Troubled Waters

By Sophie de Mullenheim

The fourth book of the Shadows of Rome series.

Maximus, Aghiles, and Titus try to stop a gang selling water on the black market in pagan Rome.

When Maximus discovers that more than half the water piped into Rome is stolen and sold on the black market, he needs proof in order to expose the traffickers, especially when everything seems to be pointing at a Christian conspiracy. With the help of his two friends Titus ans Aghiles, Maximus is once again ready to face peril without any idea of what truly awaits him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Apr 14, 2022
• ISBN: 9781639670048

Book preview

Prologue

On the outskirts of Rome, one night in A.D. 303

Dull metallic thuds broke the silence of the night. Sparks flew from the pickaxe striking the rock.

How much longer is this going to take? asked Tiberius fretfully, supervising his brother’s work.

It was a perfectly deserted spot, but he couldn’t stop nervously scanning the surroundings. The noise of the pickaxe on the rock echoed through the night. He was sure it must be heard leagues¹ away.

Well, you could give me a hand, grumbled Rufus, sweating over his work. It would go much faster with the two of us.

Someone has to stand lookout, replied Tiberius.

Rufus sighed and looked around him. There wasn’t a soul in sight. That’s exactly why they had chosen this spot in the first place.

Stand lookout! That’s easy for you to say! Rufus complained as he returned to his task.

Tiberius ignored this remark and refused to budge. When he had accepted this job, it was with the understanding that he wouldn’t have to get his hands dirty.

Come on, hurry up was all he could muster for encouragement.

Rufus clenched the pickaxe in his hands and redoubled his efforts. There was no point in wasting time trying to persuade Tiberius to help him. That was clearly a lost cause. His brother had never lifted a finger in his life to lend a hand. Ever since they were kids, it had always been the same; he couldn’t see that changing now. Rufus dug and Tiberius supervised. Rufus executed; Tiberius negotiated. Rufus acted; Tiberius thought. And if ever Rufus complained too much, Tiberius excelled in the art of inventing excuses: one day he suffered a stomachache, another day it was a backache, and then another time he was wearing new clothes that he didn’t want to get dirty. Today, it was having to stand lookout. Ah well, so be it.

Not a few times during these clandestine digs, when his body was aching, Rufus imagined dropping his pickaxe and walking away. But those were just idle thoughts. Rufus needed the money his brother paid him far too much to abandon him. As much as his brother took advantage of him—as lazy, soft, greedy, and deceitful as he was—he possessed one quality: he always made sure Rufus profited well from his deals.

Suddenly, the stone gave a strange crack under the pickaxe. Rufus stopped. Tiberius bent down and listened carefully.

I can hear it, he whispered with satisfaction. Listen.

Rufus, too, bent down and noticed the tiny sound of water gurgling up through the stone. He smiled.

Quick! Tiberius ordered. Widen the hole.

With a few more strokes of the pickaxe, a flow of water trickled into the trench Rufus had dug earlier and lined with stones.

Perfect, Tiberius said with a smile. That’s another job well done. Pointing to a bunch of branches piled to one side, he added, All we have to do now is cover all this up.

All we have to do, Rufus grumbled. Easy for you to say.

But, putting down his pickaxe, he did as he was ordered. He laid the branches over the hole he had just dug and over the top of the trench, which redirected the water to a lead pipe buried under the ground. The pipe carried the stolen water to a nearby villa. Rufus hurried about his work as if on the run, huffing and puffing. His curly hair was soaked in sweat. His cheeks had gone purple. His hands were scratched and scraped, and his clothes were filthy and wet—while Tiberius stood there beside him, perfectly serene and spotless.

To look at the two of them, it was hard to believe they were brothers. Rufus was short, stocky, and excitable. He had a low forehead, a flat nose, cauliflower ears, and deep-set eyes. He had all the look of a punch-drunk boxer with nothing much going on between the ears. Yet while it was true that Rufus wasn’t sharp as a tack, he wasn’t stupid either. He thought with his muscles.

Tiberius, on the other hand, used the brains—Tiberius, the businessman, the negotiator ever greedy for more and more money. His chubby, manicured hands were covered with rings. He had full, almost flabby cheeks and was thick-lipped, with a round nose and eyes, delicate ears, and a wide neck. He wore only the finest fabrics, daubed himself with potions and perfumes, and affected lofty airs. He gave the impression of someone important, just as he wanted.

The only thing the two men shared in common was their copper-colored hair. The brothers were both redheads. Tiberius found this an added cause for vanity and maintained a slightly curly hairstyle that he dressed with fragrant oils to set off its color. Most of his contemporaries considered red hair a curse, but Tiberius thought it set him apart. As for Rufus, he thought nothing of it. He was a redhead, and that was that.

Tiberius contemplated his brother’s work with a smile. He was pleased. From a distance, it would take a sharp eye to spot what they had done. He rubbed his hands. The job would pay off big-time.

1. A league equals about three miles.

I

A Promotion

Five days later

Maximus!

The powerful voice of Julius Claudius echoed through the atrium.¹ Maximus came out of his bedroom and leaned over the banister that ran the length of the landing. His father was downstairs, looking toward the floors above. He cut a fine figure in his magnificent white senatorial toga with a red border. Beside him, Maximus’ mother was also looking particularly elegant.

Come down here right now! his father ordered.

Maximus rushed to join his parents. They had just returned from an audience with the emperor, who had summoned them both to his presence. That was a rare honor, and he couldn’t wait to hear all about it.

When Maximus arrived before his father, the senator grasped him firmly by the shoulders and puffed out his chest.

"My son, you see before you the new curator² aquarum, the chief minister of Rome’s public water supply!"

Maximus’ eyes popped open. Curator of the water supply?! he repeated with disbelief.

Julius Claudius smiled broadly.

Yes, the emperor has just appointed me, he declared.

It’s a huge honor, his mother added, rattling her many bracelets.

Maximus’ eyes glowed with pride as he looked at his father. Curator aquarum! There were few more prestigious positions in the city. His father was now in charge of Rome’s entire water network: the aqueducts, the miles of piping, the fountains, the reservoirs... Water was a precious commodity in Rome, akin to liquid gold, and its infrastructure was the pride of the empire.

It’s an enormous task, said his father as though reading Maximus’ mind.

You’ll teach me all about it? asked the ever-inquisitive Maximus.

Julius Claudius was pleased. But then he expected nothing less from his son, who made up for his puny build with his exceptional intelligence and lively curiosity.

If you can calculate the total volume of Rome’s water supply, I’ll hire you on the spot! laughed his father.

Maximus’ mother observed her husband and her son discussing this news. It always amused her to watch them, so different and yet so alike. Julius Claudius was an imposing figure with his tall stature, slightly stout build, dense curly beard, thick blond hair, deep voice, luxurious clothing, and arms covered with bracelets and rings. He looked just the way one would expect a wealthy, influential senator to look. Rare was the man who dared defy him, for he could be a fearsome adversary, combative and quick-witted in his speeches. Next to him, Maximus had the air of a will o’ the wisp that might be blown away by the slightest wind. Unlike his name, which suggested strength and power, Maximus was frail, small for his fifteen years, and startlingly pale, with hair so blond it was almost white. But appearances can be deceiving: he shared his father’s energy, the same iron constitution, and the same sharp intellect—as well as the same tendency to be a little pretentious.

The volume of water? asked Maximus. "I accept the challenge! You’ll have my report in your tablinum³ within days, Curator!" he replied with a respectful bow and a mischievous wink.

1. An atrium is the enclosed courtyard in the center of a Roman villa. All the rooms of the house were laid out around this open-air space, in the middle of which there was often a fountain.

2. In ancient Rome, a curator was a high minister of state in charge of a major public department.

3. The tablinum was the office of the master of the house, where he would receive visitors and manage household affairs.

II

Intimidation

The master of the house strolled up and down in his garden, hands behind his back and a satisfied smile on his lips. The water burbling through the narrow gullies among the flower-beds enchanted him. Over the last five days, the lawn seemed greener. The flowers looked taller and more beautiful. He now regretted not having had this work done sooner. After all, the aqueduct ran right along the edge of his vast domain, preventing him from developing a wide stretch of land. By helping himself to its water, he thought, he was only taking a little of what he was owed.

On entering the atrium of his villa, he found his wife lying on a sofa, her hand idly dabbling the water of the fountain decorated with mosaics. She turned on the bronze faucet and let a stream of clear water flow through her fingers. On seeing her husband, she sat up and smiled.

I love the sound of the babbling water, she said to him. You couldn’t have given me a more beautiful present.

Nothing is too beautiful for you, my dear.

How lucky the emperor gave you permission to pipe the water directly inside. I was under the impression he granted such a favor only exceptionally.

And you were right. But your birthday is an exceptional occasion.

She reached out her hand to her husband, who sat down next to her.

You’re wonderful, she murmured.

He closed his eyes and gave a long sigh of pleasure. What wouldn’t he be willing to do for his lovely wife? He was lost in a kind of delicious reverie when a slave rushed into the atrium.

Master, he said, there are visitors here to see you.

The master of the house opened one eye and turned to his wife. Are you expecting someone?

No, she replied.

Who are these people? he asked the slave. I haven’t any appointments today.

The slave wrung his hands with a worried look on his face. I think it might be best for you to come, he stammered.

Might be best?

Yes. They seem..., he hesitated, a bit worked up.

The master of the house was growing annoyed. Who are they to—

Before he could finish his sentence, two shady-looking men entered the atrium. They had followed the slave in without waiting to be invited. The master stood up, his face purple with rage.

Who are you? And who gave you permission to come in here? he demanded.

His wife turned pale. The thuggish look of these men frightened her.

You don’t remember us? barked the smaller of the two like a fox terrier.

The master of the house looked at them a little more attentively. Indeed, the younger one seemed vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t recall where he had seen him before. He had pinched lips, a pointed jutting chin, and slitty little eyes that glinted like knife blades. The second one, though, was a total stranger. The master of the house would surely remember if he had seen that face before; the man reminded him of a bulldog with his square jaw, short arms, close-cropped hair, prominent brow, very black eyes, and stocky, muscular physique.

Are you enjoying the water? asked the little one with a nasty smile.

The master of the house gulped. He remembered now. He had dealt with the smaller of the two when trying to secure an illegal connection to the water supply.

Er... Yes, yes, thank you. It’s perfect! Thank you.

We came to make sure it is all working as agreed.

As I said, it’s perfect. My wife and I were only just saying that it’s ideal; weren’t we, my dear?

Yes, you must thank the emperor for granting us this favor, she agreed.

The smaller man turned to look at her with astonishment. Then a steely look flashed in his eyes. He turned to his colleague and broke out in a nasty belly laugh.

The emperor! Oh, yes, yes, of course; we’ll tell him.

The woman restrained a small grimace of disgust. These two men were loathsome and made her uncomfortable. The bulldog stepped forward to the newly installed fountain. He fiddled with the faucet and ran his hand under the water several times, deliberately splashing it all around him. He took malicious pleasure in playing the bad guy. Or perhaps he really was one.

The woman turned to her husband and gave him a