Nothing specific that I have heard about yet.’

‘Hardly any need to panic then,’ said Alexon. ‘So the man was spotted. Taken alone, his presence here means little. They may well assume that he was simply passing through.’

‘Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps the magistrate will do nothing. But if there’s another “mistake” then things could get very difficult very quickly. Sorry, but I’ve made my decision.’

Kallikres reached into his tunic, retrieved a bag of coins and put it on the table. ‘I haven’t taken a single one. Count them if you wish. Let’s just pretend this never happened.’

Alexon glanced at his sister. She pushed her hair away from her face and discarded her sewing.

‘I think we all know it’s a little late for that,’ said Alexon.

‘You have my word. I’ll say nothing. Here.’ Kallikres pushed the bag across the table and got to his feet.

‘Stay where you are.’

Alexon was sure Kallikres had never exchanged more than a greeting with his sister. Her words halted him.

Skiron walked around the terrace and stood behind their guest.

‘With respect,’ said Kallikres, ‘I am a city sergeant. I can do as I please.’

Amathea gestured at the meadow below them. ‘We’re a long way from the city. This is not going well for you. Sit down, or I promise you it will get a good deal worse.’

Alexon kept quiet. He supposed other men might have felt ashamed. But not him; he loved and admired her too much.

Kallikres looked at him, then back at Amathea, who pointed at his chair. The sergeant smiled in disbelief. Alexon guessed he had never been told what to do by a woman before. But he sat down.

Amathea turned to Skiron. ‘Bring them.’

The steward whistled and a lad ran out of the house. Skiron whispered to him and he hurried back inside.

Nothing more was said for a while.

Kallikres tried to appear calm by finishing off his wine. ‘What are we waiting for?’

Amathea watched the three men file on to the terrace. ‘Them.’

The trio were dressed in long green tunics with breeches cut of the same hardy material. They had thick, dark beards and unkempt hair. Each was carrying a long bow on his shoulder and a knife and quiver at his belt. They appeared unrelated but shared the same rangy physique, leathery skin and resolute gaze of those for whom violence is a way of life.

‘Itureans,’ explained Amathea with some relish. ‘Hunters from the hills below the great mountain. We don’t even have to pay them, would you believe? All they ask for is enough to eat and drink and a girl each. They all insisted on blondes, of course.’

One of the maids was dusting furniture just inside the door. A word from Amathea and an order from Skiron sent her running up to the table. She wasn’t overly pretty but had a pleasant enough face and a fine head of straw-coloured hair. She and the other two were from Germania and had cost a small fortune; but they could at least double as domestic staff.

Amathea was still looking at the hunters. ‘Every one of these fellows can skewer a pear at a fifty paces.’

Kallikres wiped his clammy face. ‘You wish to intimidate me, is that it?’

Amathea said, ‘It is one thing to hear of such skill, but another to see it. Girl, are you Lyra or Chloe? I always get you two mixed up.’

‘Lyra, Mistress.’

‘Take a pear from the bowl there.’

The girl did so.

‘Amathea.’ Alexon spoke softly. He expected to be ignored but felt he had to say something. Surely this would cause more problems than it would solve.

Amathea appeared not to have heard him. ‘Lyra, walk down to the meadow beside the drive. Stop when you’ve taken thirty paces, then turn towards us and put the pear on your head.’

Kallikres put up both hands. ‘This is not necessary. Why involve the girl?’

‘Off you go,’ said Amathea.

Lyra looked at Skiron, who cursed at her in Latin. Instead of obeying, she turned to one of the hunters, eyes pleading. The man spoke to Skiron in Aramaic. The steward translated.

‘Mistress, he doesn’t want his girl harmed.’

‘Then he’d better shoot straight,’ said Amathea.

The hunter understood that he had been given his orders. He took Lyra’s arm and led her to the steps. She descended them shakily.

‘Let’s end this now,’ said Kallikres, retrieving his money. ‘You’ve made your point. I’ll cooperate.’

Amathea ignored him too.

As Lyra continued down the slope, the hunter took his bow from his shoulder. He tested the string a couple of times then shook his head and spoke once more to Skiron.

‘He says he was drinking last night, Mistress. His hands are shaking. He can’t be sure of making the shot.’

Kallikres looked despairingly up at the sky.

‘Let us all calm down,’ said Amathea. ‘If he hits her and she is disfigured we’ll have her replaced.’

Upon hearing this, the hunter conceded. He moved up to the fringe of grass at the edge of the terrace and selected an arrow from his quiver. The other two moved aside and looked on.

Amathea stood up, then walked out from under the parasol and positioned herself behind the hunter. ‘You won’t be able to see much facing that way,’ she told Kallikres. ‘Come here and join us.’

Skiron stood over him again, hand hovering by the broad dagger at his belt. Kallikres complied.

Lyra had stopped. ‘I’m sorry. I lost count.’

‘That’s about twenty,’ said Amathea. ‘Keep going, girl.’

Girl.
Alexon reckoned Lyra wasn’t far off thirty, several years older than Amathea. He looked over at the walls and trees, to make sure no one was watching. His sister rarely considered such details.

‘Skiron, my wine.’ She took her glass from the steward.

‘Don’t do this,’ said Kallikres.

‘I wish we didn’t have to.’

Alexon doubted whether anyone present believed her. Despite his determination to stand by his sister, he was suddenly struck by a vision of an arrow embedding itself in the maid’s face. He walked over and whispered to Amathea. ‘Sister …’

She held up a hand. ‘That’ll do, girl!’

Lyra stopped and turned.

‘Back straight, head straight,’ instructed Amathea. ‘Then put the pear on top.’

The hunter was flexing his shoulders and wrists.

Lyra began to lift the pear then stopped. ‘Mistress … Mistress, please …’

‘Just put it on your head. I promise he won’t harm you.’

‘But …’ The girl was crying.

Amathea tutted. ‘Alexon, where are they from again?’

He knew she wouldn’t stop now. ‘Germania.’

‘So they worship …’

‘Aericura.’

Amathea raised her voice. ‘Aericura will watch over you.’

‘Mistress, how can you be sure?’

‘Do you give offerings? Say your prayers?’

‘I do.’

‘Then he will watch over you.’

‘She,’ said Alexon.

‘
She
will watch over you,’ said Amathea. ‘Be a good girl and just put the pear on your head. It will all be over soon and you can go back inside.’

‘Do you promise I’ll be all right, Mistress?’

Amathea was now struggling to sound pleasant. ‘I promise!’

The hunter exhaled loudly, then checked the arrow and nocked it against the string. He turned side on and raised the bow.

Alexon watched Kallikres. The sergeant was wringing his hands like an old woman.

Lyra placed the pear on the top of her head. She held it there for a moment then put her arms by her side.

The bowstring groaned as the hunter drew it back. He closed one eye. The only noise was the ever-present buzz of crickets in the grass.

‘By the gods, I can see his fingers shaking,’ said Kallikres.

The hunter lowered the bow and glared at him.

Kallikres turned to Amathea. ‘How can he make the shot if his hand is shaking? That poor girl …’

Without any prompting from his employers, Skiron walked over to Kallikres and stood beside him.

But now the hunter seemed unsure about continuing.

‘Can he do it or not, Skiron?’ snapped Amathea.

‘Perhaps one of the others?’ suggested Alexon.

After a brief consultation, Skiron answered. ‘No, Mistress. If one of the others does it and … something goes wrong, it will cause a problem between them.’

Lyra reached for the pear. ‘Should I …’

‘Don’t move!’ yelled Amathea. ‘I was told fifty paces.’ She pointed at the hunter. ‘This is thirty. Tell him to fire now.’

The hunter needed no translation. He raised the bow and drew the string back once more.

Lyra checked that the pear wouldn’t fall then clasped her hands and closed her eyes.

Alexon and everyone else behind the Iturean was watching his fingers on the string. They
were
shaking, the tip of the arrow too.

The hunter let go.

The arrow flashed away and thumped into the turf well behind Lyra. It had missed the top of her head by at least a foot.

The hunter spoke.

‘A sighter,’ explained Skiron. ‘Now the real shot.’

Kallikres looked away and ran a knuckle across his brow.

Lyra was already reaching for the pear. ‘Is that it? Can I come back now?’

Skiron yelled at her to stand perfectly still.

Once more the bow was drawn. The hunter cocked his head to one side then lowered the weapon. This time nobody needed an explanation; a low-flying flock of noisy geese were flapping across the copse of conifers to the right. The only person who didn’t watch them was Lyra, who didn’t dare move.

Alexon peered at her. He couldn’t see any tears now but her tunic was wet upon her thighs. He wanted this to be over.

Back came the string again. The hunter’s fingers seemed to be steadier this time. He let go.

Alexon did not hear the arrow hit. All he saw was the girl’s hand fly up towards her head. Then her legs went and she collapsed on to the grass.

Kallikres staggered over to the side of the terrace and threw up into a flower bed.

Alexon and his sister watched as the hunters and Skiron ran down the steps then across the meadow.

‘Oh,’ said Amathea.

‘Is she moving?’ asked Alexon.

‘I think so.’

‘By the great and honoured gods,’ muttered Kallikres.

Skiron and the Itureans knelt in front of Lyra.

‘Well?’ asked Amathea. ‘Did he hit it?’

Skiron turned. ‘He did, Mistress.’

‘Bring it to me,’ instructed Amathea. ‘I want to see it.’