The Leopard Sword

by Anthony Riches

  He dropped the corn in his hand back into the bag, rubbing his hands in distaste at the mould stains that remained on his skin.

  ‘Nasty stuff, bad grain. Quite unusable for anything, including animal feed. Except, that is, for the purposes of fraud. One or two bags quietly pulled from the back of the store and loaded onto each cart, an irritation for the stores officer at the other end when they’re eventually opened and found to be rotten, and doubtless you’ve had a few letters come back down the road already, detailing the problem and asking you to keep a closer watch on what gets loaded, but still well within the usual incidence of spoiling. It’s a work of genius, Albanus, to ruthlessly weed out the usual percentage of bad grain and then turn it to your own profit. Although of course you’re quite sure I have no way to prove my allegations, aren’t you?’ He stared at the silent Albanus for a moment, and the procurator looked back, his blank expression betraying his uncertainty as to whether or not the soldier had any means of proving the allegations he was making. With a sigh, the tribune nodded to Julius. ‘Centurion?’

  Julius stepped out of the room, and returned with a heavy wooden box under his arm. Albanus took one look and blanched, his eyes widening. The tribune met his gaze and then gestured to the box, a tight smile on his lips.

  ‘Yes, indeed. Your hiding place was well chosen, and quite expertly camouflaged, but like most soldiers my men are experts in finding hidden valuables. The flagstone under which you had it hidden was just a little lower than the stones around it, which was more than enough to excite their interest. And so this is the moment when you know without any doubt that I have you, all of you, in the palm of my hand. I’ve no proof of the actual physical action of the fraud yet, although I expect that your accomplices will be singing like birds given a little vigorous encouragement, but this find has provided some very interesting evidence as to the profit you’ve been taking from it.’ He opened the box and lifted out a scroll, unrolling it and reading in silence for a moment. ‘An impressive sum, Procurator, and still growing at a rate that implies ongoing activity. But not enough to account for the full profit, nowhere close to it, even after the deduction of the bribes you’ve been paying to your staff. I’m guessing that you have a partner in crime, someone with control of the sale of grain, perhaps even the milling. You steal the good corn by substituting the mouldy grain, for which you’ve paid a pittance, then you pass it on to your business partner and he handles the onward sale into the city. The evidence is consumed within days of the theft and everyone’s happy. The farmers get to sell corn with no market value, even if they make little enough on the deal, you make a healthy profit on the price you charge your business partner, and he sells on the stolen grain at market rates and makes his own turn. Yes, everyone’s happy. With the exception of one rather significant party to the deal, now I come to think about it. The Emperor Commodus, Procurator, would be less than delighted at this state of affairs, if he were to be made aware of it. He’s being defrauded of thousands of denarii every month, and I can assure you that no emperor has ever reacted well to having his purse lightened, even if it is by a well-bred character like yourself.’

  He turned away, strolling across the chamber and taking a spear from one of the Tungrians. Walking back, he put the weapon’s vicious point under Albanus’s chin, a look of disgust on his face.

  ‘And since the emperor can’t be here in person to register his unhappiness with your actions, I’ll just have to take his place in dispensing justice to you. Imperial justice, Albanus.’ He stood the spear on its butt spike with a scrape of metal on stone and leaned closer, whispering his next words. ‘Harsh justice.’ He walked away across the room, shaking his head in apparent sorrow. ‘A skilled executioner can nail a man up in such a way that he’ll live on the cross for two or three days before succumbing to thirst, torn between asphyxiation and the terrible pain in his feet when he pushes up against the nail hammered through them to ease his breathing. And that’s before we consider the carrion birds that will do their damndest to get at your eyes while you’re still breathing. And how are your family going to take it when the news reaches them that you’ve been crucified as an example to others, I wonder? Of course the emperor may take a lenient view of your crime. He might spare your family their property, and their lives. Or he might not. He might take the view that they are fully responsible for your actions, and have the praetorians turn them out onto the streets. Confiscation of the family properties might give him some feeling of recompense, as might the indignities that I can assure the soldiers will visit upon them in the process. They get so little entertainment, you see, that the chance to make sport of fallen aristocrats is a great opportunity for them, and so much better value than simple whoring.’ He walked away from the shivering procurator, speaking aloud again. ‘It goes without saying that I have the power to make this all a lot less unpleasant, for you and your loved ones. I can commute your sentence to something a little less drastic, just as long as we recover the proceeds of your crime. But that can’t happen unless you give up the identity of your business partner.’

  He waited in silence for Albanus to reply, but after a long pause the prisoner shook his head slowly, his voice quavering on the edge of tears.

  ‘I can’t. He knows where my family live . . .’

  Scaurus shook his head in a display of sympathy.

  ‘Ah. I see. Yes, well, that is a dilemma. I presume that you mean your “partner” has taken steps to ensure your compliance? You’re the junior man in all this, and he has a good firm grip of your balls to keep you from doing anything silly?’

  Albanus nodded.

  ‘Soon after we entered into our arrangement he told me in great detail about my parents’ house, my brother’s wife and children, every little detail to prove his knowledge of their lives. He has connections to the gangs of Rome, and he told me in painful detail what would happen to them all if I ever tried to take more than my share, or informed on him. My crucifixion would be nothing by comparison, and the risk to my family from the emperor is less certain than what he told me would happen to them if I were to talk. None of my men will talk either; they all have people here in the city.’

  Scaurus nodded, his sardonic smile replaced by a frown as he sensed the frustration of his fleeting hopes of a swift end to the matter.

  ‘I’m starting to understand your place in all this a little better, Procurator. This man approached you with the idea in the first place, didn’t he? He’s got contacts in Rome, and they sent him everything he needed to ensnare you into the scheme. Your own greed was enough at the start, but any ideas of getting out once you’d made enough money were never going to be allowed, were they? After all, once a supply of gold has been opened up there’s never any incentive to stop it flowing in. A gang leader can never have too much money, now can he?’ He looked at Albanus, his expression fading from anger to pity. ‘You know that I’ll have to execute you, regardless of the circumstances?’ The prisoner nodded his head miserably. ‘And if I tell you that I have a very good idea who your partner is, and that I only need confirmation of that last detail?’

  Albanus shook his head again.

  ‘It would make no difference. If I even hint to you where to look for him he’ll know it, one way or another. It would be better for you to put temptation out of my reach by having me killed.’

  The tribune nodded with a slow, sad smile.

  ‘I can respect your bravery in this matter, Procurator. I can see that you felt you had little choice when this man made you the offer. It was one that could not easily be refused. And if I cannot spare you the indignity of a criminal’s death, I can at least make it a quick one. I’ll save the more protracted exit from this life for your tormentor.’ He waved a hand to Julius. ‘Take him back to his cell, and make sure he doesn’t meet the other prisoner. It seems your moment is at hand.’

  The centurion nodded, ordering his men to escort Albanus from the room and turning to follow them with a grim smile. Scaurus wo
rked on a stack of papers as he waited for the next prisoner to arrive, briefly raising his glance as the man was marched into the room, then returning his attention to them while the soldiers herded their charge into place with spear prods and meaningful stares. Julius stepped in close once the prisoner was upon his appointed mark, looming over the smaller man with a smouldering glare as he pulled the dagger from his belt and raised it to hack away the assistant procurator’s customary long sleeves, leaving his arms bared. Holding out a hand behind him he took a torch from the waiting soldier and held it close to the prisoner, close enough to scorch the hairs on the man’s arms and illuminate the mass of gang tattoos that writhed up both arms. Nodding dourly he turned away and surrendered the torch, then spun back and put a fist deep into the other man’s gut, doubling him over as he gasped for breath. Scaurus looked up again, dropping a scroll onto the desk’s scarred surface.

  ‘Assistant Procurator Petrus. Forgive me if my approach is a little blunt, but I’ve got bigger problems than a bit of petty theft to be dealing with. I promised the centurion here one good punch, just to let you know who you’re dealing with now, although I have to admit I have enough sympathy with his view of you that I was tempted to let him replace the fist with his dagger, and remove you as a problem with one flick of his wrist. You’re in army hands now. I could have your throat cut here and now and never fear any consequence. My men would rip through your pitiful collection of thugs and murderers like fire through a cornfield, and I could only take pride in the act of cleaning such criminal filth from the streets of Tungrorum. And don’t trouble yourself with denials; your arms speak clearly enough of your status in the city.’

  He waited for the wheezing prisoner to respond, and Petrus studied him from beneath half-closed eyelids before answering, his voice strained from the effects of Julius’s gut punch.

  ‘As you say, Tribune, my tattoos do rather betray the way I’ve chosen to make my living.’ He looked down at the artwork that decorated both of his arms. ‘When I was young these were a good way to intimidate the people around me, and now . . . now they serve to remind me of where I came from, I suppose. I grew up on the street, Tribune, and the first thing I learned there was that gangs are like weeds, always there no matter how hard you work to clear them away. And if you clear mine away there’ll be another crop within weeks, along with all the usual fighting that accompanies such a struggle for power. There would inevitably be innocents caught up in the chaos, but then I’m sure you know that or you’d already have done exactly as you threaten. But to return to the apparent case against me . . . petty theft, Tribune? You have me at a disadvantage. Since I was pulled from my bed at dawn I’ve not spoken to another person, and so I have no knowledge of the matter you’re describing.’

  Scaurus shook his head with a wry smile.

  ‘Of course. And you, the quiet man behind your procurator, silently and efficiently getting on with the business of the empire.’ He stood up, taking the scroll from the desk and carrying it as he went to stand before the prisoner. ‘See this?’ Unrolling the paper he held it up before the other man. ‘Procurator Albanus – I should say ex-procurator, of course – has confessed to a rather large fraud against the imperial grain supply. These numbers detail the profits he’s made over the last two years, profits he tells me he has shared with a shadowy figure he refuses to identify.’

  The assistant procurator turned a glassy stare on him, his face utterly immobile as he recovered his customary reserve.

  ‘Fraud, Tribune? Procurator Albanus? I can scarcely believe it. And how much?’ He peered at the paper, his eyebrows rising in apparent amazement. ‘Surely that’s not possible? Those sums are truly shocking. . .’

  He shook his head and lapsed back into silence, eyeing Scaurus with the same neutral expression. The tribune stared back for a long moment before turning away, talking as he rounded the desk and sat down.

  ‘Don’t worry, Petrus, I won’t have a confession beaten out of you. Not that I’d hesitate to have Julius set about you with enough vigour to get the shit running down your legs if I thought a nice quick admission of guilt would result, and not that he’d hesitate to beat you half to death.’ Petrus flicked a glance at the glowering centurion, who was clenching his fists so tightly the knuckles were bone white. ‘I am, however, still a man of principle myself, and if you’re the man I think you are then you could probably hold out long enough that I could never be sure if it was guilt speaking or simply the need to stop the violence.’

  Petrus regarded him levelly, his expression still steadfastly unchanging, and in that instant Scaurus knew he was guilty.

  ‘No, I’ve got a better idea. I’ll be assuming the temporary role of procurator until a replacement for Albanus can be found and make his way here, and in the intervening period your services will not be required. You can consider yourself dismissed from your position as of now.’ Petrus bowed his head slightly and turned away, waiting for his guards to lead him from the room, but Scaurus gestured to the pile of paperwork on his desk. ‘As procurator, I am of course now responsible for the maintenance of order within the city, and I have to say that order seems to have suffered rather significantly under the auspices of the last man to have held the position. In order to ensure the upkeep of public decorum I shall therefore be closing all brothels and unlicensed drinking establishments immediately. All licensed establishments will now receive army protection against the extortion of what I believe is laughably termed “protection money”, with soldiers posted outside their doors night and day. And I will be making it very clear that I am doing this as punishment for previous misdemeanours, Petrus, with your name prominent in the official pronouncements. I’d imagine that this will attract a good deal of interest from your fellow members of Tungrorum’s criminal fraternity, given that I’ll be closing off their supply of revenue at the same time, and to facilitate their interest I’m going to place you under house arrest. My men will make sure you remain in the Blue Boar, but may not be able to deter your former partners in crime once they realise you’re the cause of their misfortune . . . unless, of course, there’s anything you’d like to share with me?’

  Petrus’s face remained as immobile as ever, and after a moment Scaurus waved a hand in dismissal, watching with a look of disgust as he was marched out at spear point. Shaking his head wearily he raised his voice to summon Sextus Frontinius, who entered by the same door that the prisoner had been escorted through, saluting as he limped into the room.

  ‘Tribune?’

  Scaurus stood, collecting together the papers arrayed on the desk before him.

  ‘Here.’ He passed the documents to his deputy. ‘These are the warrants you’ll require to shut down the brothels and unlicensed beer shops, and here are the records we recovered from Albanus’s hiding place. If you’d be so good as to give the latter to one of your better standard bearers, I think it’s high time the emperor’s money was repatriated from whichever of the local money lenders are currently making it sweat for its previous owners. Tell your men not to take no for an answer. Any failure to pay up promptly is to be treated as an opportunity for swift and uncompromising action, and I want that money counted and underground in the pay chests before dark. Who will you get to calculate the amounts?’

  Frontinius smiled, lifting the stack of paper.

  ‘Who will I get to work out how much money is owed to the throne by a collection of fraudsters? Morban, of course. He’ll be driven by jealousy, greed, and an eye to that elusive golden opportunity, to find every last sestertius. And then I’ll have his numbers checked by two of his colleagues, just to make sure he hasn’t actually found a way to scrape a little piece off the plate and into his purse.’

  He left, and Scaurus called for Marcus and Caninus, greeting the latter a good deal more warmly than had been the case a day before.

  ‘Well done, Prefect, you’ve uncovered theft of a scale I wouldn’t have believed if I hadn’t seen the evidence with my own eyes.’


  Caninus bowed, his face still sombre at the events which had played out before them.

  ‘I find it hard to take much pleasure from being proved right, Tribune, but as you say, at least we have the perpetrators, and the proceeds will soon be returned to their rightful owner. What will you do with the money?’

  Scaurus shrugged.

  ‘The simplest expedient would seem to be dropping the problem on the nearest legionary legatus. The commander at Fortress Bonna would doubtless find a good use for that sort of funding, given that he’s responsible for keeping the German tribes quiet. Once it’s in his hands I really don’t care whether he send it to Rome, buries it for a rainy day or just showers half the tribal chiefs in the north with it to keep them at daggers drawn with the other half, just as long as it’s off my hands.’

  Caninus shared a smile with him.

  ‘That sort of money will always attract the wrong kind of attention. You’ll have it away to the Rhenus as soon as you can, I take it?’

  The tribune ran a hand through his hair.

  ‘Mithras, but I need to bathe.’ He nodded distractedly. ‘Yes, I’ll have my First Cohort march it along the road to the east just as soon as we’ve got all the money there is to be had. Then we can turn our attention back to your old adversary, Obduro.’

  Caninus dipped his head approvingly.

  ‘And if I might make a suggestion?’

  ‘Yes, Prefect?’

  ‘A rider arrived late last night to warn me that there is a grain convoy on the road from Beech Forest. Almost two hundred carts full of grain, enough to make a tempting target for Obduro. If he knows as much about our business as he purports, then he’ll know that the convoy will be coming past the forest later today. Perhaps it would be an idea to send a good-sized force west to meet them, and to deter any idea of snapping up that much grain?’