Read Online The Wolf's Gold by Anthony Riches - Free Book Online
Authors: Anthony Riches
Tags: Fiction, Historical
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gold ready for transport to Rome.’
Scaurus digested the information for a moment.
‘Which I presume is currently the case?’
‘It will be in a week or so, Tribune. We tend to ship the gold down to Apulum once a month, three thousand pounds or so in each shipment.’
Scaurus thought for a moment.
‘I see. And how can you tell that this man’s messages are really from him, if he never leaves Sarmatae territory?’
‘We have a means of knowing whether the men who bring his despatches are genuine. He sends messages out to us every few months, using a different trader every time to avoid developing any pattern that might betray him. The men he uses are given sealed containers to carry across the border in return for a significant amount of gold, most of which is not paid until they have made delivery with the message tube’s seal intact. The message warning of the coming attack arrived in Apulum last week, carried by a horse trader who described our man’s identifying feature in perfect detail.’
‘He described the man’s face?’
Cattanius shook his head, smiling at the senior officer’s innocence.
‘Oh no, Tribune, he’s very careful never to let his face be seen, so that the men he chooses can never link the message back to him if they are caught in the act. What he shows the traders to whom he entrusts his messages is a finely made gold ring in which is mounted a large and beautifully finished garnet. They describe it to us, and so we know that the message is genuine.’
Scaurus raised an eyebrow.
‘And so when this intelligence of a Sarmatae attack was received, Legatus Albinus decided to beat them to the punch in the north, didn’t he?’
The beneficiarius nodded.
‘Yes. The withdrawal of the mine’s guard cohort wasn’t just a response to the threat to Porolissum, although the Thirteenth Gemina is marching there to join up with the Fifth Macedonica, ready to repel the northern attack. Knowing that your cohorts were only a few days away, and having a good idea as to how long it would take the Sarmatae to make their attack on the mine, the legatus gambled that—’
‘Sacred Father, he gambled with the richest goldmine in the empire!’ Scaurus shook his head in disbelief. ‘It just goes to prove what his centurions always used to say about him during the German wars. There’s bold, there’s downright reckless, and then there’s Decimus Clodius Albinus.’
Marcus walked back down the line of his century’s tents later that night to find a small brazier set up outside the entrance to his own tent, and several men sitting in its cherry-red glow, talking quietly. The nearest of them got to his feet and nodded a greeting, a leather boot held in one hand and a polishing rag in the other. The Roman shook his head in mock amusement.
‘You appear to be cleaning my boots, Arminius?’
The German flicked his long hair away from his face, having released it from his customary heavy topknot.
‘And a good thing too, I’d say. You’d either have lost precious time cleaning it yourself in the morning, or else appeared on parade with one boot gleaming and the other still covered in mud. I came to get the boy for dinner, knowing that his grandfather had managed to find a jar of wine and was happily pouring it down his neck without a care in the world, only to be told that you’d walked him down to your wife’s tent. It was clear enough that your gear would need some attention, and so . . .’
The one-eyed warrior who had been sitting next to him stood up and joined them, stretching extravagantly in the fire’s warmth and gesturing for his bodyguard to stay in their places by the fire. A prince of the Votadini tribe,which dwelled in Britannia’s northern mountains beyond the Roman wall, Martos had gone into voluntary exile with the Tungrians after his people’s ill-fated participation in the tribal revolt that still wracked the province.
‘And so we decided to make a party of it. The
Scaurus digested the information for a moment.
‘Which I presume is currently the case?’
‘It will be in a week or so, Tribune. We tend to ship the gold down to Apulum once a month, three thousand pounds or so in each shipment.’
Scaurus thought for a moment.
‘I see. And how can you tell that this man’s messages are really from him, if he never leaves Sarmatae territory?’
‘We have a means of knowing whether the men who bring his despatches are genuine. He sends messages out to us every few months, using a different trader every time to avoid developing any pattern that might betray him. The men he uses are given sealed containers to carry across the border in return for a significant amount of gold, most of which is not paid until they have made delivery with the message tube’s seal intact. The message warning of the coming attack arrived in Apulum last week, carried by a horse trader who described our man’s identifying feature in perfect detail.’
‘He described the man’s face?’
Cattanius shook his head, smiling at the senior officer’s innocence.
‘Oh no, Tribune, he’s very careful never to let his face be seen, so that the men he chooses can never link the message back to him if they are caught in the act. What he shows the traders to whom he entrusts his messages is a finely made gold ring in which is mounted a large and beautifully finished garnet. They describe it to us, and so we know that the message is genuine.’
Scaurus raised an eyebrow.
‘And so when this intelligence of a Sarmatae attack was received, Legatus Albinus decided to beat them to the punch in the north, didn’t he?’
The beneficiarius nodded.
‘Yes. The withdrawal of the mine’s guard cohort wasn’t just a response to the threat to Porolissum, although the Thirteenth Gemina is marching there to join up with the Fifth Macedonica, ready to repel the northern attack. Knowing that your cohorts were only a few days away, and having a good idea as to how long it would take the Sarmatae to make their attack on the mine, the legatus gambled that—’
‘Sacred Father, he gambled with the richest goldmine in the empire!’ Scaurus shook his head in disbelief. ‘It just goes to prove what his centurions always used to say about him during the German wars. There’s bold, there’s downright reckless, and then there’s Decimus Clodius Albinus.’
Marcus walked back down the line of his century’s tents later that night to find a small brazier set up outside the entrance to his own tent, and several men sitting in its cherry-red glow, talking quietly. The nearest of them got to his feet and nodded a greeting, a leather boot held in one hand and a polishing rag in the other. The Roman shook his head in mock amusement.
‘You appear to be cleaning my boots, Arminius?’
The German flicked his long hair away from his face, having released it from his customary heavy topknot.
‘And a good thing too, I’d say. You’d either have lost precious time cleaning it yourself in the morning, or else appeared on parade with one boot gleaming and the other still covered in mud. I came to get the boy for dinner, knowing that his grandfather had managed to find a jar of wine and was happily pouring it down his neck without a care in the world, only to be told that you’d walked him down to your wife’s tent. It was clear enough that your gear would need some attention, and so . . .’
The one-eyed warrior who had been sitting next to him stood up and joined them, stretching extravagantly in the fire’s warmth and gesturing for his bodyguard to stay in their places by the fire. A prince of the Votadini tribe,which dwelled in Britannia’s northern mountains beyond the Roman wall, Martos had gone into voluntary exile with the Tungrians after his people’s ill-fated participation in the tribal revolt that still wracked the province.
‘And so we decided to make a party of it. The
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