The Leopard Sword

7

Marcus woke again to find Sanga lying asleep on his bed, and he quietly climbed off his own mattress, standing still for a moment to allow the slight feeling of dizziness to pass. Walking quietly on bare feet, he made his way up the corridor to the latrine, then went in search of his wife. Felicia was delighted to see him on his feet, despite her immediate concern for his well-being, which were quickly dispelled when he waved her away and turned a full circle with his arms out.

‘Well, you seem to be spry enough that I think we can assume the effects of the mandrake have completely worn off. You won’t be able to speak or eat solid food for some time yet though.’

‘And that’s why I brought this for him.’ They turned to find the tribune standing in the doorway with a smile on his face, a small iron pot dangling from one hand. ‘There’s a food shop at the end of the street whose proprietress was only too happy to lend me the pot in the likelihood of getting your business for the next few weeks. Pass me a cup and I’ll pour you some.’ Marcus found his glass drinking tube and took a sip at the soup, nodding his thanks to the tribune. Scaurus sat in silence until the cup was empty, watching as the hungry centurion consumed the soup as quickly as its temperature would allow.

‘That’s better, eh? There’s more in the pot for when I’m gone. I’d imagine you’ll be spending another night in here just to be sure you’re over the worst of it, but that ought to keep you going until morning. And now, Centurion, to business? First Spear Frontinius tells me that you passed a message requesting a conversation with me, although from the look of things most of the speaking will be done by me.’

Marcus nodded, reaching for his tablet and writing several lines of text. He handed the wooden case to Scaurus, who read the words and stared back at his centurion with his eyebrows raised in astonishment.

‘ Really? You’re sure of this?’

After thinking for a moment, Marcus held out his hand and took the tablet back. He smoothed the wax and wrote another statement. Scaurus looked grimly at the text, shaking his head.

‘You got that close to him?’

Marcus wrote in the tablet again. Scaurus read the text aloud, a wry smile on his face.

‘“Take a tent party with you.” A tent party? I’ll need a damned century if he’s as dangerous as you say. And the nastiest, most bad-tempered officer in the First Cohort. Do any names spring to mind, Centurion?’

Julius was on the point of setting out into the city, the key to Annia’s secret door tucked away in a pouch on his belt, when a knock sounded at the door of his barrack. Opening it, he found one of the men assigned to guard duty waiting with a small scroll in his hand.

‘Delivered to the duty centurion just now, sir, with your name written on it.’

Julius frowned, taking the scroll and turning it over to read his own name in tidy handwriting.

‘Delivered? Who by?’

The soldier shook his head.

‘Just some kid or other running an errand for a coin. He gave it to the men on the gate and legged it before anyone could ask any questions.’

Julius nodded, dismissing the man with a distracted gesture. By the light of his lamp he unrolled the paper, squinting in its dim illumination to read the short message. You are no longer welcome in my establishment, Centurion. Do not visit again, or it will end badly for you and for the woman. This matter is now closed.

Shaking his head, the hulking centurion muttered angrily into the room’s silence, his fist clenched around the paper.

‘ Closed? Not by a long way it’s not. You’ve just signed your own death sentence…’

Squaring his shoulders he turned to the door, only to be brought up short by another knock. Wrenching the door open he drew breath to bark out his irritation, finding himself toe to toe with the tribune, dressed and equipped for battle. Snapping to attention he stood under his superior officer’s scrutiny for a long moment before Scaurus spoke.

‘Interesting, Centurion. I thought I’d have to get you out of your bed, given the hour, and yet here you are fully dressed and ready for duty, from the look of things. And you seem to have a piece of paper screwed up in one hand.’

He held out a hand, and Julius reluctantly surrendered the note. Smoothing out the paper, Scaurus turned to read it by the light of the nearest torch.

‘It seems that your liaison with the mistress of the Blue Boar is at an end, Centurion.’ Julius frowned, his puzzlement evident, and Scaurus laughed dryly at his bemusement. ‘If you were first spear of this cohort, Centurion, you’d be very sure to know anything and everything that might compromise the performance of your officers, wouldn’t you?’ He waited for Julius to nod before continuing. ‘Exactly. So when Sextus Frontinius received reports of one of his centurions heading off into the city after lights out, and not returning until the small hours, you can be assured that his interest was sufficiently strong to override your colleagues’ initial reluctance to enlighten him as to exactly what business you were about. And whilst the company you keep in your own time is your own business, when it starts to affect your performance in the role for which the empire pays you a quite generous amount of money, then it becomes his business, wouldn’t you agree? Not to mention mine.’

Julius nodded again, his face stony under the tribune’s scrutiny.

‘So, all things considered, it shouldn’t be any surprise to discover that your attempts to regain what you lost when you left the city are known to your superiors, should it? And for the time being at least, whoever wrote this note has the right of it. If, as it appears, you were about to head off into Tungrorum on a one-man mission to hack your way through the Blue Boar’s doormen and rescue the woman in question, then I’ve arrived at just the right time. You are absolutely forbidden to go anywhere near that blasted place, on pain of reduction to the ranks and enough administrative punishment to keep your head down in the latrines until the end of your term of service. Is that understood?’

Scaurus stepped closer to his centurion, his hard stare forcing a blink from the otherwise stone-faced Julius.

‘Is. That. Understood? ’

‘Yes, sir.’

The tribune smiled tightly and stepped back, looking him up and down.

‘Good. Because I’m not minded to lose my best centurion just because he can’t recognise when he’s beaten, even if only temporarily. Apart from anything else, if you as much as show your face at Petrus’s door he’s more than likely to punish you by killing the woman.’ Something in Julius’s eyes must have betrayed his surprise, and Scaurus laughed again. ‘Yes, Centurion, we know all about Petrus’s real place in the governance of this miserable city. The First Minervia have been here long enough for Sergius to have worked it out several months ago, and unlike his tribune he’s not a man to keep useful information to himself. When the time comes I’ll deal with Petrus, and if you can hold onto your temper until then you’ll be a part of putting him in his place, but for now we’ve a bigger and more immediate problem.’

Prefect Caninus’s face was a study in perplexity, a frown of incomprehension greeting both the unexpected sight of a full century of soldiers filling the street outside his headquarters and the peremptory tone with which the Tungrian’s tribune addressed him.

‘Tribune Scaurus? I was just going off duty for the night. Perhaps we can-’

Scaurus stepped forward and cut him off with a raised hand, his voice stern and uncompromising.

‘Bring your men out and disarm them, Prefect! I won’t ask you twice! My soldiers are still frustrated after that debacle in the forest, and they’ll do the disarming for you if I slip their collars. But it won’t be pretty.’

Caninus spread his hands in a placatory manner, looking to either side at his bodyguard, then he gestured to the soldiers surrounding his small party, their spears glinting in the torchlight.

‘Best to do as the tribune says, gentlemen. I don’t want your blood on my hands, or my own, for that matter. Stand your men down, Tornach, and drop your weapons.’

His deputy grunted an order and unbuckled his belt, easing his sword down onto the cobbles at his feet. His men followed suit, then stood in silence as a pair of soldiers came forward and picked up the weapons. Scaurus stood where he was, pointing to the prefect himself.

‘And your own weapon, Quintus Caninus.’

The soldiers tensed, visibly readying themselves to fight, and with a wry smile Caninus drew his blade, placing it on the road’s surface.

‘Have a good look, Tribune. I think you’ll find it to be standard issue, and nothing more dangerous than the sword you carry. The man you’re hunting for carries something a good deal more exotic, I believe?’

Scaurus ignored him, nodding to Julius, who was waiting for instructions beside him.

‘Accommodate the prefect’s bodyguard for me, if you will, Centurion? There’ll be no need for any rough behaviour unless they offer resistance. And you, Prefect, you can accompany me inside. I have questions for you that won’t wait until morning. And post some men to guard the door please Julius, I’ll call if I need them.’

Caninus turned back to the doorway to his headquarters and entered the building, followed by Scaurus, who had taken a torch from one of his men and kept one hand on his sword’s hilt. The prefect lifted fresh torches into the iron loops set in the wall to hold them, and Scaurus followed him around the room, lighting each one in turn. With the room lit, Caninus turned to face his colleague, his quizzical expression replaced by a look of growing anger.

‘So now, Tribune, what is it that’s so important we have to discuss it at this time of night, and with your sword very nearly kissing my throat?’

The tribune shook his head, his voice level and dangerously calm.

‘Too little too late, I’m afraid, Quintus Caninus. The time for righteous indignation was back there in the street, when I humiliated you in front of your men. Simulated anger doesn’t fool me, Prefect, so you can drop the act and assume the demeanour of a man who’s been caught out in a lie before I decide to call my centurion in here and have it beaten into you. Believe me, I’m sure there’s very little that would give Julius any more pleasure than a few moments of toe to toe with you, given the way his friend Centurion Corvus was so cruelly knocked about in the forest.’

The prefect stepped back, his face sliding from bemusement to horror in the space of a heartbeat.

‘You actually think…?’

Scaurus dismissed his incredulity with a wave of his hand.

‘No, Caninus, I actually know. I know who you are. I say “Caninus”, but perhaps I’d be better to start calling you by the name your men have given you. What do you think, Obduro?’

The other man shook his head slowly, his eyes widening in shock.

‘But I’m not-’

‘You took my centurion prisoner in the Arduenna, and then you spent the night telling him how terrible an enemy you are, how much you despise the prefect of Tungrorum, and how your bandit gang can never be defeated. But your disguise slipped by a tiny fraction when he fooled you into coming close enough for him to see your eyes in the daylight through your mask’s eyeholes. He’s a bright young lad is Centurion Corvus, and he recognised you instantly. Green eyes like yours are distinctive enough, but when you add in the squint they’re unmistakable. You’re the man behind the metal, I’m sure of that much, and through your vanity you’ve nailed yourself to the cross I’ll have my men put up for you in the morning.’ He paused while the other man turned away, his face blank. ‘Nothing to say?’

Caninus stared up at the ceiling for a moment, then lowered his gaze to look defiantly straight back at Scaurus, answering the question with four terse words. The tribune’s eyes widened, and his usual aristocratic reserve vanished in an instant, replaced by something much harder, that he usually managed to keep concealed.

‘He’s fucking what?’

Caninus continued to look at the tribune, his jaw set hard.

‘You heard me right the first time, Tribune. He is my brother. Obduro is my brother. My identical twin, as it happens.’

Scaurus stood open-mouthed and stared at Caninus for a long moment, then lowered his head and put both fists on the table between them, his knuckles white against the wood’s age-darkened surface. When he looked up, his face was dark with barely controlled anger, but his voice was calm and steady.

‘And, assuming that I can make the huge leap of faith required to swallow this story, you’d seriously have me believe that this wasn’t worth telling me before?’

The prefect shrugged, his expression downcast.

‘If I’d told you at the start you would have removed me from all of the discussion and the decision-making, without a second thought.’

Scaurus laughed hollowly.

‘You’re not wrong there! It won’t surprise you to know that’s exactly what’s going through my mind at the moment, even if you are telling me the truth at long last.’ He shook his head. ‘So, from the beginning, tell me the story of how you and your twin end up in such violent opposition. And on such very different paths in life, for that matter.’ He picked a chair close to one of the torches illuminating the room and sat down, his eyes so deep in shadow that they were impossible to read. ‘And this had better be spectacularly convincing, or you’ll be feeding the crows by lunchtime tomorrow.’

Caninus leaned back against the wall behind him and rubbed his tired eyes with a finger and thumb.

‘It’s a relief to tell someone, if I’m honest. I’ve been keeping this from the men around me for so long that it’s started to eat into me. His name is Sextus. He was born less than a hundred heartbeats after me, and for all practical purposes we’re identical, right down to the squint. You can prove it easily enough; just have a copy of the relevant census records delivered from the governor’s office and you’ll find us both. We were born here in the city, just over thirty years ago, so we’ll be detailed in the census that fell between then and the day we both left to pursue our separate destinies.’

He gestured to a chair, and raised his eyebrows in question. Scaurus grunted his assent, his hand still firmly placed on his sword’s hilt. The prefect slumped into the chair, leaning back with the air of a man relieving himself of a heavy burden.

‘Thank you. We were just like the twins you read about in the histories as we were growing up, closer than two peas in a pod and just as indistinguishable. Our mother had pendants made for us when she realised we were identical, discs with our numbers punched into them on chains left deliberately short, and by the time we were of a mind to exchange them they were impossible to remove without breaking the links. And she always told us there’d be hell to pay if that happened.’ He pulled down the neck of his tunic to reveal the circle of metal hanging at his throat, holding it up for Scaurus to examine. ‘You can see the number five punched into the metal. It’s not pretty workmanship, but it is my only link with my mother. The plague took her a few years ago, although I expect it was only taking advantage of all those years of backbreaking work she put in to keep the pair of us fed.’

He shook his head, tucking the pendant away beneath the tunic’s smooth wool. ‘She was right to take the precaution, and to drum into us that breaking those chains would bring us more grief than any fun we could have by pretending to be each other. We were forever proving our mutual bond by exercising the same stupidities and getting into the same trouble, but for all that we were a good pair of lads, more or less. We learned to fight early, of course, our squints made sure of that, although he was always better at it than me, whereas I was the one who always managed to turn around whatever wit was thrown at us and throw it right back, only harder. That got me a few hidings, as you can imagine, so by the time we were ten we were a right pair of hard little bastards, but harmless enough. Harmless enough until our balls dropped and the hair started sprouting, and I was first at that as well, even if it was only by a few weeks. Before that happened we were inseparable, and you’d never see one of us without the other; but as we began to enter manhood that closeness started to cool off. We were looking for our own paths in life, I suppose, and we started to push each other, competing where we used to cooperate. Inside a year we weren’t “the cock-eyed twins” any more, we were Quintus and Sextus, each with our own friends and our own ways of doing things. He was the real hard man, whereas I was the smoother of the two of us, with more of a way about me, and while I was never what you’d call a religious man, he turned to the worship of Arduenna with all the zeal of a forest hunter. We still knocked about together, of course, but we were developing different ways of getting what we wanted, him with his fists and me with my wits. Gods, what a team we’d have made; we’d have gone through the local gangs like shit through a goose long before now, but it wasn’t to be. It was a girl that ripped us apart…’

Scaurus nodded his understanding, his initial incredulity cooling towards curiosity.

‘Just like the histories, eh? What was her name?’

‘Lucia. I forget the family name, although it wouldn’t be hard to dig out of the records. She was the daughter of a wealthy family but she liked to slum it with the poor boys, if you know what I mean, and we both certainly qualified for that description. She liked the hint of danger, I guess, although she ended up getting rather more than she’d bargained for. We both fell for her, you see, and for the first time in our lives there was something we both wanted that couldn’t be shared. She made a choice, and that choice was to be with me. It wasn’t much, only a few nights when she could sneak out of her family’s house, but she was my first proper love, and so of course I was convinced we’d find a way to be together for the rest of our lives. I expect she would have dropped me soon enough, and broken my heart for a few weeks, but she didn’t get the chance.’

He paused for a moment, looking up at the ceiling again, and Scaurus prompted him in a gentler tone of voice.

‘Your brother found the pair of you?’

Caninus nodded.

‘Yes, he hunted all over the city until he found the place I used to take her to, a disused stable on the east side where I was sure we’d have privacy. Perhaps he followed me, perhaps someone sold the information to him, I’ll never know. He burst in on us and pulled a knife on me, already furious that I’d lied to him, but beside himself with rage when he saw the proof that I’d won her, and that he’d lost. As she jumped up with her hands out to stop him, he put his foot through a rotten floorboard, and in falling he put the knife into her thigh up to the handle. She bled to death in my arms, while he raved at me about how I’d betrayed him and I shouted back for him to kill me if that was what he wanted. I think he would have done it as well, if I hadn’t already been covered in her blood. In the end he calmed down enough to realise what he’d done. It wasn’t just the murder of an innocent girl, enough to see him dead on its own, but it looked horribly like the abduction, rape and slaughter of the daughter of a wealthy citizen. We both knew that her father paid protection to the most powerful of the city’s gangs, and that he wouldn’t hesitate to call them in to take revenge for her, not to mention to save his face by avoiding the admission that she’d strayed from his protection. And there’s nothing that gang leaders like more than having a chance to turn their thugs loose in a cause in which the common people see them as the deliverers of justice, rather than as the robbing scum they are. Since our relationship wasn’t exactly a closely guarded secret I knew that I’d be the one they’d come looking for first, and no matter how loudly I might protest my innocence all I could do would be to condemn us both to having our throats cut in the city square, once the bastards had broken every bone in our bodies, of course.’

He shook his head.

‘We were both doomed, unless we got out of the city before she was missed the next morning, so we both knew that we’d have to go under the city wall and make a run for it, once we’d buried her body under the floorboards and packed it tight with some old sawdust to keep the smell down. The River Worm flows into the city through an arch in the south-eastern section of the wall, and we both knew how to lift the gate that defends it. Once we were through the arch he told me that the next time he saw me he’d kill me without hesitation, and I saw from his eyes that he meant it. I nearly went for him then and there, to finish it one way or another, but something stopped me. Fear, possibly. He was so much better in a fight than me. Or perhaps it was some trace of the closeness we used to enjoy. Anyway, he slipped off into the night, and after a few minutes I said my last farewells to Lucia and made a run for it too.’

Scaurus stood up, stretching his weary body.

‘I’d say you’ve done pretty well from an inauspicious start, if what you’ve told me has been the truth. Although I’d be very interested to know exactly how a man with that sort of price on his head became an imperial official, especially in a city where he’s presumably still wanted for murder?’

Marcus had just finished the last of the soup, reheated for him by the orderly over the hospital’s cooking stove, when Scaurus walked in, returning his centurion’s salute briskly and taking a seat by the bed. Sanga froze to attention on his mattress, and the prefect looked across the room at the heavy wooden crutch propped up at his side.

‘Can you use that crutch, soldier?’

Sanga, unused to speaking to the person closest to a god in his narrow world, spluttered out an answer, red-faced and staying at attention despite the fact that he was lying flat on his back.

‘Yes, sir, Tribune, sir! Bit wobbly though… sir.’

‘Well, then, it sounds to me as if you could do with some practice. Off you go. Take a few turns up and down the corridor until I tell you to come back.’

The soldier obeyed with alacrity, hobbling out of the room with a sickly smile of embarrassment on his face, and Scaurus sat back, looking around the room’s featureless walls.

‘Are you bored of this place yet, Centurion Corvus?’ Marcus nodded, the look on his face bringing a smile to the Tribune’s lips. ‘I rather thought you might be. You’re not one to sit around and do nothing, are you? Anyway, your time of boredom is about to end. I have a new task for you, Centurion, a job where you’ll find your eyes and ears of far more use than the ability to speak. And you’ve already proven yourself to be more than usually skilled when it comes to spotting those small details that matter.’ Manius appeared at the door with an armful of clothing and equipment. ‘I told the orderly to bring your gear, and the doctor has already signed your discharge as fit for duty. It seems she knows better than I do just how bored you’ll be sitting here with only a soldier for company. So get dressed and I’ll see you at the front entrance. Duty calls, Centurion, and in this case you don’t need a voice to answer.’

Marcus and Scaurus stood on the corner of the street in which Caninus’s headquarters was located, while the gate guards observed them unhappily, still smarting from their detention overnight. As they’d walked through Tungrorum from the hospital the tribune had recounted to Marcus the story related to him by Caninus, and he was just finishing the prefect’s version of the truth.

‘So the story is that they packed the girl’s body in sawdust to stop it from smelling too badly, then made a run for it through the arch that lets the River Worm flow into the city. Caninus went east, skirting round the fort at Mosa Ford and scrambling through the shallows rather than risk being taken by the gate guards, and he carried on as far as Claudius Colony on the Rhenus. Once he was there he kept his head down, worked hard and established a reputation as a clever lad with a habit of delivering on his promises. He ended up finding a place with the civilian authorities as an administrator. After which one thing leads to another, and ten years later here he is, prefect in charge of the province’s counter-banditry effort while his long-lost brother has surfaced as the biggest, nastiest gang leader of them all. I asked him how he’d not been recognised as the man who’d fled the city ten years before, and I have to admit that his answer was a decent enough end to the story, whether it’s true or not.’ Marcus raised an eyebrow, and the tribune waved an arm at the surrounding city. ‘It’s obvious enough, if you look about you. There should be two or three times the number of citizens in Tungrorum, given the size of the place.’ The young centurion nodded slowly, his lips pursing as he too recognised the potential truth in Caninus’s story. ‘Exactly. The plague. The same bloody pestilence that’s been ravaging the empire for the last fifteen years broke out in the city about five years ago, he tells me, here and in all the forts along the Rhenus at much the same time. And if it was vicious enough to kill the last emperor in the safety of his palace, why would it spare any of its victims here? Caninus reckons at least a third of the city died during the outbreak, and a lot more took their possessions and fled, for all the good it would have done them. So, when he was sent here to serve as prefect there was simply no one left alive that recognised him. And on top of that the girl’s family are all dead, and without them there’s no further call for justice. That, and the fact that he purged the official files of all trace of the murder, or so he says.’

Marcus wrote in his tablet, holding it up for the tribune to read.

‘Proof? The local census records were all destroyed in a fire during the plague, when some fool set light to a building full of dead and dying victims of the infection and managed to burn out a whole block of the city, including the records storage building. Caninus tells me that the stable in which the girl died went the same way, which means we won’t get any validation of his story that way.’

He nodded at Marcus’s raised eyebrow.

‘I know. Convenient, isn’t it. A story that “proves” his innocence, but without very much in the way of hard evidence. So, do I believe it?’ He paused for a moment. ‘In all truth, yes, I actually want his story to hold up, and may Our Lord judge me if I’m mistaken. He tells it with the right mixture of desperation and fatalism, like a man who knows that he’s dangling over the drop into Hades but doesn’t deserve to take the fall. Mind you, I’m not entirely trusting of this new version of the man, so I’ve sent away to the governor’s office for a copy of the relevant census entry. At least that way we can see the truth of this “twins” story. As to whether I really trust him, that, as I told you in the hospital, is where you come in. I’m going to set you down in the heart of his command, without giving him the option, and you can observe him for a few days and tell me what you think. If this whole story is just a lie then the point must come when he lets up his guard, even if only for a moment. And if he really is Obduro, then having him under such a close watch will prevent him from taking any further action against us. Whether or not he’s innocent, and simply the victim of his brother’s lust for power and revenge, I can’t think of a better way of finding out — other than the rather extreme expedient of torturing a potentially innocent man half to death — than setting a bright young lad like you on him.’ Marcus nodded, looking at the prefecture building while Scaurus continued speaking. ‘But for Mithras’s sake, be careful. If he’s not the innocent party in all this, then he’ll probably be looking for an opportunity to strike at both of us. Watch your back, Centurion, and I want a daily report from you every evening. I’ve told Caninus that if you fail to appear at evening roll call I’ll take that building apart brick by brick and summarily execute him and every man that gets in my way!’ Marcus drew himself up and saluted, and Scaurus raised a hand in return. ‘Very well, you’re dismissed. May Our Unconquered Lord watch over you.’

The guards on the prefecture’s main entrance snapped to attention as Marcus approached, pulling the heavy wooden door open. Their weapons had been returned to them once Scaurus had decided to make an open show of trust in their master, at least for the time being, and Marcus noted that neither of the guards chose to meet his eye. Inside the building he found the prefect’s whip-thin deputy, waiting for him. Tornach nodded to him impassively, opening the door to Caninus’s office and stepping back. The prefect was seated at his desk with both hands flat on the wood, clearly just sitting and waiting for Marcus to arrive. He stood, advancing round the table and stopping in front of the Roman, snapping to attention as the door closed.

‘Centurion, I am at your disposal. Tribune Scaurus has informed me that my continued freedom to perform my role is dependent on your presence in my headquarters, and so I think the simplest way to approach the situation is to be honest as to the limitations to be imposed on my actions. I place myself in your hands.’

Marcus smiled gently, tapping his still swollen jaw and pointing at the chair from which Caninus had risen.

‘I understand. Talking is… difficult for you at the moment?’

Marcus nodded, pointing to the chair again, and this time Caninus relaxed, returning to his seat. The young centurion passed him the wooden tablet on which he had written several lines of closely spaced text, watching as the prefect held it up to the light in his broad-fingered hand.

‘“I am to watch you, but will do so as your friend. I am still grateful for your rescue of my wife.”’ Caninus bowed his head. ‘No gratitude is required, Centurion, but your open mind is appreciated more than you might guess. Anyway…’ He turned back to the tablet. ‘“I will observe, nothing more. Continue with your duties as if I were not here.”’ The prefect smiled wryly. ‘That’s an easier task for you to instruct than for me to perform, but I’ll do my best to ignore your presence. And then you ask what I have planned?’ He stood, pointing to the map behind him. ‘I have two main objectives at this time… but perhaps you should take a seat before I explain any further? I still have to assume that my prefecture has been compromised by Obduro’s spies.’

Marcus sat, gesturing to the prefect to continue.

‘My first, and most obvious target, is clearly Obduro himself. I have my scouts out in Arduenna, hunting for their hiding place, for our first concern must be to find that encampment’s location. You were there, Centurion Corvus, even if you were blindfolded and injured. Can you give me any better idea of where to look?’

Marcus wrote on his tablet for a moment, then handed it across the desk. The prefect looked at it, nodded his understanding and passed it back.

‘I understand. You were knocked half-conscious, your jaw was broken, and doubtless they did everything possible to disorientate you. I can see how you say that you might have been walking for one hour or three. Nevertheless, there may be some small clue you can provide? Look at the map. If you had to take a guess as to where it might be, where would you place the location?’

Marcus stood, walked over to the map-covered wall and, after a moment of deliberation, pointed at a spot to the south-east of the submerged bridge. He shrugged helplessly, turning back to Caninus, who inclined his head with a grave smile.

‘I understand. Nevertheless your guess is better informed than any that we might make. I’ll have my scouts thoroughly explore that part of Arduenna.’

Marcus nodded, opening his hands in a gesture for Caninus to continue.

‘I mentioned a second task. In truth it’s something I’ve not shared with a soul outside this office.’ He leaned across the desk, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial murmur. ‘If any hint of my suspicions with regard to the matter I’m about to outline to you were to become generally known before the time is right then I have no doubt that the evidence would be lost within hours, and the man I suspect of gross fraud against the imperial treasury would have me in his power.’ He sat back in his chair with a speculative eye on the man facing him. ‘But I suspect you know what I’m talking about. Perhaps you and I can form an alliance in this matter. You might just make the perfect investigator.’

After concluding his session with Caninus, Marcus explained that he had a personal task to attend to and left the prefecture, walking briskly down the street to the food shop where Scaurus had purchased his soup the previous evening. A brief negotiation carried out in sign language, and the exchange of enough money to pay for a week’s supply of food, quickly persuaded the proprietress that her new best customer was to be provided with two pots of soup a day, and the flavours were to be varied as much as possible.

His next stop was the smith from whom he’d purchased his new spatha. Unlike the food shop’s owner, the sword maker had his letters and was able to read Marcus’s handwritten instructions, albeit in a slow, laboured manner.

‘So you want a new helmet, Centurion? Did you lose the old one when you got that lump on your face, eh?’ Marcus nodded patiently. ‘You want an exact copy of the one you lost, but made in the same way as that cavalry helmet I showed you? Ah, you want the iron layered, do you? You’re a clever man, Centurion; you won’t get any better protection than one of my helmets. Now, what else…?’ He squinted at the tablet, frowning at the next item. ‘A shield?’ He frowned at the Roman. ‘I didn’t think you officers carried shields?’ Marcus raised an eyebrow and tapped the tablet. ‘Yes, sir. And you want it..’ The smith’s frown deepened as he read on. ‘What use will that be, Centurion? It’ll be the wrong shape for a start.’

Marcus took the tablet out of his hand and held it up, pointing at the lines inscribed on the wax with a meaningful look before tapping his purse. The smith shrugged, nodding his agreement.

‘You’re the customer, Centurion. If you want a shield that’ll make you look like a throwback to antiquity and be a complete bastard to use, who am I to argue? So, a spear, a helmet and a shield all made to your very particular specifications… shall we call it ten in gold?’ Marcus scratched a fresh line onto his tablet and passed it over the counter for the smith to read. ‘“Yes, but only if…”’ The smith shook his head ruefully. ‘For a man I had down as my best customer in years you’re driving a very hard bargain, Centurion.’ Marcus shrugged, took the tablet from his hand and turned for the door, prompting the smith to hurry around the counter to block his exit with a speed that belied his size. ‘I didn’t say it was an impossible bargain though. Here, have a seat. Are you allowed to drink wine with that bandage round your face?’

With the deal agreed and toasted with a cup of the smith’s rather watery wine, Marcus walked back to the hospital with a thoughtful look on his face, collecting a fresh pot of soup on the way. He kissed his wife, then walked down the corridor until he found the room he was looking for, occupied by a single man in a centurion’s uniform. The patient got painfully to his feet when he saw Marcus in the door’s frame, and put out a hand in greeting.

‘Centurion Corvus! It’s been a long time since we had the chance to talk. I saw you lying in the room next door when they brought me in, but I’ve not been able to walk until today, and even now it’s a bit ugly.’ He turned up the sole of his left foot for Marcus to examine, and the younger man winced at the huge black blisters. ‘They don’t hurt all that much, and I’m allowed to walk on them if they’re bandaged up, but I won’t be fit for duty for at least a week.’

Marcus looked back at him with a smile of genuine affection, and went through his now practised mime of tapping his swollen jaw and handing over his tablet for the other man to read. While Tertius deciphered the lines of closely packed script, his lips moving as he read, Marcus’s mind went back to their first meeting in the officer’s mess at the port of Arab Town at the eastern end of the Wall, and Tertius’s swift discovery of his true identity and fugitive status. The 2nd cohort centurion had had ample opportunity to profit from the knowledge, but had chosen instead to work against his prefect’s plans for Marcus’s exposure and execution. Rumours had circulated among the men of the Tungrian cohorts for months after Prefect Furius’s mysterious death, despite the official opinion at the time being that it had been the result of natural causes. Furius, it was speculated, had been the subject of a revenge plot, murdered by a 2nd cohort centurion whose soldier brother had been crucified on his orders. No proof had been forthcoming, however, and Tertius, as the centurion in question, had stoically ignored all invitations to comment.

He looked up from the tablet with a thoughtful expression.

‘You want me to do some work for you, something connected with the hunt for this Obduro bastard. It needs doing quickly, and it might be dangerous.’ He grinned confidently at Marcus. ‘I’m your man, and you can forget that…’ He waved his friend’s hand away from his purse. ‘That bastard Furius crucified my brother, and you gave me my revenge. May Cocidius praise you long and loudly for it. Whatever it is that you need doing can be considered a part payment of my blood debt to you. And if there’s fighting involved, so much the better.’ He reached for his sword and patted the battered metal scabbard. ‘Although from what you’ve written here, I may have more need of my other sword.’

‘Your business is all done, Centurion Corvus?’

Marcus nodded, writing on his tablet and then passing it across the desk with a rueful look.

‘That much? For a helmet? Gods, but that smith knows how to charge a man! For that much coin he should be making you a helmet from gold.’ He shook his head, passing the tablet back across the table. ‘So, let’s discuss the lesser of my two targets. I’m pretty sure you’ve guessed who I have in mind, but for the avoidance of any doubts I’ll spell out my suspicions. Procurator Albanus was appointed to his post by Governor Julianus a good time after I arrived, and so I have been able to watch and listen as he has subtly changed the mechanisms by which the grain supply to the legions on the Rhenus is managed. His remit, or so he tells anyone that will listen, is to maximise the supply of grain to the army, although I’ve seen no more than a small increase in the number of carts going east to the Rhenus fortresses. What I have noticed, however, is an increase in the number coming in from the various estates across the province. And if more grain comes in, but the same quantity as ever goes out to feed the soldiers, something doesn’t quite add up. Either some good grain simply isn’t being shipped, which is unlikely as that would stick out in the records like a bridegroom’s prick, or he’s accepting grain into the store that shouldn’t be getting into the supply system and using it to pad out the decent stuff.’

Marcus wrote on his tablet, turning it over to reveal two words.

‘“Mouldy grain”. Exactly, Centurion! I knew you were a sharp one. I think the procurator is encouraging farmers to send him grain that by rights isn’t fit to eat, and paying them a small percentage of the price they’d get for the good stuff. Let’s face it; ten per cent of market price is a long way better than nothing at all for something that’s only fit for burning. He’ll dress it up under some pretext or other, food for animals, or some such, but I’ll bet good money that he’s mixing it in with the good stuff. If he slips only a couple of bags of the mouldy stuff in with every hundred, he’s still putting ninety per cent of the value of that many good sacks into his own purse. Doesn’t sound like much, does it? But you’d be amazed just how many sacks that is per year.’ He pulled a scroll from his desk and passed it to Marcus. ‘Do you see the numbers involved? We send six hundred thousand bags of grain to the legions each and every year, eighty cart loads every day on average. If he’s clever enough to limit his skim to just two per cent, two spoiled bags in every hundred, which is low enough to be an irritant rather than a problem, then at four denarii for a bag of corn he’s still grossing over a hundred thousand a year. That’s nearly ten thousand in gold, Centurion. Subtract what he’s paying for the bad grain, and the bribes to keep everyone involved happy, and I’ll wager it’s still the neck end of six or seven thousand in gold a year, and with no taxes to pay. And the procurator has been here for over two years. A couple of years at that rate of profit and a man could buy just about anything he wanted when he returns to Rome, starting with a seat in the Senate. And of course it’s the perfect “victimless” crime. Nobody loses out, not unless you count the emperor, because the grain’s effectively free, levied on the farmers of this province and the Gallic provinces to the south as the price of keeping them safe from the German barbarians waiting just across the Rhenus. The procurator has two nasty problems though. Me, and now you.’

The torches were long since lit, and the familiar crowd already well lubricated, when a pair of men in the rough tunics of soldiers hobbled through the low doorway of a beer shop in the city’s south-western quarter, one hobbling gingerly on obviously painful feet, the other walking with the aid of a crutch. They met the questioning stares of the clientele with blank glances around the lamplit room, foot-long military daggers prominently displayed alongside the purses that bulged from their leather belts. Their clothing was simple and functional, the heavy wool crudely darned in several places where it had worn through, and their hands and faces were marked by the scars and calluses of decades of service, but the weapons’ iron handles shone out in the drinking establishment’s gloom like highly polished silver, a calculated and highly visible show of deterrence. Gesturing to the owner for a couple of beers, and holding up a coin to vouchsafe payment, the younger of the two helped his mate into his seat and propped the veteran’s crutch against the wall. A rather obviously made-up serving girl, her tunic cut low to display breasts little better than pre-pubescent, deposited their beers on the scarred and stained table and collected the coin, looking bemused at the failure of either man to attempt even the most perfunctory of sexual assaults upon her despite the amply provided opportunity. She shook her head, putting both hands on her hips in disgust.

‘Are you two a pair of tunic lifters? No problem if you are, there’s a couple of boys upstairs if that’s what-’

The younger man held up a hand, and she fell silent as he took a sip of his beer and sighed appreciatively, aware of the men seated around him.

‘Best beer of the day, that is.’ He shook his head at the girl, smiling up into her disgust at being so abruptly turned down. ‘No disrespect, love, but these days when I go looking for paid female companionship my tastes run to a slightly older lady than your good self. You’re just too young and fresh for me.’ He raised a hand again to forestall the next offer. ‘I know, you’ve got “older” ladies up there as well, and again, no disrespect, just probably not my type either. We’re just going to sit here and drink our beer, and at some point some nice gentleman or other will tip us off to the location of an establishment capable of furnishing us with appropriate mature company. Or, in the case of my colleague here — ’ he pointed to his companion with a sly glance around the room to confirm that he had an attentive audience — ‘a painted and strapped-up whore with tits like a cow’s udders and an arse like the back end of a cart horse, who fucks like a fully wound bolt thrower and sucks cock like a Greek sailor after a week at sea.’

A chorus of muffled sniggers followed the young woman as she walked away, and the older of the two soldiers raised his beaker in ironic salute to his colleague, his voice a low growl.

‘Nice fuckin’ work, Tertius. You’ve chased away the only woman I’ve seen that’s been worth more than a denarius all night. And I’ll bet she’d a been nice and tight.’

A seam-faced man leaned across from the table next to them, his features creased in a wry smile.

‘No, friend, your mate had it right. She’s the best of a pretty bad bunch, and she wasn’t joking about the boys either. Both of them are her brothers, and they’re both younger than she is. Yeah, I know..’ He grinned into Tertius’s disbelieving expression. ‘And her old mum’s up there too. It’s tough times, what with the gangs getting their fingers into every pie going. But if you gentlemen are looking for a higher-class of female company then pull up a chair, buy me a beer and I’ll tell you what’s to be had in Tungrorum for a man with a taste for the better things in life.’

The look on Centurion Tertius’s face was one of weary triumph, while Sanga’s expression, like any veteran finding himself in the presence of his own centurion, first spear and tribune, was one of stone-faced inscrutability.

‘We struck it lucky in the third bar we visited. The men we watched leaving the grain store when the place closed for the night were all there in a tight little huddle, drinking their beer and planning a night of whoring, as it turned out. All it took was a little play-acting by myself and the soldier here, and the spending of a little coin to back up our story as to how we came to be out on the town, and we found ourselves invited along with them to the Blue Boar. When we got there it was clear that they were regular customers, because the lump who was keeping door let them in without a word, and us too once they’d vouched for our behaviour. And it wasn’t a cheap place either.’

First Spear Frontinius raised a wry eyebrow.

‘I presume that you were both forced to sample the establishment’s services in order to maintain the fiction of being a pair of soldiers who got lucky at your standard bearer’s expense?’

Sanga struggled to maintain his mask of imperturbability, one corner of his mouth twitching slightly, and Frontinius allowed a long, hard stare to linger on him, but Tertius was speaking again, his voice free of any trace of irony.

‘Yes, sir. It would have been strange if we hadn’t, if you take my meaning. Mind you, it didn’t hurt that Morban’s reputation for taking bets on anything and everything seems to have spread across the city. The whorehouse’s hired muscle was in stitches when our new friends told him our little story.’

‘And?’

Tertius frowned at Scaurus’s question.

‘Tribune?’

Scaurus rubbed his eyes with one hand, stifling a yawn with the other.

‘Centurion, whilst this is all very gratifying, you’ve not yet got to the crux of the matter, have you?’

Tertius nodded apologetically.

‘Indeed not, Tribune. To keep the story short, the prefect seems to be justified in his suspicions about the traffic in and out of the grain store. As we expected, the men we hooked up with are labourers, paid to haul the corn off the farmers’ carts and into the grain store, and then to put it onto the carters’ wagons for shipment to the legion fortresses. That much was evident from the first beer, since they were still in their work clothing, but it was only after we’d got a few more wets down our throats that we got a few more clues. Soldier Sanga here managed to blurt out that jobs in the store must be well paid.. ’ The officers collectively winced, each man imagining the moment of uncomfortable silence as Sanga’s apparently naive words had sunk in. ‘But he said it in such a morose way that all they did was laugh at what they took for jealousy at the amount of silver they were throwing around. One of them leaned forward and tapped his nose, with a smile, mind you, and said that there were things that happen in the store that it would be best we didn’t know about, and he rubbed his fingers together like he had a coin between them. It was pretty clear to me that they’re the men that do the dirty work when there’s mouldy corn to load onto the outbound wagons, slipping it in with the good bags, and in return they get a big enough backhander to enjoy themselves properly once in a while.’

‘So they didn’t actually tell you how the fraud works?’

Tertius shook his head at Prefect Caninus’s question.

‘No, Prefect, and they were never going to. They wouldn’t trust a couple of men they’ve just met with that sort of information. It could take another month of drinking and whoring for them to get to the point of opening up that much.’ He saw Frontinius’s eyebrows rise in unspoken comment and quickly continued. ‘But in the absence of our having that sort of time to spend, I think it’s fairly clear that there’s something worth investigating.’

When the two soldiers had left the room Prefect Caninus nodded to Marcus, sitting in his enforced silence in the corner.

‘Well done, Centurion. I think we have enough information to wrap up this fraud with no more than a few quick raids. If we arrest all of the likely participants at the same time one of them’s bound to panic and incriminate the rest of them.’

Scaurus shifted uneasily.

‘And just who are you suggesting we should arrest on the grounds of some grain store workers having more money to spend than ought to be the case, Prefect?’

Caninus shrugged.

‘That all depends whether we want to scare them into inactivity, and have the gains of their crime vanish into thin air, or to catch every man involved and recover the money they’ve been salting away. And that sum, Tribune, is likely to be large enough to put everyone involved very much in the emperor’s eye.’

He watched intently as tribune and first spear exchanged glances. Scaurus shook his head slowly, his eyes locked on the prefect’s.

‘That’s not a status I crave, Quintus Caninus. The attention of the throne can be a double-edged sword, as anyone with any experience of imperial politics will tell you. I’ll settle for recovering the gold and making sure that it is returned to its rightful owner. So, whose doors would you have me send my men to kick in? I’m presuming that you want me to put on a display of overwhelming force?’

‘What in Hades are you doing, Tribune? Do you have such delusions of grandeur that you think you can arrest me and assume my responsibilities in your ceaseless quest for power? Do you imagine that I won’t…’

Albanus, standing under the watchful eyes of a pair of Tungrian veterans in the middle of the basilica’s main chamber, was literally spitting his indignation at Scaurus, who sat before him with an expression of weary contempt. Julius, standing close behind the prisoner with his vine stick in one hand, reached out and tapped him hard on the arm with the baton. As he did so the tribune raised an eyebrow, pointing with one hand at the fuming procurator.

‘The next time my officer’s vine stick touches you, the force used will be sufficient to silence you. And it will be repeated as many times as necessary to achieve that objective. Bruised or unmarked, either way you’ll be silent when I command it. Shut your mouth and consider for a moment which outcome you would prefer, if you will.’

The two men stared at each other in silence before the tribune gestured with his raised hand to the stony-faced Julius, who stepped back with another tap of the stick, smiling quietly to himself as the procurator flinched at its touch. Albanus composed himself, looking down at the broad flagstones on which he stood before Scaurus’s chair. Lifting his head to look at the tribune, he waited in silence for permission to speak.

‘Very well, Procurator, now that you’ve had some time to consider our relative positions in this redefined relationship, do please continue with whatever further expression of outrage you had in mind.’

When he spoke again, Albanus’s previous fury had been replaced by a more calculated approach, part submission, part sardonic sneer.

‘Thank you so much, Tribune, for allowing me to voice my opinion. You have my admiration for your ploy of dragging me from my bed and forcing me to stand here, while you sit in comfort, to reinforce the difficulty of my position. It’s interesting psychology, Tribune, but I’m afraid-’

Scaurus cut him off before he could warm to his subject, his tone matching the look of disparagement he was playing on his prisoner.

‘I am sitting, Procurator, because I’ve been on my feet all night organising a series of raids on multiple locations within Tungrorum. Would you like to hazard a guess at who else we might have bagged this morning? No? Enlighten the prisoner, if you will, Centurion.’

Julius read aloud from his tablet, his parade-ground-hardened voice harsh in the room’s echoing silence.

‘Four grain store workers, the grain store loading and unloading supervisor, two records clerks, the store manager, your deputy, Petrus, and yourself, Procurator.’

Scaurus stood up and stretched, then took the two paces that set him toe to toe with the procurator. When he spoke his voice was pitched low, but with an edge of unmistakable ferocity.

‘All of you, Albanus. I’ve rolled up the entire organisation that was engaged in perpetrating your fraud against the empire, every man in the city with any official part in the store’s management. They’re all being questioned as we speak, and doubtless one or two of them will sing in order to earn a more lenient sentence. Not that we really need them to, of course, the evidence is already more than convincing. Centurion?’

Julius opened the door to the antechamber and hefted a corn sack into the room. Scaurus walked over to it, opened the top and sank his fist deep into the black, mould-crusted grain within before pulling it back out. He opened it under Albanus’s nose, watching as the procurator’s face creased in reflexive disgust.

‘Rotten grain. Not just a dusting of mould, but actually rotting in the bag. A bag that was found, I hasten to add, in a separate granary, well away from the sound supplies. So you were still accepting sub-standard grain into the store, but it was being stored apart from the legions’ supply of good corn.’ He raised a hand, forestalling Albanus as he opened his mouth to comment. ‘No, no need to say it. I’ll say it for you. There’s been no crime committed simply because your men found a bad bag, and segregated it in a separate store built purely for that necessary expedient. But the rebuttal to such justifications is usually to be found in the detail, Procurator, and so it proves in this case. Just how many such bags do you think we found, eh? No answer? You need to take more of an interest in the workings of your operation, Albanus. We found seven hundred and forty-three spoiled bags in total, most of them nowhere near as bad as this, although not one of them would get past a legion stores officer.’

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 worked 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?’

Scaurus nodded wearily.

‘It will also be a good chance for my first spear to get his men out onto the ground and make it clear that we rule here, not some ragtag band of robbers and deserters. I’ll have him march west in enough force to put any such idea out of Obduro’s mind.’ He stood, indicating to the two men that the meeting was at an end. As they made for the door he frowned for a moment, then came to a swift decision. ‘One more thing, Prefect?’ Caninus turned back with a questioning expression, Marcus waiting at his shoulder. ‘I think you’ve proved your bona fides more than adequately over the last day, and under some personal pressure, to boot. With your permission I’ll relieve you of the company of my centurion. I’m sure he’s finding the task of watching you just as onerous as it must be to find yourself under constant scrutiny. And besides, I have something else in mind for him, something better suited to his talents.’

Caninus opened his hands in agreement.

‘Having Centurion Corvus helping me was never onerous, Tribune, far from it. His idea to use your wounded men to gather intelligence as to the grain store’s activities was masterful. I will, however, happily relinquish his services if you have a better use for them. And I stand ready to provide any assistance that might be useful in this new task.’ He raised an enquiring eyebrow, his mouth twisting in a gentle smile. ‘My tracker Arabus, perhaps?’

Scaurus shook his head wryly.

‘You’re too sharp for me, Prefect Caninus, far too sharp. I’ll leave it up to Centurion Corvus to decide what help he might need. Now, gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me? The night’s activities have left me in need of a damned good sweat.’

Julius walked alongside Petrus as the soldiers escorted him back to the Blue Boar, one hand resting lightly on the handle of his dagger. As they turned the corner into the street in which the brothel stood the previously silent gang leader stopped walking and turned to his escort with a wry smile.

‘If you’re thinking of gutting me then this is your last chance, Centurion. Wouldn’t you just love to open me up and leave me to die here, slowly and in public? I wonder what’s stopping you?’

The big Tungrian shook his head dismissively.

‘I gave the tribune my word not to deal with you myself. I keep to my word.’

Petrus grinned evilly.

‘You keep to your word? Despite my provocation? House arrest in the Boar won’t be so bad, you know. I’ve a ready supply of wine and whores to pass the time, and enough gold to keep my men happy until you fools have marched away and left me to continue my business as if you were never here. There’s one whore in particular I plan to ride on a regular basis while I’m cooped up waiting for that moment, and every time I fuck her from behind with a good handful of her hair in my fist. I’ll shout your name just to remind her what she’s missing!’ He squinted up at the seething centurion and nodded his head in apparent admiration. ‘You really do keep your word, don’t y-’

A lightning-fast punch sent Petrus staggering back onto the cobbles, blinking and snorting blood from his nose, and Julius pulled the dagger from his belt and stepped over the fallen gang leader, squatting over him where he lay.

‘Tribune Scaurus promised me two punches, the second to be delivered along with this message. If you set foot outside the whorehouse the guards have orders to spear you, and I’ll make sure that the men set to watch you are the nastiest we have. But they’ll have orders from me to do no more than cripple you and then call for me. And when I arrive you and I will spend your last moments in the company of my little friend here.’ He showed Petrus the dagger’s blade, twisting it to catch the early morning sun and send a pattern of sunlight sparkling from its rough-sharpened blade, then he lifted the terrified man’s tunic and put the dagger’s point under his testicles, prodding at the soft skin with a snarl of barely controlled anger. ‘I’ll have your fucking manhood off and make you watch while the dogs eat your sausage.’ Petrus nodded slowly, staring up into the Tungrian’s enraged eyes and knowing that his only option was to remain silent. ‘And one more thing, the tribune told me to tell you that Albanus will be under a similar house arrest to yours, and that should anything unfortunate happen to him I’ll be free to come for you with licence to inflict whatever punishment I think fit. And trust me, Petrus, I can be surprisingly inventive when it comes to men like you.’