‘True. And I’ve spent a good portion of the last few months dismantling their intelligence operation, but there may be individuals I don’t know about — back in Palmyra or even here.’
‘What would they gain from disrupting the treaty?’
‘They may simply want the flag back; it gives them great power over the Persians as a bargaining tool. And in the long term, an alliance between the great powers on either side of them does little to advance their cause. The ultimate aim? Quite possibly the re-establishment of Palmyran rule. Look, I’d love to see that little shit Octobrianus on the end of a rope, believe me, but there’s nothing definitive on him yet.’ Abascantius shrugged, then gestured to the villa. ‘You must also realise it’s my job to know all their dirty little secrets. One can start to feel rather paranoid — that everyone is hiding something. But these are ambitious people. What was it Aristophanes said? Under every rock lies a politician?’
‘Sir, I apologise if I’m speaking out of turn, but shouldn’t the Emperor just get rid of these men? It seems to me they’re all guilty of collaboration.’
Abascantius pointed at him. ‘You are speaking out of turn, Corbulo, but I shall answer that in the interests of opening your eyes to a few political realities. You call them collaborators. But isn’t every Roman who stayed here, to a lesser or greater degree? Should we have them all driven from the city? Don’t forget the Palmyrans held sway here long before they decided to annex the province. People had to make choices; consider their families, their futures. And it’s not as if Zenobia had them raping and pillaging. One might even argue that she wished only to rule the Empire, not to eradicate it. Was she so different to any other usurper?’ Abascantius shifted in the chair. ‘In any case, despite what people may think, the Service doesn’t act solely on rumour and guesswork. We look for proof; and we must investigate every possible alternative.’ He turned back to the window. ‘Ah, there she is.’
‘Who?’
‘Your escort.’
‘My escort? Where?’
‘Wait a moment, here’s number four. Quarto — the magistrate. See him there — the big fellow.’
‘Big’ was an understatement; the magistrate made Abascantius look svelte. He was a tall, broad-shouldered, bearded man, with a huge gut that wobbled beneath his tunic as he walked. His cloak was trimmed with silver thread, and he was holding a ceremonial version of the club his sergeants carried.
‘What do you know of him?’ Cassius asked.
‘A crooked thug.’
‘And a suspect?’
‘Again, possible but unlikely. He’s new to the city. Marcellinus appointed him three months ago. No genius, but he’s sly; and a good choice to keep the commoners in order.’
‘But if he’s crooked, surely we can’t ignore him entirely?’
‘He’s crooked in the sense that all magistrates are. Skims what he can from the market taxes, helps his friends get contracts. But he’s served in three different cities without much criticism and he was a legionary for a decade before that.’
Quarto and Scaurus had just embraced, and the host sent the magistrate into the house with an affectionate slap on the back.
‘Look at them. Like old friends. I’m told they’ve already forged a mutually beneficial relationship.’
‘You’re not giving Quarto much attention then?’
‘Not at the moment. But he could be obstructive. I’ve already had a couple of unpleasant encounters with him. Typical ex-legionary: hates the Service more than most. I may have to dig up some dirt on him just to keep him out of my way.’
Cassius reflected on what he’d seen: the men Marcellinus trusted to govern Antioch and arguably the four most powerful men in Syria.
‘So,’ he said, ‘a general, a governor, a procurator and a magistrate.’
‘And one of them a traitor to Rome,’ replied Abascantius, standing up.
‘Or one of their staff.’ Cassius got to his feet too. ‘Or a wife, or a mistress or a slave. By now, any number of people could know about the flag and the treasure.’
‘In theory. But Marcellinus swore them to secrecy — not something to take lightly, given his reputation. If one of them broke their oath, they must have had a damn good reason to do it.’
Cassius glanced down at the villa. ‘What exactly do you want me to do, sir?’
‘First, nothing to draw attention to yourself. If asked, say you are a member of the governor’s staff but no more.’
‘Gordio knows I’m here?’
‘Of course not. Technically, I should notify him but he has as little to do with me as he can. Try not to think of the Service as part of the army, or even part of the provincial administration. We stand alone, outside all that. It’s what makes us unique.’
Abascantius took hold of Cassius’s shoulder and turned him towards the window.
‘Now listen. You are to watch those four, especially Gordio and Octobrianus. Look at their behaviour: who they’re talking to, who they’re avoiding; how much they drink; whether they look nervous or relaxed; whether they stay or whether they go home early. Your escort will be there to help you.’
‘And where is she?’
‘See there — the second carriage from the steps.’
Cassius could see only a fine head of hair, kept in place by a silver diadem.
‘Lady Antonia. She’s been most useful to me over the years. Charges a lot for her services but she’s never let me down yet.’
The carriage arrived at the steps and Lady Antonia stepped down. She was shapely and elegant but Cassius then saw her face. She was old — forty at least! He did a poor job of hiding his disappointment.
Abascantius chuckled. ‘Typical youth — underestimates the value of an experienced woman.’
‘Don’t tell me we’re to masquerade as a couple? I’ll be the laughing stock.’
‘Actually you wouldn’t be the youngest man ever to take her arm but no, you’re her nephew, newly arrived to take up your post. You can agree the details between you. Hurry now — she has your ticket.’
Cassius turned to leave.
‘Ah, wait a moment.’ Abascantius reached into his belt and retrieved a pin shaped like a bow. ‘Wear this on your toga. She will know you by it.’
XX
Cassius had seen his share of luxurious villas: scores in Cyzicus and his native Ravenna, even a few in Rome; but nothing could have prepared him for the House of the Dolphins.
Just beyond the main entrance was a reception room of immense dimensions and brazen splendour. The walls were faced with pink Egyptian granite, giving the whole chamber a faint red glow. The guests — three hundred at least — moved between life-sized statues cast in bronze and silver. Running along the floor from each wall to the centre of the room were paths made by immaculately rendered mosaics; mostly fish or other sea creatures. Where the paths met in the centre of the room was a high plinth, and upon it a spectacular white marble bust of Aphrodite, leaning down to touch a leaping dolphin.
Lady Antonia nudged Cassius and pointed at the tray being proffered to him by a servant. On the tray were glasses of wine. Antonia was already holding one.
‘Good for your nerves.’
Cassius took a glass and shrugged. ‘What nerves?’
Antonia smiled. She had met him outside with a convincing ‘Hello, nephew,’ before grabbing his arm and hurrying up the steps. They were the last guests to enter and the doors had just been closed behind them.
‘Come.’
Antonia led him along one of the mosaic paths. Whatever her ancestry, it certainly wasn’t Syrian. Her skin was as light as Cassius’s, and her hair a kind of dark blonde. At five and a quarter feet she was what he considered to be the perfect height for a woman. She wore dark kohl around her eyes; and the blackness brought out a green just a shade darker than the emeralds embedded in the bronze viper circling her upper right arm. She was wearing a long, flowing stola, with a vibrant purple border at the neck. Remarkably slim for her age, she was also blessed with high breasts and a pert behind.