Agent of Rome: The Far Shore

by Brown, Nick

  ‘Ah,’ said Cassius.

  The centurion still smelt of wine. There was no way to tell if his mistake was an honest error or a result of the drink. What had the fellow at the marketplace said? He was a good man.

  ‘So – are we going in?’ demanded Indavara. ‘Is there time for me to go back and get my sword?’

  ‘It’s four against one,’ said Cassius.

  ‘Assuming he’s alone,’ replied Indavara.

  ‘How do you want to do this?’ Cassius asked Eborius.

  ‘Someone should go to the rear. Just in case.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Cassius. He turned to Indavara. ‘You can get over that wall?’

  ‘Easy.’

  Cassius continued: ‘At the back there are only two high windows – very small. You should be able to approach unseen.’

  ‘So what are you three going to do?’ asked Indavara. ‘Just walk up to the gate?’

  The centurion gestured at his belt. ‘He’ll see Noster and I are soldiers. May even know our faces.’

  Eborius and Indavara looked at Cassius.

  ‘Looks like you’re ringing the bell,’ said Indavara.

  Cassius wasn’t overly enamoured with the prospect of facing the assassin alone, even if only for a moment.

  ‘It’s best you go,’ added Indavara. ‘You won’t scare him.’

  ‘Also true,’ said Eborius. ‘No offence.’

  ‘None taken,’ Cassius replied. ‘Very well. But you and Noster must be quick.’

  ‘We’ll watch from here,’ said Eborius. ‘As soon as that gate opens we’ll charge straight in.’

  ‘Just make sure you do,’ said Cassius, recalling the foul-up on Rhodes when they’d tried to apprehend Drusus Viator.

  ‘I’ll brief Noster,’ said Eborius, walking away through the weeds.

  Cassius took a moment to check his boots were well tied. He tightened his belt a notch and took a deep breath.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Indavara. ‘I’ll be over that rear wall in no time.’

  ‘I’m not worried.’

  ‘He’s a small man.’

  ‘He’s a small man who slits throats and cuts heads off.’

  Cassius took a moment to consider what they were doing; he didn’t want to be rushed into a wrong move.

  ‘Perhaps we’re being rather hasty.’

  Indavara frowned. ‘We’ve followed this bastard hundreds of miles across the sea. Now we’ve got him.’

  ‘But I’m sure he’s not working alone. Maybe we should just watch the villa – see who he makes contact with. Remember what Eborius said about all the exiles here?’

  ‘You want to wait? What if that gate suddenly opens and he rides out? We might not get this chance again.’

  Cassius knew he could always rely on Indavara to favour the direct approach, but his thinking was correct. ‘Good point.’

  Eborius returned. ‘Ready?’

  Indavara ran his knife in and out of the sheath a few times. ‘I’ll get going.’

  ‘Take a wide route round,’ Cassius advised him. ‘Watch those windows.’

  ‘What are we going to do with this Dio anyway?’ asked Eborius once Indavara had left.

  ‘I’m not sure. We’ll have to search the place. Then perhaps wait until nightfall and get him back to the ship.’

  ‘You need to make him talk, I suppose.’

  That particularly dark line of thought was a bit too much for Cassius’s nerves.

  Eborius noticed. ‘You really aren’t like the other grain men I’ve met, Corbulo.’

  ‘I hear that a lot. I’ve come to consider it a compliment.’

  ‘And so it is,’ replied the centurion with a ready grin.

  Cassius pointed towards the Via Cyrenaica. ‘I’ll walk back towards the road, then come down the street from a distance. Just in case.’

  ‘Good idea. See you shortly.’

  Cassius waited for Eborius to reach the other end of the mausoleum, then walked out under the arch and turned left into the next street along. Once there, he made for the road, moving slowly to give Indavara time to get in position. Only when he was close to the Via Cyrenaica did he cut back and head down the street towards the villa.

  With every step the cold hollow in his stomach grew larger. What should he say when Dio came to the gate? Did he even need to say anything? Not if the others were quick enough.

  Thirty yards. Even walking suddenly seemed difficult; the tension had spread to his legs. He tried to saunter. He tapped his fingers against his belt; just a curious visitor taking a nice stroll. Twenty yards. No sound from the villa. He was almost level with the end of the mausoleum. No sign of Eborius and Noster. Would they get across the street quickly enough? Ten yards. Had he allowed enough time? What if Indavara wasn’t ready? Why hadn’t he waited longer?

  The boy came tearing on to the street from an alley to the right and ran straight towards the villa. He looked about nine or ten. Over his shoulder was a leather pouch just like the young letter-carriers wore in towns and cities across the Empire. A messenger.

  Cassius kept walking. With only a brief glance at him, the boy stopped at the gate and rang the bell. Cassius was well past when it opened.

  ‘Where have you been, you little shit?’ asked a voice in Latin. ‘I said the third hour.’

  The Carthaginian sailors had been right. No obvious accent, nothing distinctive.

  ‘Sorry, sir. The goats got loose, I had to—’

  ‘Just come inside!’

  A pause. A silence. Cassius imagined Dio staring at his back and again tried to affect the casual stride of a wandering visitor.

  ‘Do I have far to go, sir? Grandfather said I must be back by midday.’

  ‘You will be.’

  The gate clanged shut.

  Cassius intended to keep walking, circle back and tell the others what he’d heard. Then he realised: Indavara.

  He darted left into the next alley and sprinted to the end, then looked round the corner towards the villa. ‘Thank the gods.’

  Indavara was standing there, back pressed against the wall, listening.

  Staying well hidden, Cassius waved at him.

  After a few moments Indavara spotted him and ran over, crouching low.

  ‘By Jupiter, what a relief,’ said Cassius. ‘I thought you might have heard the bell and gone straight in.’

  ‘I was about to jump but then I heard him. Didn’t seem very likely he’d call you a “little shit”.’

  ‘A letter-carrier. And it sounds like Dio’s got something for him. Might be going to his employer.’

  What are you thinking?’

  ‘We wait. Then grab the boy.’

  The young messenger left a quarter of an hour later. It turned out Eborius knew him and the plan was to let him get well away from the villa before intercepting him. Indavara and Noster would remain behind, with orders to apprehend the assassin if he tried to leave.

  Cassius and Eborius were already poised at the far end of the mausoleum. They heard the gate shut once more and Noster relayed a signal from Indavara, pointing back the way the boy had come – towards the Via Roma.

  Eborius sprang away along the alley, Cassius close on his heels. The two officers kept their eyes trained to the south as they ran but it wasn’t until they crossed the fourth street that they saw the lad – disappearing into an alley thirty yards away.

  Now nearing the Via Roma, they put in a burst and turned left down the next street. The lad emerged from the alley and stopped dead when he saw Eborius charging towards him. Barely out of breath, he glanced anxiously up at the two tall men.

  ‘Hello,’ said Eborius with a creditable attempt at warmth.

  ‘Hello, sir.’

  ‘You’re Baro’s grandson, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘What’s the name?’

  ‘Lucius, sir.’

  The lad was skinny and dirty, wearing an unbelted tunic several sizes too big for him. He was evidently
not of local stock, with skin as light as Cassius’s, straw-coloured hair and even a few freckles.

  ‘Well, Lucius, I’m on army business. I need to have a look in that bag of yours.’

  Cassius had circled round to stand behind the boy.

  ‘Master said I shouldn’t stop, sir. I don’t think he’d like it.’

  ‘What’s his name?’ asked Cassius.

  ‘Don’t know, sir,’ the lad answered, glancing nervously over his shoulder. ‘Said I was to just call him “Master”.’

  ‘You’re a good boy, Lucius,’ said Eborius. ‘You know what I am, don’t you?’

  ‘A soldier.’

  ‘Just a soldier? Haven’t seen my crest or—’

  ‘A centurion.’

  ‘That’s right. You do know that the army is very important? If I tell you to do something, you have to do it. I promise we’ll give the bag back. Master won’t even know we’ve seen it.’

  ‘Grandfather said you’re not really a proper centurion, sir. He said Carnifex is the only one that counts.’

  Eborius forced another smile. ‘Quite right. Centurion Carnifex is the one that counts. You wouldn’t want me to tell him that you went against the army, would you?’

  Lucius took the bag off his shoulder and handed it over. As soon as Eborius had it in his hands, the lad tried to run. Cassius had seen it coming and stuck out a leg. As Lucius tripped and fell to the ground, Cassius grabbed his belt and held on to him. He kicked out, catching Cassius on the leg.

  ‘Ow! Little bastard.’

  Eborius lifted Lucius up, planted him on his feet and held him by the shoulders. Tears were now streaming down the lad’s face.

  ‘Listen, Lucius. You’ve not done anything wrong. A few moments and you can be on your way.’

  ‘Just wanted to get a few coins for my grandfather, sir.’

  ‘I know.’

  Cassius did his best to ignore his aching leg and pulled a golden aureus from his money bag. ‘All yours. If you do what we tell you.’

  Lucius gazed longingly at the coin.

  ‘Come on.’

  With a hand still on Lucius’s shoulder, Eborius directed him towards the nearest intact villa. The big centurion ducked under the low doorway and guided the boy over to an empty hearth, then sat him down on a stool. Cassius dragged a rickety bench over for himself and Eborius, which had the additional benefit of corralling the boy into a corner.

  ‘Now let’s see what’s in here.’

  Eborius reached into the bag and pulled out three rolled-up sheets, each tied with a piece of twine. It was customary for names and addresses to be written in a corner or on a separate label but there was nothing.

  ‘Who are these for?’ Eborius asked as he passed the sheets to Cassius.

  Lucius wiped his wet cheeks with his sleeve. ‘Don’t know, sir.’

  ‘Then how can you deliver them?’

  ‘I know where they’re to go.’

  ‘Which house?’

  ‘Three different houses. And I’m not to ask who lives there. Master tells me the directions five times so I don’t forget. He says he uses me because I always remember it right.’

  ‘How long have you worked for him?’ Cassius asked.

  ‘Not long. Last time was a few weeks ago. I didn’t know he was back until he came to get me this morning.’

  Turning to Cassius, Eborius switched to Greek. ‘Lad lives with his grandfather – who can barely hear or see.’

  ‘Master chose his messenger well,’ observed Cassius.

  ‘Have you delivered anything else today?’ he asked Lucius, switching back to Latin.

  The lad shook his head.

  ‘But you’ve delivered to those houses before?’

  ‘Two of them.’

  ‘How many times?’

  ‘Three or four.’

  Cassius undid the twine and examined the first sheet. The paper was new and unmarked. He checked his fingers were clean before handling it.

  Eborius leaned over and looked at it. ‘Looks like a shopping list.’

  ‘Precisely as intended, I imagine.’

  Cassius opened the other two. Exact copies.

  ‘Can I go soon?’ asked Lucius. ‘I’m supposed to go back and tell Master I delivered them safely.’

  Cassius and Eborius exchanged grimaces.

  ‘Can you get the addresses from him?’ Cassius asked the centurion. ‘I need to look at this.’

  ‘Of course.’

  As Eborius asked Lucius about the first house, Cassius took one of the letters and walked past the hearth into the villa’s only other room. He stood close to the rear door; out of sight, but with enough light to examine the sheet.

  The list detailed twelve separate foodstuffs and was split into three sections: a single line at the top, then a space, then five lines, then another space, then six lines.

  Cassius gazed at it. What could be hidden in such a short, uncomplicated note? A time and a place perhaps? Dio had only been back a day; if the three recipients were involved in the Memor plot, was he now arranging a meeting?

  The solitary first line suggested a key for the code.

  Three pounds of millet.

  Three. Wishing he had his satchel with the charcoal and paper, Cassius looked at the third letter of each food but could come up with nothing. Then he tried the third letter from the end but again the letters didn’t seem to form words. He looked at the first letter of the third word in each line, then the first letter of the third word from the end of the line. Nothing.

  Perhaps the first line was intended to mislead?

  Cassius decided to ignore it and focus on each line in turn. Place and time; he felt sure they were in there somewhere. But still he could see no pattern.

  Eborius walked into the room. ‘Got the addresses, but he needs to go soon. How are you doing?’

  Cassius held up a hand and didn’t take his eyes off the sheet. ‘Please.’

  Was there a pre-existing key? If so, it might prove impossible to break the code.

  He looked again at the second group of foods. The pattern of the words at the end of each line was unusual; as if it had been rearranged to accommodate the cipher. Cassius tried taking the last letter of the first line, then the penultimate letter of the second line and continuing from there. It wasn’t difficult to rearrange the letters from the first group into a word. Fifth.

  Fifth hour. Considering the time, presumably that night. But where?

  He tried the same approach with the second block of lines but got nowhere. Then he realised it was continuous – he needed the sixth letter from the end of the sixth line, the seventh from the end of the seventh and so on.

  Cassius repeated the six new letters to himself but couldn’t find the word. Then he turned the sheet over and imagined them on the blank page, pictured moving them around to form new words.

  In moments he was smiling. Hurrying into the other room, he beckoned Eborius over and whispered to him. ‘Is there a quarry here?’

  ‘Two miles west up the coast. Not been used in years.’

  ‘Then we have what we need. It seems our friend Dio is a better killer than he is a spy.’

  They returned to the hearth. Cassius retied the twine on the sheets and Eborius placed them carefully back in the bag. The lad had at last stopped crying.

  ‘I told Lucius we’ll give him the aureus once he’s delivered the notes and told his master all’s well,’ announced Eborius.

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Cassius, taking the coin from his purse and giving the lad another good look at it before handing it to Eborius.

  ‘I also told him our men will be watching him every step of the way, and that as long as he does as he’s told, everything will be fine.’

  ‘Quite right.’

  Lucius stood and gave his face a last wipe.

  Eborius placed the bag over his shoulder. ‘Off you go then, lad.’

  Lucius ran out of the dwelling.

  ‘Poor little sod,’ said th
e centurion.

  ‘That poor little sod might just have led us to the people who hired Dio. What about these addresses?’

  ‘The first is at the far eastern end of town. There’s only one occupied house around there and it belongs to Galenus Frugi.’

  ‘Know him?’

  ‘Yes. We don’t get many new arrivals and he’s only been with us a year or so. As I understand it, Frugi was in a position of some authority in the province of Pontus. During the struggle for power after Claudius’s death, he was a supporter of Quintillus. When Aurelian ended up as emperor—’

  ‘He was out of favour. Not the first to pay the price for backing the wrong side.’

  ‘Indeed. I believe he never speaks of it, but everyone knows he was exiled here.’

  ‘Pontus was one of the provinces Memor dealt with. Now we’re getting somewhere. Number two?’

  ‘I know the house well. Dilius Nepos. He’s been here rather longer – three or four years. Again, nothing was said publicly, but when he arrived I was still party to such information. He was a magistrate in Cappadocia. Apparently got himself involved with some whore who turned out to be a Goth spy.’

  ‘Cappadocia. Another of Memor’s provinces. Looks like we can cancel our trip to the library. The pieces are slotting into place.’

  ‘I’m afraid there’s still a big piece missing. The third address is a farmhouse on the edge of town. Not been inhabited for years. Lucius says his master told him to just leave the note inside the door. He’s never been sent there before. One of the three notes always goes to a different place. Always somewhere quiet.’

  ‘So our third man takes even more precautions than the others,’ said Cassius. ‘Might be the leader.’

  ‘That farmhouse is in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by open ground. It would be almost impossible for us to get close.’

  ‘Then we shan’t bother. Neither shall we attempt to monitor the other two. The more we expose ourselves, the more chance there is of alerting one of them and there’s no need now. We know exactly when and where they’re going to be.’

  ‘But this third man. Could be anyone.’

  ‘We’ll find out soon enough.’

  Cassius looked out of the doorway, at the empty, silent street. ‘Up to this point, I’d thought one man had hired Dio. But three? I suppose if it was to happen anywhere, it would be Darnis or somewhere like it – one of the far shores where those discarded by the Empire wash up. I wonder how it started.’