Of course, a lot of them now were like the younger guard who wore no armor at all. Blazes! See how comfortable they’d be the first time a Frank’s spear slipped past the edge of their shields.
The agent reached into his wallet and brought out one of the flat tablets there. It was of four leaves of thin board. The outer two acted as covers for the inner pair. “These are my orders,” Perennius said, holding out the diploma. “If they’re forgeries, then I’ve made a hell of a long trip for nothing.”
The older guard took the tablet. The wax seal had been broken. He held the document at an angle to the light to see the impression more clearly. The guard’s helmet quivered as his high forehead wrinkled beneath it.
“You know,” said the younger man as his partner opened the tablet, “just having a pass won’t get you farther than the hall. Now, it happens that the receiving clerk is a friend of ours. You understand that everything’s open and above-board inside, what with so many, let’s say hands, around. But if I were to tip him the wink as I sent you through, then it might save you, hell, maybe a day warming a bench in – ”
“Maximus,” the older guard said. He looked from the diploma to his companion. Perennius was smiling at the corner of his eye.
” – a bench in the hall,” Maximus continued, his conspirator’s smile seguing into a quick frown at the partner who was interrupting his spiel.
“Maximus, shut the fuck up!” the older man snarled. He thrust the open tablet toward his companion.
What was written on the enclosure was simple and standard. It named Perennius, described him in detail which included his four major scars, and directed him to report to Headquarters – not further identified – with all dispatch. As such, the document served both for orders and for a pass. There was nothing in the written portion to frighten anyone who knew as little about Aulus Perennius as either of the guards could be expected to know.
The tablet had been sealed with the general Bureau signet, a seated woman holding a small sheaf of wheat. It was a hold-over from the days a century before when the organization had officially been the Bureau of Grain Supply. The seal within, at the close of the brusk orders, was a personal one. It impressed in the wax a low relief of a man gripping the steering oar of a ship. Though the guards might never have seen the seal in use before, they knew it for that of Marcus Optatius Navigatus. Navigatus was head of the Bureau, formally the equal of a provincial fiscal officer in authority and informally more powerful than most governors . . . because he directed men like Aulus Perennius.
Maximus got the point. The helmsman signet smothered his snarl into an engaging grin as he turned from his partner back to the agent. “Hey, just a joke, sir,” he said. “There’s just about no traffic through here anyway, except the morning levee and from the courier’s entrance.” He gestured with a quick flick of his head. It was more of a nervous mannerism than a direction toward whichever other entrance to the building he meant. “No harm done, hey?”
“There could have been,” said Perennius.
The older guard closed the tablet carefully and offered it back to the agent. “Thank you, sir. Now, if – ”
Perennius ignored him. His eyes forced Maximus back a step. The agent’s hard voice continued. “It still could be, son, couldn’t it? Look at me, damn you!”
Gaius cleared his throat and laid a hand lightly on his superior’s shoulder. He had seen the reaction before, always in rear areas, always in response to someone’s attempt to parlay petty authority into injustice. The younger Illyrian knew that it would be to the advantage of everyone if he could calm his protector before matters proceeded further.
For the moment, Perennius noticed Gaius as little as he did the older guard. Maximus squirmed as he met the eyes of the shorter, older man. “Listen, you slimy little thief,” the agent went on in a fierce whisper, “If I ever again hear of you shaking down people on the business of this Bureau, I’ll come for you. Do you understand?”