The senator sighed. ‘How old are you?’
‘Twenty-two, sir.’
‘You have a lot to learn.’
X
Though hideous, the events of the next hour weren’t quite the most humiliating of Cassius’s life. That honour went to the occasion when he had been discovered with his aunt’s maid (by his aunt, at her house, during her fiftieth birthday party). To be precise, the worst moment had been when his father had dragged him past his mother, sisters and the assembled guests then shoved him out of the front gate, telling him to walk home and start packing his chest. A week later he had left to join the army.
But this was still hideous enough. After grovelling to Numerius Afer (plus his wife), Columella (plus his wife) and Megakreon (plus his wife and all the remaining guests), Cassius had been instructed by the senator to empty his money bag and give all he had to the harpist. Indavara had also apologised to the girl, commenting that he should really have hit the bodyguard again, thereby knocking him to the ground and preventing the damage to the harp.
‘That didn’t really go very well, did it?’ said the bodyguard as they rode out to the mint. Correctly adjudging that Cassius was in no mood to talk, it was the first thing he’d said since they’d left the villa. Cassius glanced across at him as they overtook a pair of lads hauling a handcart stacked with firewood.
‘I don’t really see how it could have gone any worse.’
‘That Columella was full of himself.’
‘He is a senator. A senator says jump – you ask how high. Remember that in case we ever meet another one.’
‘What do senators do anyway?’
‘Frankly, I can’t be bothered to explain.’
‘Didn’t you say that Marcellinus is just below the Emperor? If you’re working for him why do you have to worry about a senator?’
‘If I’d been in possession of anything one could consider actual evidence then I might not have had to. I thought I was so bloody clever finding those names I put two and two together and came up with seven and a half.’
‘Eh?’
‘Forget it.’
A rider galloped past, his steed kicking up dust.
‘Er, Corbulo, I think that was one of the messengers from Megakreon’s villa.’
Cassius looked up and realised he was right. ‘So Quentin will know all about it. Well, at least it saves me going over the whole sorry episode again.’
When he arrived in the storeroom, the treasury agent was just finishing the letter. He put it down then peered up at him. ‘Interesting morning?’
‘You could say that.’ Cassius slumped down on a stool. He was alone, having left Indavara outside with the horses.
‘By the gods, Crispian. A senator?’
‘Damned bad luck, really. He’s on holiday – summer recess, I suppose.’
‘Why Afer? What did you have on him?’
‘Nothing as it turned out.’ Cassius briefly went through what he’d discovered since they’d last met.
‘I can see why you would want to question him but-’
‘My mistake. Overconfidence combined with carelessness. It won’t happen again.’
Quentin glanced at the letter. ‘Marcellinus and Sabinus will not be impressed.’
‘I am well aware of that. But at least they won’t hear about it for a week or so. I shall do my best to ensure I have something more substantial to report in my reply.’
Cassius glanced at the map of Syria and the surrounding provinces. Dozens of red paper circles had now been stuck to it.
‘Ah, the coin sightings.’ He stood up and walked around the table for a better view.
‘I just finished – two-thirds of the replies are in now.’
‘Each one denotes a single sighting?’
‘Correct.’
Cassius leaned over the map. Almost all the cities of central Syria had at least one dot (Tripolis included); some had several.
‘Does it look how you expected it to?’
‘No,’ said Quentin. ‘The spread and the amount are far greater than I had anticipated. Whoever they are, this gang are producing a lot of coins and moving them quickly.’ He thumped his hand on the table. ‘And we’re getting nowhere. Absolutely nowhere.’
Cassius continued to study the map. Quentin began rubbing his brow.
After a while, Segestes trotted in. ‘Some more post for you, sir.’
Quentin scraped away the seal, unfolded the letter and read it. ‘Well, it appears the gods might have chosen to throw some good fortune our way at last.’
‘Oh?’
‘Remember I told you there were still five casters from the Felicissimus plot unaccounted for?’
‘Yes,’ said Cassius.
‘One of them’s been spotted right here in Syria.’
‘Let me guess – Berytus.’
‘Yes. How did you know?’
Cassius pointed at the map. ‘It’s the only major city within a hundred miles where none of the fakes have turned up. They wouldn’t want to draw attention to their base of production.’
‘And now this caster’s been spotted. Unlikely to be a coincidence, surely?’
‘After the events of today, I certainly hope not.’
Berytus was thirty miles to the south. They agreed that Cassius should journey there while Quentin continued to collate information in Tripolis. The treasury agent would be free to investigate any other leads and if Cassius made significant progress he could get to Berytus within a day. Quentin also agreed to contact the magistrate there, outlining the importance of the investigation and requesting that Cassius be afforded whatever help was necessary.
Once back at the inn, Cassius told Simo to start packing up; they would be leaving the following day. The attendant began work immediately, placing their saddlebags on the floor and folding up clothes. Cassius slumped on to the bed and looked at the box on the table. Inside were the twelve figurines of the great gods – by the looks of it Simo had given each of them a good polish. Cassius couldn’t escape the feeling that at least some of them were staring at him with disapproving expressions.
‘Not a good day, Simo. Not good at all.’
‘Perhaps things will look up in Berytus, sir.’
‘Entirely my fault. I suppose all the flattery from the marshal inflated my head. I was so convinced I was on the right path that all sense left me. I embarrassed myself in front of a senator, would you believe? I only hope word of it does not reach my father.’
‘Everybody makes mistakes, sir.’
‘True, but I can’t afford another one.’
Cassius noted a book on Simo’s bed. ‘You’ve been studying?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Not enough time to find a church-house?’
‘No.’
‘Well, I don’t know how long we’ll be in Berytus but I’m sure there’ll be some of your people there. I must say I’m quite looking forward to it; I would have liked to make a stop on the way through. If things had turned out differently I might have been studying there now.’
‘At the university, sir?’
‘It was all planned. My father had agreed to pay for it; I was supposed to go once I turned seventeen.’
Simo didn’t ask what had happened.
Cassius leant back against a pillow, fingers intertwined around his head. ‘My parents went away for the weekend so I ordered all the servants to leave and invited a few friends over. About fifty, actually. One fellow took my father’s horse for a ride, my youngest sister vomited on my mother’s favourite couch and my idiot cousin Gaius set fire to the beehives because he’d been stung on the bottom. So I never made it to Berytus. Excellent party, though.’
Simo stopped folding tunics for a moment. ‘Have you heard of Gregory Thaumaturgus, sir?’
‘I have. Contemporary of Origen’s, wasn’t he?’
‘He was, sir. He studied at Berytus too, and later became a bishop.’
‘I remember – he abandoned the law and embraced religion.’
‘Yes, sir. They say that when he arrived in Caesarea there were only seventeen Christians. But when he left there were only seventeen who were not.’