Chapter 177: The Shadow War
The tavern in the port city of Ravenna was a place of secrets. By day, it was a noisy, bustling hub for sailors and merchants. By night, it transformed, the dim, smoky light of its oil lamps providing cover for the illicit deals that were the lifeblood of any great port. In a dark, secluded booth, two merchants clinked their wine cups together, their faces lit by triumphant, greedy smiles.
"To the Emperor's War," the first merchant, a corpulent man named Varro, toasted with a cynical grin. "It's made us richer than peace ever did."
"And to the Lady Sabina's blockades," his partner, a lean, nervous man named Crispus, added. "For making it all so profitable."
Their deal was done. A hidden compartment in Crispus's wagon, now loaded onto a barge destined for a northern river port, was filled with fifty amphorae of the finest Falernian wine. The official manifest listed the cargo as low-grade pottery. They had bribed the local legionary quartermaster, a man with expensive tastes and a flexible sense of duty, to sign the forged documents and look the other way. The wine, which was worth a small fortune in Ravenna, would be worth ten times that in the boomtowns around Vulcania, where the conscripted workers and soldiers were thirsty and desperate for a taste of home.
"The quartermaster is a fool," Varro chuckled, taking a deep drink of wine. "He thinks in terms of a few thousand sesterces. He doesn't see the bigger picture. This is just the beginning. Soon, we'll be moving oil, spices, even silk."
Just as Crispus was about to reply, the tavern doors at both the front and back of the long room burst open simultaneously. The men who entered were not the city watch, with their noisy armor and official bearing. They were quiet, grim-faced men in simple, unremarkable civilian tunics. They moved not like soldiers, but like wolves, with a chilling, silent efficiency that froze the entire tavern in a moment of shocked silence. They were the Frumentarii, Perennis's new secret police, the unseen enforcers of the Emperor's Peace.
Before Varro or Crispus could even react, two of the men were at their table. There were no accusations, no reading of charges. A heavy hand clamped down on Varro's shoulder, while another twisted Crispus's arm behind his back with painful, practiced ease. Across the room, the corrupt quartermaster, who had been celebrating his bribe in a corner, was similarly taken. The merchants, the soldier, and their bags of silver were hauled out into the dark street and bundled into an unmarked black carriage. There would be no public trial, no messy legal proceedings. They were simply... gone. The tavern's owner, his face pale with terror, quickly began wiping down their table, trying to erase any sign that they had ever been there.
Days later, in the command center at Vulcania, Perennis delivered his report to Alex. The spymaster stood with his usual impassive posture, but there was a gleam of satisfaction in his cold eyes. He detailed the successful operation in Ravenna, and a dozen others like it that had taken place in the towns and cities across Northern Italy. The burgeoning black market, which had threatened to undermine Sabina's war economy, was being ruthlessly and efficiently suppressed.
"The word is spreading," Perennis said, his voice a dry whisper. "Merchants are learning that the profits of smuggling are not worth the price. The flow of unauthorized goods to the north has slowed to a trickle."