‘Perhaps you will gain your answers today, then. We ride for Alburnus and shall be there before nightfall.’
XIV – Secrets uncovered
Alburnus Maior was cold. That was Rufinus’ initial impression of the place. The sky was a wide arc of cloudless blue, but the air was chilled to shivering point. Rufinus had expected the gold mining centre of Dacia to be some mountain fastness of grey stone and bleak scree amid high white peaks and driving snow. While it was certainly as cold as snow, in fact Alburnus Maior sat in the midst of a wide, green valley, spotted with copses and woods, farms and wide open fields.
The town itself was small and utilitarian, mostly given over to housing or workshops and storage sheds. There were no walls and no grand temples, just something that might pass for a forum to those who had never been to a city, and a small bath house. The people of Alburnus looked dour and grey, while the peaks around them, surrounding the valley, did not. They were high and brown-yellow.
The small group of riders with their carriage, Acheron loping alongside, entered the town from the higher slope up the valley, and Rufinus’ eyes, having scoured the place and taken everything in, moved to the periphery. It took some squinting and attention, but with closer examination he could see the workings. All around the peaks were small black apertures, each the entrance to a mining shaft or adit. There were so many of them. Like an ant’s nest.
Dozens of wary eyes watched the riders move into town, and the feeling emanating from Alburnus was uncomfortable, to say the least. Rufinus frowned as they moved into the centre. This was the first place they had passed through on their journey where the scout riders had not been immediately treated as locals. Why so wary, unfriendly?
The answer came as they entered the main square: what had clearly been the grandest building in Alburnus Maior – the council house of the town’s leaders – had been destroyed. All that remained was a shell of brown stone, streaked with soot and mud and filled with charred beams and rubble. One might have mistaken it for an accidental fire but for the marks on the ground outside. There was no paving here, just russet-coloured grit, and the weather had been dry enough that the stains of blood had simply sunk in and remained in-situ rather than washing away. And the four marks were in a perfect line, evidence of deliberate executions rather than a random struggle.
‘The Roxolani again?’
Narcissus nodded. ‘They or other friends of theirs. There must have been many such groups at work in the area for it to be considered a rising by the governor’s men.’
‘But it was no rising,’ Rufinus said once again. ‘Mercenaries doing a specific job. And that job seemingly included removing the council at Alburnus and burning down their chambers.’
‘There will undoubtedly be more to find,’ the centurion replied. ‘For gold caravans are not travelling the usual routes. We shall see what we shall see.’
An old woman with a wicker basket full of blankets looked up at the riders with suspicion as Narcissus reined in alongside her.
‘Where can I find someone in authority?’
The woman’s face turned sour. ‘There is no one. All dead.’
‘Who looks after the interests of the mine owners, then?’
‘What mine owners?’ spat the woman, and hurried on.
The centurion, flicking a concerned look at Rufinus, collared a young man. The fellow was perhaps eighteen or nineteen years of age. His complexion was pale and clear, his hands smooth and unmarked. Not a manual worker, then.
‘Where are the mine owners? Where do they live?’
The young man frowned. ‘They live in their compounds, when they are here. Often they stay in the city, though, or down in the lowlands and let overseers work for them. One even stays in Rome and never comes here.’
Rufinus nodded. Now they were getting somewhere. ‘Which is the most important mine? The richest one? Who among the owners is the leader?’
Narcissus shook his head. ‘They are all private businessmen. There is no strata among them.’
Rufinus snorted. ‘These men are Romans. There will always be a pecking order and, believe me, there will always be a leader.’
The young man thought for only a moment. ‘The biggest concern is that of Aurelius Adiutor. Down the valley half a mile. You cannot miss his compound. Look for the red columns.’
Rufinus smiled and the centurion nodded. ‘That’s our man, then.’
To the young man: ‘Thank you.’
He hurried off, and the riders, carriage in tow, rattled and clopped down the gritty road, out of the western edge of Alburnus and alongside a curiously red-gold looking stream. The young man had been quite correct: it was hard to miss Adiutor’s compound. A huge fenced area with a gate surrounded a sizeable villa with a red-painted colonnade and a whole complex of other structures. Rufinus’ breath caught in his throat at the sight, for the gate lay wide open and there was no sign of life within. The centurion motioned to his riders and, as they passed inside, two men had Luca draw the carriage up by the gate, staying with it on guard, one of them the man with the blood-soaked, bandaged arm from the fight earlier.
The other riders spread out, moving around the complex as Narcissus and Rufinus headed straight for the villa. The door there was open, too. Sharing a tense look with the centurion, Rufinus slid from the saddle and tied Atalanta to the hitching rail alongside Narcissus’ horse. They drew their swords and moved carefully into the building.
It was clear from the entranceway that the danger was long gone. The small altar to the household gods way lying on its side on the floor, the small statues and offerings smashed and scattered. The impluvium’s fountain in the atrium directly ahead was not flowing, and the small, square pool was filled with the remains of the villa’s occupants. Though it was almost impossible to tell male from female amid the bloated, two-week old corpses, grey and rotting, it was clear that they were rich and poor alike, left in a pile. Expensive tunics and stolas among the grey slave clothes – Adiutor and his wife, presumably, as well as their family and staff. The Roxolani had been thorough. Trying not to breathe in the fetid, stinking air, Rufinus and Narcissus checked out the other rooms.
The place had been ransacked. Anything of value had gone, the occupants butchered and stripped of jewellery. Rufinus was standing in the tablinum – the owner’s office – when Narcissus joined him, sheathing his sword. ‘This all happened weeks ago,’ the centurion said. ‘The mercenaries raided. Killed everyone. Took everything.’
The young praetorian nodded, addressing the centurion without taking his eyes from the ransacked office. ‘What is odd here, Narcissus?’
The centurion frowned and scanned the room. ‘Nothing. Looks like all the other rooms. They broke into all the cupboards and drawers and took what they found.’
‘Including documentation?’
Narcissus’ brow folded even deeper. ‘What?’
Rufinus turned, eyes sparkling. ‘What sort of Sarmatian raider takes wax tablets of notes and records, scrolls and books of letters and documents? Everywhere else they have stripped bodies and stolen the valuables, yes, and that is consistent with thieves and opportunists. But documents? And I’m willing to bet that Roxolani mercenaries are not going to be well versed in Latin script. This is more than a raid. This is deliberately covering up something altogether more devious and important.’
Narcissus nodded. ‘P’raps the rest of the compound will provide clarity?’
The two men passed the stinking pile of bodies and emerged from the building to find the scouts gathered out front.
‘All looted. All staff dead,’ one of the scouts announced.
‘One building burned,’ added another.
Rufinus’ ear pricked up, the hairs on his neck standing proud. ‘Oh? How specific. Just like the council house in town. Come on.’
With Narcissus in tow, he strode around the compound, which was filled with human remains and discarded tools, to the blackened shell of a building. It lay separate from t
he work sheds and bunk houses, with only one other building nearby. It was a small structure of timber, now mainly charred beams and ash. Rufinus walked past the other building. ‘What was this?’
‘Guardhouse, we think,’ Rathold replied. Eight men dead in there, all with chain shirts and swords.’
Rufinus nodded. ‘Guards in place to protect the house from any trouble with the workers. There are marks here – a dividing fence that’s been torn down in the action. But I think… I think the guards were not positioned precisely there just to protect the house.’
He hurried over to the burned out building, picked up a long broken handle from some unidentified tool and began using it to sift through the ash and carbonised deposits. With a hiss of satisfaction, he lifted a piece of something blackened and charred from the ash and displayed it to the others.
‘Scroll rack. This was the mine’s office, where the records were kept.’
Narcissus reached out and touched the ruined furnishing, which crumbled and collapsed under his fingers. ‘You were right. This is covering something up. All the records in the complex burned. And the council chamber in town? The same there. We need to check the other mines.’
As they turned, Senova leaned from the carriage. ‘What is happening?’
Narcissus glanced only briefly at Rufinus, then gestured to the two riders at the vehicle’s side. ‘Take the lady into the town and find somewhere defensible for us to stay the night. Protect her at all costs.’
‘Now listen here…’ began Senova irritably.
‘And keep Acheron with you,’ Rufinus added. ‘The mercenaries at work in these hills are brutal and have no qualms about killing women and children.’
The Briton began to argue, but Rufinus waved the riders on and at their centurion’s nod, they escorted the vehicle back toward the town with Senova still cursing inside.
Over the next two hours, as the sun descended, Rufinus and the riders located and examined three more compounds, finding the same situation in each. All the occupants had been butchered, whether they be owners, guards or even workers. Everything of value had been taken. Every record office burned, all documents gone. As they moved through the mine complexes of Alburnus Maior, Rufinus became more and more convinced that this was all part of the grander conspiracy, and more and more disheartened that any evidence had clearly gone.
Finally, in one of the higher compounds, overlooking the town from a hillside, Rufinus and Narcissus stood by a charred building, the scouts scouring the wreckage in the very last indigo light of evening.
‘That has to be it for the day,’ Narcissus announced. ‘The light is going and we need to get back to town and make sure your woman is safe. We will have to move on for Bucium tomorrow, though I will not press for departure immediately. I’ll give you an hour in the morning with fresh light to try and find what you seek before we leave.’
Rufinus nodded dejectedly. ‘This is the governor’s doing. Of that I have no doubt.’
‘That is a dangerous thing to announce in public without evidence.’
‘Listen. Hear me out. Clodius Albinus takes a hefty cut of all gold production here – gold that is earmarked for imperial coffers. What he uses such a large fortune for, I don’t know, but I think some of it might have ended up in the vault of the governor of Moesia Superior. The procurator gets wind of it and plans an investigation. Then the procurator suddenly dies. I find it hard to picture that as anything but the work of Albinus. The procurator’s office is picked clean by the governor before the replacement sent from Rome can arrive. There is therefore no record of his wrongdoing, or even of the potential investigation into it.’
Rufinus was starting to slap his fist into his palm now. ‘But there was still a loose end. Here in Alburnus Maior there were mine owners who had to have been a party to the crime. And there must have been many administrators and clerks who were privy to it. Likely at least someone in the town’s council knew about it too. And now they are all dead, and all records destroyed by some native rising that has apparently been faked using Roxolani mercenaries. Albinus has covered his tracks very thoroughly.’
‘But then why has he not sent in the Thirteenth to clear out the raiders and reinstall order?’ the centurion mused. ‘Now he’s simply losing out on gold production and running risk that someone might learn what happened here, as we did.’
Rufinus nodded. ‘I think it’s a further level of security. He does not want to put down this rebellion until the new procurator has arrived. That way he can blame all the troubles, any deficiency in gold quantities and the whole mess, on the rebels and appear to be a hero of Rome in putting them to the sword and instilling order at Alburnus, right under the procurator’s nose. He is in the clear, exceedingly rich, with no evidence against him and in addition he gets mentioned in the new procurator’s dispatches to Rome as the hero who resolved it all. Very neat.’
Narcissus sighed. ‘Albinus was already a rich man by comparison with most. I will never understand why rich men must always try to be richer.’
Rufinus tapped his lip in thought, but a shout from one of the scouts drew their attention. The two men turned, along with the rest of the riders, to see one of the unit pointing with his spear. A figure had emerged from a copse near the compound’s entrance, wearing a grey tunic and a woollen cloak against the cold, hands held high to indicate peaceful intentions.
Rufinus and the centurion, leaving their horses tied to the rail near the vehicle shed, walked over to the gate, which stood open and abandoned, as did everything in this deserted place. The man was approaching the gate with a serious expression. Though bearded, he was clearly not Roxolani. In fact, he was rather swarthy skinned, suggesting an origin somewhere far to the south and east of Dacia.
The young praetorian’s shrewd eye scanned the man and picked out a number of salient points straight away. His hair and beard showed a few weeks’ growth, perhaps a month, but had previously been neat and short. His skin was scarred with old wounds. His tunic may be civilian, but the belt he wore was a military one with the plates removed. He moved with a lurching gait, his left leg dragging slightly. Rufinus felt a tiny chill run through him.
Surely Fortuna could not favour him this much? But it all fitted.
‘You are.. not from the governor’s office.’ the man said. A statement, not a question.
Rufinus shook his head. Interesting. First concern not are you with the Roxolani, but with the governor. ‘No. We are not. Nor are we from the Thirteenth Gemina or the procurator’s office.’
‘I’ve been watching you. You’ve been investigating.’
Rufinus cast a glance at Narcissus, who had the grace to look faintly embarrassed that his eagle-eyed scouts had failed to pick up on a lone observer.
‘I am, as you say, investigating.’ He chewed his lip. Time to leap into the pool with both feet. ‘I am a friend of Cassius Proculeianus,’ he said clearly.
The man’s eyes widened for a moment, then sank into slits. ‘Explain yourself.’
‘Yes,’ Narcissus said meaningfully. ‘I’d appreciate that, too.’
Rufinus grinned. ‘This man was a soldier from the Thirteenth until his leg wound saw him pensioned out. Then he started working in the procurator’s office. It was him who first brought this gold conspiracy to light. Cassius told me about him.’ He turned to the man in the grey tunic. ‘Your former centurion is concerned. You disappeared from Apulum without a trace. He thinks the governor is on to you and that he will be next.’
‘Cassius will be safe. I left no record that could lead to him, and I am gone. I shall not return to Apulum, or very likely I will disappear for good.’
Rufinus nodded. ‘So when you disappeared, you came here?’
The man coughed. ‘It became clear that Albinus was covering his tracks. I wanted to make sure he failed in the end. It was a dangerous journey. The mercenaries were already at work on the gold trains when I came.’
‘What happened to the gold. We never saw a hi
nt of the caravans on our journey, and there was no evidence of them being butchered by Roxolani either.’
The soldier clapped his hands together. ‘Oh they took the gold alright, but not for themselves, well not all of it at least. Most of the gold went back by another route, deep in the mountains back to Apulum. I would wager it’s in Albinus’ coffers now along with the rest. What’s left of it, anyway.’
‘What do you mean, “what’s left of it”,’ Rufinus frowned.
‘Come with me.’
The soldier walked back toward the trees and reappeared with a mangy-looking horse. Rufinus and Narcissus mounted once more, and the scout party followed him down the hill toward Alburnus, the man leading the way in silence, the two investigators sharing intrigued glances. They passed through the town swiftly, and no one even glanced at the man, Rufinus realised. He was clever. He had somehow managed to insinuate himself into life at Alburnus to the extent that he was more or less invisible, even when travelling with the scouts. For just a moment, Rufinus wondered whether the man was one of the frumentarii. If not, he damn well should be. He would work well with Vibius Cestius.
Finally they reached the compound of Aurelius Adiutor, the very first site they had investigated on their arrival.
‘What are we doing back here?’ Rufinus asked quietly, peering into the ever-increasing evening gloom and trying to make out any detail they might have missed on their first visit. ‘And what do I call you, anyway?’
‘I think a lack of names might be prudent,’ the man replied. ‘And I don’t particularly want to know yours. But if you’re truly bent on investigating the governor, and it’s proof you seek, then proof I have. Come with me.’
The ex-soldier dismounted, hissing as his crippled leg touched the floor, and then, after tying up his horse, lurched off toward one of the entrances into the hill, a mine shaft like the many others in the township.
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