The Emperor's Silver: Agent of Rome 5

by Nick Brown

  As the slope began to level out, Cosmas and the cart halted just before a ninety-degree bend in the road. While the driver got down and steadied the horses, Cosmas gathered the others and walked back to Cassius.

  ‘Can your man stay and help with the mounts? I’d like to take four if I can.’

  ‘Certainly.’ Cassius waved Simo forward then dismounted and passed him his reins.

  The sergeants’ clubs were not as long or thick as Indavara’s stave, but one end was reinforced by a bundle of thinner rods strapped together. For centuries a symbol of the magistrate’s power to punish, what they lacked in subtlety they made up for with impact. Indavara also had his sword, as did Cassius, who noticed a couple of the sergeants eyeing the eagle head. He had instructed Cosmas to tell them he was an undercover army officer, nothing more.

  The Syrian sergeant was both the smallest and the oldest of the six. He carried no club, just a short sword even more basic and roughly cast than Indavara’s. Looped around his belt were some lengths of rope.

  ‘A hundred yards beyond the bend is their property – to the left. It’s their mother’s place. We can come in along their front wall. If they’re up and about, which I doubt, we’ll just go straight for them. If they’re inside, I’ll take the front door with Cantaber and Arius. Vespilo and Gessius, you come in the back.’

  ‘Any dogs?’ asked one of the men.

  Cosmas shook his head.

  ‘Need us for anything?’ asked Indavara keenly.

  ‘Maybe just cover the road, in case they make a run for it.’

  The bodyguard looked disappointed.

  ‘I think we can manage that,’ said Cassius. Holding the hilt of his sword, he jogged along with Indavara as they followed the sergeants up to and around the bend. Just before they ducked into the cover of the wall, Cassius glimpsed the dwelling; a low, shabby farmhouse with several tiles missing from the roof.

  The only noise was the quiet slap of their boots as they approached the gateless entrance. Cosmas stopped and squatted down, then peered around the wall. Indavara moved up beside Cassius, stave in hand.

  Cosmas pointed at two of his men. They ran through the entrance and around to the back of the dwelling, disturbing some hens that pranced away, squawking and shedding feathers. Cosmas and the two remaining men ran to the front.

  Cassius and Indavara moved up to the entrance and watched as the sergeant rapped on the door. His compatriots were already looking through windows, brandishing their clubs.

  ‘Open up. Magistrate’s men. Come out unarmed.’

  For a moment there was silence. Then Cassius heard a woman’s voice.

  ‘Open up!’

  A bolt was withdrawn and the door opened a crack. Cosmas barged his way inside, hand on his sword hilt, closely followed by the other two. The woman shouted something, then boots thumped as the sergeants looked for the brothers.

  ‘In here!’

  ‘There he is.’

  ‘Got the other one.’

  The woman was now wailing, drowning out the men.

  Cassius and Indavara walked up to the door, across compacted soil littered with straw and horse shit.

  Cosmas was first out. ‘Got them both.’

  Cassius glanced at Indavara, who was tapping his stave against the ground. ‘I know you’d rather be in there yourself but it’s wise to delegate once in a while.’

  Indavara replaced the stave on his back. ‘Delegate?’

  ‘Give the difficult jobs to other people.’

  ‘You are very good at that.’

  The mother kept up the voluble complaints as she pulled a shawl on over a tatty tunic. Next came one of her sons. He had his wrists tied behind his back and a sergeant’s hand on each shoulder.

  ‘Younger of the two,’ said Cosmas. ‘Known as “Knuckles”.’

  Indavara snorted.

  He was a muscular, grim-looking man, barefoot and clad only in a sleeveless tunic. He reeked of wine.

  ‘And here’s Greyboy.’

  Though less than thirty, like his brother, this man’s hair was indeed entirely grey. He was also much smaller, with not an ounce of fat on him. He too smelled of wine, though he had summoned the energy to inspect Cassius and Indavara.

  ‘Bring up the cart!’ shouted Cosmas. ‘Looks like these two had a jug too many last night. We had to pull them out of bed.’

  Greyboy temporarily silenced his mother, then spoke to Cosmas. ‘What’s the charge?’

  ‘No charge. Yet. I told you, we just want to talk.’

  Greyboy looked again at Cassius. His brother moaned and shook his head. Staying on his feet was looking like a struggle.

  The cart rattled along the road and the driver reined in by the entrance. Simo came along on foot, towing all four horses.

  ‘Let’s get them in there,’ said Cosmas. As the sergeants pushed the Gorgos brothers across the yard, he did his best to calm the mother down, assuring her that her sons would be back by sundown.

  Cassius and Indavara wandered back to the road and looked on as the sergeants manhandled the two captives into the cart. Once the pair were down, the magistrate’s men sat on either side of them. Cosmas took charge of his horse and swung up into the saddle.

  Indavara blew out his cheeks as Simo brought their horses around the cart.

  ‘Should have gone to Egypt.’

  ‘Really?’ said Cassius. ‘Considering what happened the last two times we tried to apprehend a suspect, I’m glad to see things go smoothly for once.’

  As they mounted up, the tearful mother came over to the wall and spoke to Greyboy. Knuckles tried to speak too but instead vomited over the side of the cart. What splashed on to the road looked to be mostly meat and wine.

  ‘Gods,’ said one of the guards, ‘what a stench.’

  ‘Moving out.’ Cosmas set off, closely followed by the cart.

  As they rode back down the steep, twisting road, Cassius soon found himself alone. Indavara had dropped back to talk to Simo and – from the sound of it – was trying to raise his friend’s spirits.

  They were not the only ones talking. The Gorgos brothers seemed to have woken up and – despite the protestations of their captors – were insistent on continuing their discussion. One of the sergeants shouted at them, then at the driver. As he halted the cart, Greyboy gave what sounded like an order. A moment later, his brother head-butted the man sitting to his right.

  With a high-pitched yelp, the sergeant tipped over on to his side then fell out of the back of the cart.

  Cassius yanked on his reins, pulling up only a few feet short of the man. The next thing he saw was the other three sergeants pounce on Knuckles.

  Greyboy was not slow to take his chance. Showing considerable athleticism, he flipped his legs past the battling quartet, shunted himself to the back of the cart then dropped on to the road. Hands still bound, he bent down next to the fallen guard, then plucked his dagger from its sheath.

  Without a second look at his brother, he ran up the bank to the right of the road and disappeared between two bushes.

  Cosmas was already off his horse and haring after him.

  As Cassius dismounted to help the guard, he heard something clatter on to the road. Indavara’s stave rolled down the slope as the bodyguard bolted past and leapt up the bank.

  ‘Uuuurgh.’ The guard rolled on to his back, mouth open. The skin sliced open on his brow separated further and blood trickled out.

  Cassius put a hand on him, not knowing what to do. ‘Er …’

  A heavy blow from one of the guards’ clubs finally ended Knuckles’ resistance. The sergeants pushed him on to his side and one began binding his ankles.

  ‘Here, sir. Let me.’

  As Simo arrived to help the stricken guard, Cassius ran to his mount and leapt up on to the saddle. Twenty yards back along the road was a track leading off to the right. He wheeled the horse and kicked down, urging it into a gallop.

  Indavara kept his eyes on the ground. He was runnin
g across difficult terrain; sandy hillocks dotted with clumps of limestone. He powered his way up another slope, arms pumping as his boots slipped on the dry soil. He reached the top and stopped.

  Two hundred yards ahead was the aqueduct. Here – on the plateau at the top of the gorge – it was only three or four feet above the ground. A dozen or so of the labourers could be seen ferrying buckets back and forth. Greyboy was halfway there. Cosmas seemed to have disappeared.

  ‘Who’s that?’ said a voice from below. ‘I’m here.’ The Syrian’s arm appeared above a bush.

  Indavara took the downward slope with a series of long leaps and landed beside the sergeant, who was examining his ankle.

  ‘Did he cut you?’

  ‘No, tripped me as I came down. Go get him!’

  XVIII

  Cassius had just startled a flock of birds. As they scattered, his mount slowed then shimmied sideways, tossing its head. He lashed a kick at its flank and pulled down hard on the reins but the horse was determined to flee.

  ‘Bloody beast.’ Cassius could have got it back under control but – as he’d just seen Greyboy reach the aqueduct – there was no time to spare. He let go of the reins, swung his left leg over the saddle and dropped adroitly to the ground.

  Once free, the horse bolted back towards the road.

  Just as Cassius reached the edge of the track, he spied Indavara leaping a low stone wall. He should have been watching his own footing: his left boot caught a root and he rolled down a short bank, ending up on his backside. As he wiped dirt off his face he was relieved to find nothing hurt.

  ‘Caesar’s length.’ He dragged himself up and loped towards the aqueduct.

  The labourers watched Greyboy splashing along the channel.

  ‘Hey, you can’t go in there,’ shouted one man. ‘That’s drinking water.’ He was so enraged that he dropped his bucket, splattering white paint across the ground.

  Indavara vaulted over the wall of the channel and landed in three inches of water.

  ‘Two of the buggers. What in Hades!’

  Ahead, one of the labourer’s compatriots had dropped into the channel to confront Greyboy. A threatening thrust of the suspect’s knife sent him leaping straight back up on to the wall.

  Greyboy wasn’t slow but Indavara reckoned he was gaining. In the distance were the chalky walls on the far side of the gorge. He had no intention of letting the Syrian get that far.

  ‘Army business!’

  The labourers kept their distance as Cassius sprinted along the side of the aqueduct. When the ground began to drop away into the gorge, he had to clamber up on to the channel. Before continuing, he looked back towards the road; there was no sign of Cosmas or the other sergeants.

  Greyboy looked back too; and what he saw evidently unnerved him, because he somehow tripped and fell. Arms flailing, he went down hard on his chest. Indavara was impressed by how swiftly he got back on his feet but the Syrian had lost valuable seconds and considerable momentum. Greyboy took only twenty paces more before realising he was about to be caught.

  He stopped and turned, breeze ruffling his hair.

  Indavara had been so intent on catching him that he hadn’t noticed another labourer leaning over the wall beyond his opponent. The man straightened up, a paintbrush in his hand.

  ‘Who are you two?’

  ‘I’m army,’ said Indavara, knowing that any mention of the legions usually had the desired effect. ‘Clear out.’

  The labourer looked over the left side of the channel. ‘Arcus, come up. We’ve got to move. Just hurry!’

  Greyboy wiped sweat out of his eyes as he sloshed backwards. The fall had done quite a bit of damage; his forearms had been scraped red and blood was dripping from his knee, colouring the water.

  ‘You’ve got nowhere to go,’ said Indavara.

  ‘I’ll go anywhere as long as it’s not the quarries,’ said Greyboy, blade sparkling.

  ‘We just want to talk to you.’

  ‘Heard that before.’ Greyboy continued his retreat.

  As he followed, Indavara made the mistake of looking over the side. They were directly above the gorge now; a few more steps would take him over the water. Shallow or deep, river or sea, the very thought of it sent icy tremors across his back.

  He watched the second labourer clamber up the rope ladder and on to the wall. The man started questioning his friend then spied the knife in the stranger’s hand. He put his pail and paintbrush down and the two of them jogged away along the channel.

  Indavara didn’t like the way Greyboy was glancing at the rope ladder. He gripped the hilt of his sword and drew it with a flourish; he had to convince this sly bastard to give up before he even thought about going over the side.

  ‘No farther. Stay where you are.’

  ‘You’re not going to cut me. You want what we know. Or what you think we know.’

  ‘Not another step.’

  Greyboy glanced down at his bleeding knee. ‘And I’m definitely not going to outrun you.’

  The Syrian kept himself facing Indavara as he climbed on to the side of the channel. He put the knife between his teeth, lowered himself on to the rope ladder and climbed down.

  ‘Ah, shit.’ Indavara turned round; Corbulo would be there soon.

  Having already let himself down once that week, he wasn’t about to do so again. He sheathed his sword and leaped up on to the wall. The ladder was trembling but it must have been tethered lower down because Greyboy had already disappeared under the overhang. Indavara pushed his sword belt over his hip and followed him.

  By the time Cassius arrived and looked over the edge, all he could see was the bodyguard’s arms and the top of his head.

  ‘Indavara, we’ve got the other one. It’s not worth it.’

  ‘Calm down, your voice is getting squeaky.’

  ‘There’s a thin line between brave and reckless.’

  This was not the first time Indavara had crossed it.

  Cassius waved at the labourers. ‘Where does it lead?’

  ‘Down,’ said one.

  ‘Where exactly?’

  ‘Past the top level down the side of a pier,’ said the other man. ‘The bottom is at the base of the second level.’

  ‘Is there another way down?’

  One of the men gestured at the side of the gorge. ‘Think there’s a track there somewhere.’

  Cassius ran back along the channel.

  Hands and feet, hands and feet.

  Indavara was making good progress down the pier – a ten-yard column of brick. Every time he looked down to check his boots were secure on the thin wooden slats, he glimpsed Greyboy, who was now close to the base of the pier, twenty feet below. There was only a yard of space between it and the edge.

  Hands and feet, hands and feet. Don’t look at the—

  But it was impossible not to with the sun glinting off the river. Indavara had to stop and close his eyes for a moment. When he opened them he saw his white knuckles shaking on the thin, rough rope. In fact, now the whole ladder seemed to be shaking.

  He looked down and saw Greyboy’s face set in a sneer as he swung the ladder from side to side.

  ‘You’re going for a swim, friend! That’s if you survive the fall.’

  Indavara wrapped his right arm over one of the slats and clamped his fingers on another. Reaching down with his left hand, he flipped up the stud of his dagger sheath and pulled out the blade. Holding it by the hilt he aimed it at Greyboy.

  ‘I’ve got a better chance of surviving that than you have a knife through your skull.’

  With a final wrench that failed to dislodge his enemy, Greyboy ran nimbly along the edge of the aqueduct and around the corner of the pier.

  Indavara sheathed the knife and continued downward.

  Cassius had found the top of what looked like an animal trail. It cut steeply down through outcrops of lichen-covered limestone and small, spindly trees.

  Cosmas arrived, limping. He looked at the aq
ueduct. ‘Is that Indavara?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘So where’s … ah.’

  Greyboy had reached the far side of the second level’s widest arch. He glanced back briefly, then edged along the pier and disappeared behind it.

  ‘He’s gone,’ said Cosmas.

  They watched as Indavara reached the bottom of the ladder, then gave chase.

  ‘Gods, he’s like a man possessed,’ said Cassius. ‘What’s the point? We’ve got the other one.’

  Cosmas cupped his hands around his mouth. ‘Indavara, leave him! Let it go!’

  If he heard him, the bodyguard didn’t show it.

  Cassius sighed. ‘Letting things go is not his speciality.’

  Indavara checked his knife and sword were secure then ran along to the next pier. Slowing as he reached the gap between it and the edge, he leaned to his right and put a hand against the stone. Determined not to be distracted by the water again, he shuffled forward, eyes fixed on the corner.

  Once there, he stopped and listened. He couldn’t hear the bastard running; either he was too far ahead or he was waiting nearby. Indavara drew his sword and held it in his left hand. He flew around the corner, ready to swing at anything that moved.

  Apart from two stacks of pails, the broad stone platform beneath the next arch was empty. Hanging from both sides of the aqueduct were several more rope ladders. Indavara decided to keep his blade out. The next pier was forty feet ahead. He had taken only a few steps when he heard boots scrape on stone.

  Greyboy had materialised between the pails, arm back, ready to throw.

  Indavara had time only to bow his head and raise the sword.

  The knife clanged against the middle of the blade and dropped to the floor.

  By the time he looked up, Greyboy was on him.

  The Syrian came in low under the sword, his shoulder catching Indavara in the ribs. Though by far the bigger man, the impact sent him tottering backwards. Too late he realised how close he was to the edge. His wet left boot slipped off the stone and he fell awkwardly on to his right knee.