‘And that’s our so-called governor.’
‘Lafrenius Leon,’ said Cassius.
‘None other.’
‘Was that the forum?’ asked Annia as Noster led them along the avenue to the west. Cassius now noted from a bronze sign that it was the Via Cyrenaica.
‘Indeed, miss,’ replied the legionary. ‘I remember when it was rare to find fewer than two hundred people gathered there of a morning: councillors, clerks, priests, patrons and their retinues. They used to post announcements on the message board every day. I enjoyed that duty. Saved me going to the temple to see family and friends.’
‘You still have family here now?’ Annia asked him.
‘Just me and my wife.’
‘What’s that smell?’ asked Korinth.
‘See the aqueduct?’ The legionary pointed to an area of higher ground three or four miles to the south-west. The pale, arched structure stretched away south towards the interior. ‘Looks all right from here but no water flows. Sewers are clogged up. Be grateful it’s not summer.’
The section of the Via Cyrenaica closest to the square had clearly once been porticoed, but every last column now lay on the ground, poking out on to the street from under broken roof slabs.
‘That’s new,’ observed Noster. Scrawled on one of the columns in red paint was a line of Latin: THE GODS WILL PUNISH THEM.
Beyond the fallen portico, about twenty people were gathered around half a dozen stores housed in small, stone-built villas. Here again was a mix of those in typical Roman attire and locals in their colourful garb.
The new arrivals attracted quite a bit of interest.
‘Let’s try and blend in,’ Cassius told the others quietly as he took his satchel from Simo.
The group broke up, drifting away to investigate the goods on offer. One of the vendors asked Asdribar if he was from the ship while Annia and Clara were soon being set upon by a merchant selling jewellery. Indavara and Simo wandered over to a butcher’s. Hanging from a hook under an awning was the skinned carcass of what appeared to be a giant rabbit. Indavara eyed it curiously.
‘Gazelle,’ said Noster. ‘Not bad if you cook it long enough.’
Cassius followed the legionary to the store furthest from the square. Here, a middle-aged woman presided over a selection of dried fruit and nuts laid out on wooden trays. She had just finished serving a young girl, who departed with an amphora full to the brim with raisins. Cassius saw something moving on the floor and realised there was a little black-haired monkey sitting next to a flat piece of stone. It was wearing a miniature tunic and was attached to the woman’s chair by a collar and chain. She put down a bowl of nuts. The monkey took one, smashed it against the stone, threw the shell to one side, then gave the kernel back to its mistress.
‘Remarkable,’ said Cassius.
The woman looked up. ‘Morning, sirs.’
Recognising Noster, she lowered her voice. ‘Ah. Go ahead. He’s already here.’
As they walked round the stall, she offered another nut to the monkey but this time it kept its hands down and looked away. Cursing, the woman threw the nut at the little creature, who shook his head at her, then scratched his nether regions.
‘What’s wrong with Adrianus?’ asked Noster.
The woman tutted. ‘One of his moods.’
Behind the stall were stone steps leading down to a structure built entirely underground.
‘A cellar without a house,’ said Cassius.
‘Actually it was a house. A local technique — cool in the summer, easy to heat in winter. They use it to store their stock.’
Noster took a wary look around before hurrying down the steps.
‘Is all this secrecy really necessary?’ Cassius asked as he followed. ‘I can’t see any soldiers around.’
‘They’re not the only ones who report to Carnifex,’ explained Noster.
At the bottom of the steps, a middle-aged man was transferring bunches of herbs from a barrel into wooden trays like those from the stall. He nodded to Noster and aimed a thumb over his shoulder. Behind him were passageways to three rooms, all lined with brick and lit by square glass skylights in dire need of cleaning.
‘In here,’ came the sonorous tones of Eborius from the room to the right. They found the big centurion leaning against a wall beside a woman of about sixty who was sitting on a chair. She was wearing faded red robes and her arms were weighed down with dozens of bangles. She had a pinched, narrow face and a healthy head of greying hair tied up with a band the same colour as her robes.
‘Morning,’ said Cassius.
‘Morning,’ said Eborius. ‘This is Hamman. She works at the library. Apparently most of the records are kept in two storerooms. They’re locked but she thinks she can get to the key. At certain times of the week — tomorrow afternoon for example — only she and the clerk are there. He’s one of Leon’s men, lazy and stupid; usually takes a long sleep after lunch. We can probably get you into the storerooms for an hour or two.’
Cassius spoke clearly to make sure the elderly woman understood him. ‘Thank you for helping us.’
‘It doesn’t come free,’ she said in faultless Latin.
‘Ah.’
‘An aurei now. One afterwards.’
Cassius looked at Eborius, who shrugged.
‘Best I can do.’
‘These records. What exactly is in there?’
‘It’s a mess,’ said Hamman. ‘Leon’s only interested in keeping an eye on who’s paid what at the end of every month. Most of it was recovered from the forum. There’s definitely some tax documentation, probably some electoral records too.’
‘Will I be able to take anything out?’
‘I’d prefer it if you didn’t but no one’s been in there in months, so I doubt anything would be missed. But you cannot get caught. You must not.’
‘I’ll be careful.’
The old woman stuck out her hand.
‘In a moment.’ Cassius reached inside the satchel and took out the list he and Simo had completed on the Fortuna. ‘Would you also have a look at this for me? Tell me if you recognise any of those names.’
The old woman snatched the list, then stood up so she could read it below the skylight. Cassius took a gold coin from his money bag and waited for her to finish. Eborius paced round the chamber, sipping from his canteen. Judging by the smell, there was as much wine in there as water.
Hamman shook her head briskly, then handed back the list.
Cassius dropped the gold aureus into her open palm. ‘Tomorrow then?’
‘I’ll make the arrangements,’ said Eborius.
Hamman ambled away towards the stairs.
‘You want me to check that as well, I presume?’ asked the centurion.
‘Please. I should have asked you last night.’
Eborius hung his canteen from his belt and examined the sheet. Cassius wandered over to the steps and watched Hamman disappear from view. The stall owner and his trays were gone too. In one of the amphorae were shiny, freshly washed black olives. Cassius was considering trying one when Eborius spoke.
‘Helvetius Cornix. I know that name. I believe he’s still here.’
Cassius hurried over to him and looked at the list. ‘Helvetius Cornix. Some kind of a scandal, I think. I can’t remember the details of it, nor the outcome.’
‘He is a small man, not particularly distinctive.’
‘Do you know where he lives?’
‘No, but I can find out.’
Cassius took the sheet and started towards the steps.
Eborius didn’t move. ‘Corbulo. Leave it to me. We can’t be seen together asking questions in town. I’ll come down to the ship at midday — let you know if I’ve made any progress.’
‘And until then?’