Rome and the Conquest of Mesopotamia (Book 8 of the Veteran of Rome Series)

by William Kelso

  At the mention of Fergus’s name, Marcus’s expression instantly became guarded. He had told no one about the position that Fergus occupied on Hadrian’s staff, for that would not go down well with his own War Party. It would be a disaster if Nigrinus found out that Fergus was head of security for Hadrian and had probably prevented the assassination of Hadrian some eighteen months ago. Hadrian and his Peace Party supporters were the arch rivals of his own War Party, locked in an increasingly bitter and murderous struggle for power. Both Hadrian and Nigrinus were competing fiercely with each other to be nominated as Trajan’s successor to the imperial throne. No, there could be absolutely no mention of what Fergus did or whom he served. It had to be kept secret even from close friends, Paulinus and Lady Claudia. At his side Marcus clenched his right hand into a fist. If it ever leaked out that he had tried to warn Fergus about the assassination attempt on Hadrian, his life and that of all his family would be forfeit. Nigrinus would have him killed for such treachery. So Kyna and he had told no one. There was only one man outside his immediate family, who knew about Fergus, and Marcus had sworn to kill him if he as much as opened his mouth.

  “Seventh Auxiliary Cavalry of Numidians,” Marcus said lightly. “He’s been made prefect of the whole unit. It’s a promotion. The last news that I have is that they posted him to some Syrian fort, out on the desert frontier.”

  “That’s good news,” Paulinus called out, his eyes fixed on the temple of Saturn that stood ahead at the base of the Capitoline hill.

  “It will be good news if he returns home alive,” Marcus growled but his words were lost in the din and noise of the street.

  Eighteen months ago, as news of the failed assassination attempt on Hadrian had filtered back to Rome, he’d been greatly relieved to learn from Galena’s regular letters to Kyna that Fergus had survived and that he was being posted to Antioch in Syria. It however was not clear from Galena’s letters whether the assassination had failed because Fergus had understood his warning letter. But Fergus had survived and that was all that mattered. There was just no way he could watch his son become collateral damage in one of Nigrinus’s plots. In her letters Galena had initially expressed concern for Kyna’s health, which his wife had found rather odd as there was nothing wrong with her. At his side Marcus clenched his right hand tighter. It had forced him to reveal to his wife what he’d been up to. Kyna had been furious and upset, lambasting him for his secrecy, for not caring about Fergus and for not making his warning to Fergus much clearer. It had been no use trying to tell her that he had to tread a delicate path. That he could not be seen to betray his own party, or what the consequences would be if that came out. Kyna had refused to speak to him for nearly a month. It had taken her a long time before she had been ready to understand the huge risk he’d taken, by writing to Fergus with his subtly worded warning about the assassination plot.

  Galena’s letters to Kyna had made no mention of his warning, or indeed the assassination attempt and, he had guessed that she was saying nothing on purpose, in case her letters were being intercepted. But then in her last correspondence to Kyna - received several months ago and dated to the late summer of last year, Galena had boldly revealed the news that Hadrian had placed him, Marcus, on a death list, for his apparent and prior knowledge of the assassination plot and that Fergus was doing everything he could to get his name scrapped from the list. Somehow Hadrian must have discovered who he was. It had been an unsettling development but not unexpected. If Hadrian did become the next emperor, there were going to a shed load of important people, who were going to lose their lives. It was a threat that all his colleagues in the War Party accepted. There had been no news from Fergus or Galena since.

  “I must leave you here,” Paulinus said, as he came to a halt before the great doors to the temple of Saturn at the base of the Capitoline hill and turned to face Marcus. “Business with the Aerarium I’m afraid. But let’s grab a bite to eat, one of these days, and you can tell me all about your dealings with the business guilds.”

  “Sounds good,” Marcus said, hastily forcing a smile onto his face as the two senators gave each other a brief farewell embrace.

  ***

  Gesturing for Cassius to come and walk alongside him, Marcus stepped out onto the Sacred Way and started off in the direction of the coliseum. Around him, in the open spaces of the Forum, the money lenders, lawyers, religious-nuts, fortune-tellers, entertainers and business men, were touting for work in loud, brash voices as people of all social classes milled about. In a corner, a bawdy, puppet show was attracting a lot of attention and shrieks of laughter from the crowds. A squad of heavily armed men from the urban cohorts stood on watch. Ignoring the stench seeping out from the cloaca maxima, the network of sewers that ran beneath his feet, Marcus thoughtfully glanced sideways at the tall and newly built column of Trajan. The column, some hundred and fifteen feet high, had been erected by the emperor to commemorate victory in the Dacian wars. The column belonged to all the veterans of the Dacian wars. It was their monument. And, as he marvelled at the fine engraved stonework, Marcus suddenly remembered that Kyna had asked him to speak to Ahern.

  At the thought of Ahern, Marcus sighed. A few days ago, seventeen-year old Ahern, Kyna’s son by another man, a brilliant student with a gifted scientific mind, had been arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct by the urban cohorts during a night-out on the town with friends. Marcus had been forced to use his influence to get him freed. It had been an embarrassing moment for both, but Ahern had claimed he’d done nothing wrong and had been unrepentant and rebellious. He’d refused to apologise to Lady Claudia, under whose patronage and in whose school he’d been enrolled as a student and where he was being taught by a prestigious, expensive tutor. Ahern had threatened to do whatever he liked at any time he liked. The boy needs to be taught some boundaries, discipline and respect Kyna had snapped angrily. That was his job, as father of his family, Marcus thought sourly. But there had been no time to deal with the rebellious youth.

  ***

  The temple of Minerva stood on the summit of the Aventine hill, a splendid rectangular construction with six towering stone columns at one end. A magnificent statue of the goddess adorned the front of the temple, competing for splendour it seemed with the temple of Diane, the goddess of the hunt, which stood next door. The doors into the complex were open and around the entrance steps, a few prostitutes, beggars and priests were going about their business. Marcus looked visibly annoyed as he marched down the temple steps and headed back towards the Forum. At his side Cassius, looking anxious, hastened to keep up with his boss. The meeting with the baker’s guild had not gone well. The bakers had been more stubborn than he’d expected.

  “It’s a disgrace,” Marcus hissed angrily. “Greedy, useless bastards. Who do they think they are? There is going to be no rise in the price of grain. What part of that don’t they understand?”

  “Yet we must be careful Sir,” Cassius said, as he quickly strode along at Marcus’s side. “The bakers have some political power. They are a special interest group. There are senators in the senate who will stand up for their interests.”

  “I am not afraid of them,” Marcus growled, as he stormed on down the narrow street.

  “Sir,” Cassius said hastily, as he caught hold of Marcus’s sleeve and tried to slow him down. “I have a plan to handle the baker’s guild. If I may explain.”

  Marcus came to a halt and his eyes narrowed suspiciously as he glared at Cassius.

  “A plan,” he snapped. “What kind of plan? What are you talking about?”

  Cassius quickly turned to look around at the pedestrians in the street. Then the young doctor took a deep breath.

  “I was going to tell you yesterday but there was never a good moment,” Cassius said, lowering his gaze. “I know how we can handle the bakers Sir. Nigrinus has provided me with a personnel file on the guild and a special fund, a slush fund, on which we can draw if necessary.” Cassius lowered his voice as he turned to
gaze around in a conspiratorial manner. “If the bakers continue to be difficult, Nigrinus says that we can threaten, blackmail or bribe their leading members. Nigrinus knows stuff about them that is compromising.”

  Marcus stared at Cassius in stunned surprise unable to say anything. Then slowly the corner of his mouth began to twitch.

  “Nigrinus gave you this information,” Marcus said with growing incredulity. “You are speaking to Nigrinus directly? He has contact with you? Behind my back? Without my knowledge?”

  “It’s not like that Sir,” Cassius stammered. “He wrote to me with the information some time ago. I don’t know why he came to me. What was I supposed to do?”

  Dismayed, Marcus shook his head. He had not expected this. What the hell was Nigrinus playing at, by going behind his back like this? Why had he not been informed? He was the praefectus annonae after all. It was insulting. Did Nigrinus not trust him? Did he think he could not handle the job? Or was this a subtle message from Nigrinus to remind him who was ultimately in charge of things?

  “Are you working for him?” Marcus hissed, his face suddenly darkening with rage, as he rounded on Cassius. “Are you spying on me; providing Nigrinus with reports on my progress? Well, what is it boy?”

  But before Cassius had a chance to reply, a hand slapped Marcus on the shoulder and a deep voice boomed out.

  “There you are old friend. I have been looking all over for you,” Alexandros cried-out as a broad smile lit up his bearded, one-eyed face.

  Chapter Three – “To the day that the Hermes sails again”

  “She’s not in good shape I’m afraid,” Alexandros said, as he eagerly reached for the dried beans on his plate and wolfed them down.

  Marcus nodded with a sour expression, as he waited for Alexandros to finish eating. From the way the big, one-eyed Greek captain was attacking the plates of food, it looked like he’d not eaten in days. And he didn’t seem to have washed recently either. The captain of the Hermes, with his black eye patch and dirty beard, looked old, scruffy and worn-out. The two of them were sitting at a small corner-table in a Popina, one of the many public wine bars that lined the narrow, busy and congested streets around the temple of Minerva. Behind Marcus, at the next table, Indus sat alone, his back against the wall, his eyes on the noisy, boisterous customers. A selection of small dishes containing cuts of meat, dried beans, olives, green vegetables, olive oil and bread had been placed on the table, but Marcus wasn’t hungry. Patiently he raised his cup of watered-down wine to his lips. He’d sent Cassius away, telling him that he would speak to him later. But his anger at discovering that Nigrinus was going behind his back had not abated.

  “So because the Hermes is not seaworthy enough to leave Portus I had to sign on as a crewmember with the Egyptian grain fleet,” Alexandros continued, as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and hastily reached for a piece of fish. “That was tough after being the captain of one’s own ship. Had to leave Cora and Calista behind on the Hermes for a few months. But I needed the job, so I had to do it. I gave up drinking as well. Got to pay the bills. A man must support his family, right?”

  “It’s good to see you again Alexandros,” Marcus muttered in a genuine voice and, as he spoke, Alexandros’s rugged face lit up.

  “And you Marcus, and you,” the Greek sailor exclaimed hastily with sudden emotion. “It’s been a tough time recently,” he continued looking away, and as he did, Marcus was suddenly aware of the tension on Alexandros’ face and in his voice. “Money is tight. Cora is deeply unhappy. She says she is fed up living on a rotting piece of wood in a violent, stinking harbour. She is threatening to leave me.” Alexandros sighed. “But I don’t know what else to do. The Hermes is all that I have got. I will not sell her. Times are hard Marcus, hard as nails. That’s why I came looking for you.”

  “How are Calista and Jodoc and their child?” Marcus asked quietly.

  “Oh, they are doing all right,” Alexandros replied, as he reached for the bread and dipped it into the olive oil, spilling some onto the table. “They are still living on the Hermes with Cora. Can’t afford anywhere else. Jodoc has a job in the harbour as a longshoreman. But the pay is shit and its backbreaking work. They survive.”

  Marcus nodded as he lifted his cup to his lips and took a sip. The memories of his epic voyage across the western ocean to Hyperborea were still vivid.

  “When I got back to Portus a few weeks ago I heard that they had appointed you as prefect in charge of the grain,” Alexandros said, as he paused for a moment to digest his food. “Congratulations Marcus. That’s a very important position. You must be pleased. Things are going well.”

  “Thank you,” Marcus replied. “It’s an important position all right but so far all I have had to deal with is a load of arrogant, moaning businessmen.”

  Hungrily Alexandros turned to look at the remaining pieces of meat on the table, but hesitated to reach out to them.

  “You need some help, don’t you?” Marcus said quietly.

  Across from him Alexandros lowered his gaze and nodded silently, his face suddenly blighted by embarrassment and humiliation.

  “I need a loan,” the Greek captain of the Hermes blurted out. “I need the money to repair the Hermes and get her seaworthy. If I can get the ship repaired, then the Hermes can join the grain fleet and do some proper business. I can start my own company again and we can finally leave Portus. But no banker will lend me the money. They say that I am too risky. Believe me, I have tried everywhere, and the answer is always the same.” Alexandros slowly shook his head in bewilderment. “It’s crushing,” he stammered with sudden emotion; “It is sapping my will to live.”

  Marcus sighed and looked away and, for a while the two of them sat together in awkward silence and as they did Marcus was reminded of something. The idea was crazy and risky, but it had never really gone away. It had always been there in the back of his mind, patiently waiting to be considered once again. Marcus grunted. He would probably lose his investment, but he really did owe the Greek captain; his friend. Without Alexandros he would likely have died and Corbulo’s spirit would have been lost forever in a foreign land. Boldly making up his mind, he lifted his chin and looked at Alexandros.

  “I remember the first time we met, back on the Thames at Londinium,” Marcus said, as a little careful smile appeared on the corners of his mouth. “You told me that you had a dream. A bold plan. You wanted to sail west across the ocean to the land of the Chin and bring back silk. You said the empress Plotina and the ladies of Rome would make you rich if you managed to establish such a trade route. Is that still your dream? To sail west across the outer ocean.”

  “West,” Alexandros replied refusing to look up at Marcus. “That was a long time ago. I would be just content for the Hermes to have a place on the grain fleet.”

  “All right,” Marcus growled, “here is what I will do. I am going to give you some of my own money so that you can fix the Hermes. Get her repaired and seaworthy. After that it is up to you what you do. But,” Marcus paused, his eyes gleaming with sudden excitement. “If you decide you want to take the Hermes westwards across the ocean I, in my capacity as prefect in charge of the grain supply for the city of Rome, will officially commission you and the Hermes to explore and open a new western maritime trade route with the land of Chin. I shall make public funds available for you to hire a crew and buy provisions for the journey. How does that sound?”

  “You would do this,” Alexandros exclaimed, gazing up at Marcus with growing surprise. “You would really do this for me? This is too much.”

  “That’s what I just said,” Marcus growled. “Well, what do you say? Or have you lost the stomach for the open seas?”

  For a long moment Alexandros seemed too stunned to answer as he stared at Marcus. Then with a fierceness and aggression, that had Indus half out of his seat with his knife drawn, Alexandros banged both of his fists onto the table, making the plates of food jump, before raising his arms above his head w
ith a fierce and loud roar of pure delight.

  “Me, scared of the open sea. Pigs may fly,” Alexandros boomed, his face flushed with sudden emotion. “Fuck that. Here is to the day that the Hermes sails again.”

  Chapter Four – Punishment

  The school building on the Quirinal hill had not changed much since he’d first come here nine years ago Marcus thought, as he and Indus strode on through the entrance gates. On that first occasion he’d been new to Rome and had hung around, hoping to have a word with the Augusta, the empress Plotina; whose family’s children had once attended the prestigious school. He had been hoping to argue the case for the care of destitute army veterans, but it had been a vain hope. Instead however he’d ended up being reunited with Lady Claudia.

  A few days had passed since his unexpected meeting with Alexandros and Cassius’s admission that he was in contact with Nigrinus behind his back. As Marcus strode into the school courtyard, clad in his senatorial toga, a slave hastily bowed and hurried away to announce his arrival. From inside the building, the sounds of playful and excited children’s voices were clearly audible, and a strong smell of burning incense was trying to overpower the pong of the city. At the steps leading into the school, Marcus paused to look around. There was a long history between himself and Lady Claudia that stretched all the way back to the days of the great northern rebellion in Britannia, some twenty-six years before, when for a short period he’d been prefect and in command of the 2nd Batavian Auxiliary Cohort. Little had he realised then how important Claudia would be to him. It had been Lady Claudia who had introduced him to Paulinus and Nigrinus. It had been her influence that had got Ahern a place as an apprentice to one of the leading scientists in the city. Without her, Marcus thought, he would never have risen to become a senator of Rome.

  A few moments later Lady Claudia appeared in the entrance to her school and, as he caught sight of her, Marcus’s stern and hard expression mellowed. Claudia was older than himself but had still managed to maintain her elegance. She was clad in a light-blue stola, the hood of which was lowered around the back of her neck and she was wearing fine silk gloves. She greeted him with a gracious smile.