‘And no bodyguard?’ asked Cassius. ‘With respect, surely a man in your position must have made a few enemies here over the years?’
‘Probably, but no one’s ever tried anything yet. It’s funny you should mention it actually; today the magistrate told us to be on our guard – he thinks some of the weavers might stage an attack.’
‘Clearly you don’t share his concern.’
‘The workers just want what they think is fair. They’d never go that far.’
‘You have some sympathy with their cause, then?’
Diadromes stopped as they reached the front of the eatery. It seemed a modest place; there was no doorman and the only advertising was a faded mosaic featuring a plate of food.
‘Enough politics. Let’s concentrate on dinner for now. It may not look much, but the cook here is one of the best in Berytus. Name a fish, and he will prepare it precisely to your liking.’
Diadromes noticed the beaming smile on Indavara’s face. ‘I see you like the sound of that, my friend.’
Though he found the ‘man of the people’ routine a tad unnecessary, Cassius had to admit Diadromes was excellent company. The Syrian insisted that they address no serious matters until later on and entertained his guests with tales gleaned from his long and varied career. The need for the private room was obvious; on their way through the dining room he had been approached by half a dozen individuals, most seeking a discussion of some issue or another. Diadromes handled them expertly; always appearing open and warm, never giving them a second to get started.
When the maid recited the menu, Indavara became so overwhelmed by his options that in the end Diadromes ordered a platter of ‘catch of the day’, which included five different varieties of fish plus crab, oysters and mussels. Cassius was still feeling a little sore from earlier and avoided the shellfish, but he sampled the trout and the bream; both were exceptional. Diadromes tried everything and gave his (mostly positive) views to the staff. Later, Cassius became so embarrassed by the sight of Indavara picking through bones and shells that he told the maid to remove the platter, even though Diadromes didn’t seem concerned.
When the girl returned with more wine, the Syrian asked her to escort Indavara to the kitchen – to show him what was on offer for dessert. Guessing Diadromes wanted to keep this ‘sensitive matter’ between them, Cassius did not protest; surely he was safe enough here.
Diadromes let his belt out a notch and turned his chair towards Cassius. ‘This will remain between the two of us, of course.’
‘Of course.’
‘My son is almost sixteen. He wants very much to study here at the university. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you about its reputation and importance. He has the enthusiam, the ability and the necessary references. Unfortunately, they admit only fifty new students a year, and the intake for the autumn is already complete. I’m told nothing can be done.’
‘They are very strict. I remember applying myself.’
‘Really?’
‘I trained for two years as an orator. An … unfortunate incident persuaded my father that I would be better off in the army. I entered the Service straight from training.’
‘Unusual, is it not?’
‘It is. I thought staying away from the legions might be a safer course.’
‘Bearing in mind what you told me earlier, that doesn’t seem to be working out very well.’
‘Hazard of the occupation, I suppose. Your son – what about leaving it until next year? Seventeen or eighteen is a more typical age to start at such an institution.’
Diadromes grimaced and ran a hand through his thinning hair. For a politician, he had a remarkably expressive face. ‘The lad wants to go now. He has always been one to change his mind quickly and I promised my wife I would get him enrolled before he changes it again.’
‘I see. Surely you must have some leverage?’
Diadromes sneered. ‘With those pompous prigs? The man in charge of admissions is named Sallustius – he comes from one of Berytus’s founding families. The moment I open my mouth I can see the contempt in his eyes. He has refused me twice and now will not even see me.’
Cassius drank more wine; it was light and refreshing – a perfect accompaniment to the fish. ‘The university is a most prestigious institution – they perhaps consider themselves above the world of favour and influence.’
‘I’d say it depends on who is doing the favouring and influencing. But you, Crispian, are with the Service. Even Sallustius will know of Chief Pulcher, how close he is to the Emperor. He and the other professors make much of their close ties to the capital. There were rumours of a scandal involving Sallustius several years ago. Perhaps if I provide you with the details?’
Now it was Cassius’s turn to grimace. ‘To be honest, I think such a blunt approach unwise. I suppose my spearhead will get me a meeting at least. Then I can get a measure of the man and see what can be done. I wouldn’t hold your breath, however.’
‘All I ask is that you try,’ said Diadromes. ‘I have exhausted all other possibilities and my wife speaks of nothing else. The enrolment lists are published at the end of the month; time is running short. I will ask a third party to arrange a meeting for the morning.’
‘Very well. I shall be interested to see the place at last. Now, this villa you spoke of …’
‘There may be a small difficulty but if I can make it happen I shall. It is well located and extremely secure. You will be comfortable and safe there.’
They both drank their wine. Now there was the possibility of ‘a small difficulty’. Cassius didn’t need to be a soothsayer to predict that the small difficulty might become a major one if he didn’t get anywhere with this Sallustius character.
Diadromes raised his glass. ‘To the gods. May they favour us both.’
At first the cook seemed annoyed by the rough-looking man cluttering up his kitchen. But when the maid explained that Indavara was a guest of the deputy magistrate, he offered to prepare whatever he wanted. Indavara eventually settled on a large bowl of sweetened milk filled with roasted nuts and blanched fruit. As the eatery was extremely hot and the other two obviously wanted some privacy, he took his dessert out to the rear courtyard. It was a walled square lit by two lanterns, each one attracting a cloud of insects. Only when he had emptied the bowl and licked the spoon clean did he give any thought to the events of the day.
Indavara admitted to himself that Corbulo’s ‘victory’ had riled him but he’d been planning the ‘attack’ for some time. The man had to realise that sometimes you just had to act. He was so confident of Indavara; too reliant on him. Indavara knew it would take only one mistake; he had seen it often enough in the arena. Even though he trained every day, worshipped his Fortuna and tried his best to stay sharp, his luck would run out some time.
He was about to return inside when he heard shouting. A young man came flying out of the kitchen then slipped and fell, groaning as he landed. An older man was right behind him, already pulling his belt from around his waist.
‘You little turd. How dare you embarrass me in front of my friends. You speak only when you’re spoken to.’
Indavara had seen such things many times. Before being recruited by Abascantius he had worked as a bodyguard for several rich men, which meant a lot of standing around at side doors and back doors. Most masters waited until they were away from their companions before confronting their servants.
The young man knew what was coming; he already had his hands up. Master was a squat individual in a bright orange tunic. He lifted the belt high. Indavara was glad to see that at least he wasn’t using the buckle end.
‘What did he do?’
The Syrian was more surprised than alarmed. ‘None of your bloody business.’
He spun around and lashed at Servant. Even though the belt striped his arm red, Servant kept his defences up. Master thrashed him three times more and – when the arms finally came down – struck a heavy blow across his head.