Chapter XXI

 

 

 

They looked for wealth and prosperity, and the results exceeded their expectations. Next to be settled were the theatre of operations and the plan of campaign. – Lucian, Alexander - The False Prophet

 

"If I wanted to spend the rest of my life in Stravin, Polydius, I would have hired locally." Vasiges sits at his desk, his mood darker than usual. "My cousin’s reputation grows while I languish. Look at this!" He thrusts a wrinkled parchment into the Greek’s hand. An account of the latest Parthian victory in Roman Syria.

That the poster has been copied throughout the Parthian empire, Polydius has no doubt. Standing before the commander when he is drunk one is ill-advised to provoke him. The Greek man of science keep his irreverence to himself for a change. "The mine becomes more productive by the week, my lord!" Grovelling is a proven strategy at such moments. "The newest smelter has achieved greater temperatures than ever before. The purity …"

"Purity! If I wanted purity I would have hired a priest, or a wagonload of virgins! I need money, you Hellenic half-wit. That’s why you’re here! I need to buy an army, and I need it now! My cousin defeats the Romans in every encounter. Already his name is covered in glory.

"Chosrhoes loves me well and will kill me at the first opportunity. Do you understand? Another month in this craven wasteland and I might as well send personal invitations to his assassins!"

Polydius has lived with these moods for more than two years. One day Vasiges will kill him, it is simple. Axiomatic, even. "I do not wish to make excuses my lord, but we have no solution for two significant problems. Firstly, the gases that erupt from the mine. We lose five slaves a week to the gas. If we enlarge the cavern it collapses, and we lose even more."

"Fix it."

"It cannot be fixed. More workmen in the pit would speed production."

"I got more money in one day from selling those Roman pretty boys than I got from the mine in two months."

“Yes but …”

"Do you have ears?" Vasiges hurls his cup at the wall, causing an explosion of wine that soaks Polydius from behind. The liquid seeps into the fabric of his expensive silk robe and drips between his shoulder blades. "I’ve raided every village for a hundred miles. I’ve used every Roman slave I could steal without Chosrhoes or the King getting wind of it. I’ve sent raiding parties into Armenia to kidnap more slaves."

"There is also the fuel shortage, my lord," Polydius adds to his peril. “More pinewood …"

"No. The pine forests, all the forests are owned and controlled by the king’s retainers. If I buy wood from them in meaningful quantities they are going to wonder why, and it won’t be a month before the King of Kings’ agents will be crawling all over the mine. And then Vologases will want to know why he wasn’t informed about this lucrative business venture on his property. I might just as well hand Chosrhoes the blade to have me quartered!"

"My lord." Vasiges' adjutant enters looking worried.

"What now?"

"The Greek I mentioned earlier. He is still here."

"Just what I need, more Greeks!” Vasiges looks suspiciously at Polydius.

"He insists on seeing you and says you will be very satisfied with information he brings."

"Information?"

"Yes, my lord."

"All right." He glowers at Polydius. "Get out of my sight! Greeks! It’s an infestation." Polydius bows and takes his leave. In the doorway he encounters a trim looking man with a prominent nose, like an ugly falcon. They eye one another and pass without speaking.

Polydius makes his usual turn to leave by the outer doorway. The adjutant is seated behind his desk, from where he looks up reluctantly. With a wink of his eye Polydius calms the fear he reads there and nods toward the back of the room. Lightly he walks in the direction of a kilim on the far wall. Lifting the wall covering, he slips silently into the niche behind it.

From this secret vantage point Polydius has made a personal study of Vasiges. He knows which soldiers are in bed with him, where the gold is buried, and most of the bodies. In exchange he protects this waif of an adjutant who is, after all, not so bad to look at.

 

* * * * *

 

"I am Cocconas of Chalcedon."

"You have information." Vasiges says impatiently. One wrong step, Polydius thinks, and this is a dead man.

"Yes. I have … conditions."

"Your conditions mean nothing to me."

"You have problems, Lord Vasiges, and I am in a position to help you. We both serve the same master."

"Do we?"

"Vologases, the Great King. Of course, kings come and kings go. I’m sure that one day Vologases will be succeeded by one of his nobles. Chosrhoes? Or someone else, perhaps?"

"You have my attention. Proceed, with great care."

"Thank you. my lord. I am an agent of interests who act on behalf of your King. Some time ago I was in the possession of a large sum of gold. It was generously provided by the King of Kings, to offer to certain parties if they would act against Rome."

"What parties?"

"Tribes. North of the great river called Danubus."

"These would make war on Rome?"

"Precisely. I see we will quickly understand one another. Yes, make war on Rome. A second war to preoccupy the Romans, while Parthia establishes its position in Armenia. Vologases is not a fool."

"I see."

"Regrettably, while on this journey to enlist the assistance of these tribes I was intercepted by the Frumentarii. You met two of them recently. The leader goes by the name of Beucan."

"The Sarmatian."

"His true name is Malorix. He relieved me of my gold. I would like it back."

"You were the possessor of the gold?"

"Yes."

A pause. Polydius can almost hear the gears spinning in Vasiges head. If this man is the source of the Sarmatian’s gold, then he will know why and how it came to be debased.

"I understand you have a man of science in your employ," Cocconas resumes.

"You are well informed."

"A Greek."

"Aren’t they all?"

"Yes. Then you will be aware the gold is debased."

Another pause "I was going to ask you about that." The Parthian’s tone is subtly softer now. You’ve got him thinking. You’re a clever one aren’t you? You anticipate his moves.

"Let me tell you a story."

"Will you drink?"

Vasiges pouring wine to strangers?

"Thank you. I was going to tell you my story. It begins when my employer…"

"Who is?"

"Who prefers to remain anonymous. It begins when my employer contacted your king for assistance in making war on the Romans."

"Why should he do that?"

"My employer has reason to hate Rome. Your king agreed to provide gold for the purchase of a northern war. We decided to turn the gold into Roman coins. This served two purposes. It inspired the greed of the barbarians and covered up the source of the gold. When Rome learned, as they would, that the tribes were being paid to rise, they would be led to look among their own.

"There was an added incentive for my employer. We took the pure gold provided by your King, kept a portion of it, and replaced it with cheaper metals like copper or tin. The coins would look the same to the barbarians, but we would be enriched."

"Clever."

"The clever part was that we arranged to do this in their own mints. With the first instalment, we tried a provincial mint but found it rather limited. Their people were unreliable and unintelligent. We made mistakes. People had to die. We found corruptible people in the imperial mint in Serdica, and that is where we took the gold."

"How many times was this done?"

"The coins in your possession are from our sixth and largest production run. After the second we went into the forgery business full time, obtaining gold from other sources and running it through ‘our’ mint. We then exchanged our debased gold for the proper amount of silver on the open market and made a tidy profit."

"Impressive."

"Thank you."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"As you may have guessed, you are already in possession of some of my … our product. You also know there is more of that gold still out there."

"We have been unable to locate the Sarmatian’s accomplices."

"Accomplice."

"Only one? He has done well to elude my patrols."

"He’s an Arab. You’ll not capture him without help."

"What kind of help?"

"You hold his friends. Arrange an exchange."

"Why would he trade?"

"After all this time, he’s still here. Why would he remain these many months if he wasn’t trying to arrange for their escape?"

"You have seen him?"

"From a distance. He is elusive."

"We use the Sarmatian and his friend as bait for the remaining gold. What do you get from all this?"

"Half the gold."

"Only half of your own gold?"

"Half is better than nothing. After all, if we are to be partners …"

"Partners." Vasiges tone suggests it is not out of the question.

"It seems to me, Lord Vasiges, that you have two things we can help you with. Ambition and enemies. You are building a war chest to buy an army. You hope to eliminate your competitor, Chosrhoes. Is it not so?"

"What if it were true?"

"We no longer have a Roman mint available, and now that the Frumentarii are on to us, we cannot infiltrate the others. But we have the stolen dies to make Roman coins and we know how it is done. Here in Stravin you have most of the materials we need, including a fresh supply of gold. Let us mix your gold with reasonable quantities of copper and manufacture Roman aureii. We will sell them back into the Empire for pure silver denarii and make a large profit in the bargain. We split the profits in half …"

"Interesting."

"It gets better. We happen to have an Athenian in our employ, one who is much more talented than your current Greek."

"That wouldn’t be difficult." Polydius blanches.

Cocconas continues. "My Athenian understands the properties of metals. He knows a secret concoction of salts and acids that will attack copper, but not silver."

"So?"

"Parthia is full of silver. When we have sold off our debased Roman aureii, we will have large quantities of silver coinage as well."

"Yes … yes …"

Vasiges has little patience for this talk of science, Polydius thinks. Such a pigmy.

"Using his method we can reprocess silver to create coins that will appear silver on the exterior but contain a core of cheap copper. We sell these fakes back into the Empire in exchange for pure gold. If I may anticipate a little, I would say profits are likely to be significant. With such revenue, you could perhaps buy the army you seek."

"Why Stravin?"

"You have the raw ore. You have the facilities."

"What do you want? Money? You know these secret methods. You could find enough silver to make a profit."

"You must understand, my lord, my employer thinks on the grand scale. He seeks a large operation and given the nature of the investment in time and money he needs it to be based beyond the reach of Rome."

"Is he that greedy?"

"Greed has nothing to do with it. A large operation is in keeping with our aim, which is nothing less than the destruction of Rome. To defeat such an enemy requires a different kind of warfare. We must first destroy Rome’s wealth. Only then can we destroy its armies.

"Rome has placed the Greek world in thrall. Parthia is next. We are the natural allies of the next King of Parthia."

Vasiges hesitation tells Polydius that he is savouring these new ideas, especially with him cast in the role of conqueror of Rome. "How do you propose to lure in this Arab?"

"Stake the Sarmatian and his friend out in a prominent place so that they can be seen. Make them suffer."

"And this Athenian of yours, and the other things you spoke of. How quickly could we begin?"

"I must send a rider and a message. He and others await for word from me. They can be here in two weeks."

"Not half," Vasiges said firmly. "Seventy–thirty. It’s my gold mine."

"Fifty-five–forty-five. We know how to do the smelting and make the coins. Only we know the secret process. Only we have the network in the Roman Empire to sell the coins."

"No."

A pause. "Sixty–forty then."

"Done."

Polydius waits for Vasiges to retire before quietly making his way out of the anteroom and returning to his own chambers. The interior is comfortable, festooned with silk and brocades, colourful cushions, and all the Hellenistic comforts he has procured to make life bearable in the flyblown feculence of Stravin. "That damn woman …" he muses aloud, even as he congratulates himself on his good taste. This was his refuge, but no longer.