A dying light in Corduba mdf-8

by Lindsey Davis

  I was close to madness. I admit it. Anyone in my position who had paid attention to the high rate of mother and infant mortality would be just as bad.

  About the time the slaves were starting to hint that Optatus should signal a break for a cup of posca and an apple – in fact while they were making loud jokes about what a dour- faced overseer he was – the boy from the house came out to inform him visitors had called. Optatus merely nodded to show he had received the information. I leaned on my rake and questioned the lamp-boy, who said we had been favoured by Claudia Rufina and her friend Aelia Annaea.

  Optatus still doggedly carried on working as long as he could. His attitude intrigued me. He would not stop work for women – even if Helena was right and he hankered after one of them. He was the first man I had ever met who appeared to have perfectly normal inclinations yet who would rather spread manure.

  Eventually, when the slaves' mutters of rebellion did force a halt, he and I handed over to a foreman and walked back to the house. We then had to wash rather thoroughly, but the young women seemed determined to wait until we both appeared; they were still talking to Helena in the garden when we finally emerged.

  As Optatus and I walked outside to the sun-drenched garden we heard giggling: the result of allowing three women to gossip together for an hour with a jug of what passed for herbal tea. All three would have described themselves as quiet creatures with serious outlooks. Optatus may have believed it. I knew better.

  Claudia Rufina, the girl I hadn't seen before, must have been older than her brother. She looked just over twenty – easily marriageable, especially since she had a huge dowry and was part-heiress to a man of some age. The girl should have been snapped up by now. Her head lifted, and she stared at me with solemn grey eyes over the big nose Helena had previously described. She was a sturdy young lady with a worried expression. Perhaps it was caused by constantly seeing the world at an angle.

  Her friend had mastered the feminine trick of appearing serene. I recognised Aelia Annaea from seeing her at her father's house, though today she was not quite so plastered in gems. At close quarters she was a little older than I had first thought, and several years older than Claudia; she looked much more of a challenge too. She had a fine-featured, very delicate face with clear skin and hazel eyes which missed absolutely nothing that went on.

  This trio looked like an exposition of the architectural orders. If Helena was Ionian with her smooth wings of hair pinned aloft with sidecombs, then Aelia Annaea inclined to the Doric severity of a neat pediment of brown hair fixed dead square upon her small head; young Claudia, in Corduban modernist fashion, had allowed a maid to inflict on her a Corinthian flourish of ringlets. Our two visitors were the kind of close friends who went out together in same-colour dresses – blue, today; Claudia in light-hearted aquamarine and Aelia more subdued in a deep squid-ink shade. Helena wore white. All three women were enjoying themselves making constant small gestures: adjusting their stoles, preening their hair, and rattling their bracelets (of which there were enough to stock a market stall).

  I sat down with Marius Optatus. Though we had washed, we retained a close memory of the smell of manure so we tried to keep still and limit how much we exuded. I picked up the jug, and found it empty. I was not surprised. I had already noticed a plate which must once have been piled high with sesame cakes; it too had been thoroughly cleaned up, except for a few seeds. When the talk is of fashion tips, the munching gets serious.

  Optatus greeted everyone with a silent nod. Helena introduced me.

  'Have you come to Baetica on business, Marcus Didius?' enquired Aelia Annaea disingenuously. I reckoned she had overheard enough from her grumbling relatives at home to know just what my position was. This was a young lady who picked up all the news.

  'It's no secret,' I answered. 'I'm the hated agent who has been sent from Rome to poke his nose into the olive oil business.'

  'Oh, what's the reason for this?' she responded lightly.

  I just smiled, trying to look like a dumbcluck who would be satisfied with any tale her untrustworthy papa wished to hand me.

  'We had heard there was somebody coming from Rome.' Claudia was the serious one, utterly straightforward: the type who had never realised that when a delicate question had been posed it was perfectly permissible to keep quiet. Especially if your grandpapa might have something to hide. 'My grandfather thought it was somebody else.'

  'Someone else in particular?' I asked, smiling again.

  'Oh, a strange old woman who had approached him asking questions when he was out in the fields one day. He actually wrote to your father about it, Aelia!'

  'Did he?' Aelia Annaea was too clever to tell Claudia to shut up; it would only draw attention to her tactlessness.

  'Well, that was a surprise!' Catching my curious expression Claudia explained, 'Everyone was amazed to find them corresponding. Grandpapa and Annaeus Maximus usually avoid each other if they can.'

  'An old feud?'

  Just professional rivalty.'

  'That's sad!' I grinned. 'I was hoping for a hot tale of seething envy and passion. Was there no stolen land? No favourite slavegirls raped on riverbanks? No runaway young wives?'

  'You read the wrong poetry,' said Helena.

  'No, love; I read the law reports!'

  Marius Optatus said nothing, but chuckled to himself. He was not much help with repartee I was perfectly prepared to handle three women at once, but an occasional respite would have been useful; in fact, this situation called for my rascally friend Petronius.

  'What happened to the old biddy?' I enquired of Claudia. 'She was shooed away.'

  Aelia Annaea had been watching me. She was thinking herself a match for any undercover agent – especially one investigating openly. I winked at her. She was no match for that.

  Apropros of nothing Helena asked, 'So were you both acquainted with my brother?'

  Oh, of course, squeaked both wenches, in enthusiastic tones. Past acquaintance with Aelianus would be their public reason for making much of Helena, a new face (with a Roman hairstyle, and perhaps bringing a scroll of Roman recipes). Apparently Aelianus had been a jewel of Corduban society (these were very polite young women). At least, he had been a close friend of Claudia's brother, Rufius Constans, and of Aelia's three brothers, who must all have owned impressive formal names in the Roman style, but whom she called Spunky, Dotty and Ferret.

  What all the male juveniles had in common, it emerged, was that they were close cronies of Tiberius.

  'Tiberius?' asked I, like a wide-eyed novice.

  'Oh, you must know Tiberius!'

  'I'm afraid I don't have that honour. Tiberius who?'

  'Tiberius Quinctius Quadratus,' stated Marius Optatus suddenly. 'In my house he has one or two less polite names.'

  'Your ex-landlord's son?'

  'Our admired new quaestor, Falco.'

  His intervention had darkened the tone of the conversation. He looked as if he wanted to cause trouble. Aelia Annaea tried to soften the atmosphere: 'Well, what can one say about Tiberius, except that he is charming?'

  Helena said quietly, 'Don't you just hate charming men? I always think charm is a certain clue to a man you shouldn't trust.'

  'This one is also extremely good-looking,' I supplied. 'If he's the hero I saw the other night collecting you from your father's house, Aelia Annaea?' She acknowledged it.

  'Oh, he has everything!' muttered Optatus jealously. 'A distinguished father in a prominent position, a winning way, political promise, and the good opinion of everyone he comes into contact with.' I saw young Claudia compress her lips slightly. She was embarrassed by his anger; her young friend merely looked resigned.

  I pretended to know nothing about him. 'Is this paragon new to the area?'

  'The family's Roman of course,' Optatus answered bitterly. 'But we know him well already. The Quinctii have large tracts of land. Quadratus has spent time in the district before, and we'll be seeing even more of him now he
holds his official post.'

  I beamed at the two young ladies. 'I take it he's related to Quinctius Attractus, the senator your father and grandfather stayed with in Rome just recently?' This time even Claudia had the sense merely to answer with a vague nod and smile. If they knew the visit to Rome was significant, somebody seemed to have told them not to discuss it with me. 'I met Attractus myself. What a coincidence.'

  'You'll meet his son too,' growled Optatus. 'Don't worry about missing that treat, Marcus Didius. He's everywhere, is Tiberius.' The two young ladies had fallen silent; fending off difficulties with Optatus had now gone beyond their control.

  'I heard he was off hunting,' I said.

  'He's hanging around Corduba enjoying himself,' replied Marius. 'I heard the proconsul told him he wasn't to show his face in the office any more than strictly necessary.'

  He was wanting to argue with somebody, so I gave him his money's worth: 'I reckon you're being hard on the new quaestor. From the glimpse I had, he seemed a gifted lad.'

  'Oh, he's wonderful,' breathed Claudia.

  'Young lady, do I detect a blush?' I quipped. She obliged me, though it earned me a black look from Helena, who had already decided to support a romance for Optatus with Claudia. I refused to take the hint from my beloved, and carried on, 'Claudia Rufina, your grandparents were telling me their plans for your brother's career – Rome, and so forth. They must have high hopes for you too. Does that include a handsome dowry to share with some promising star?'

  This time Helena actually kicked me. Too late. While she squinted a reminder about Marius Optatus harbouring a tenderness for Claudia, his expression remained decidedly neutral. But a sudden frosty tension told me three different women were cursing me and wondering how to be kind to him.

  Claudia, the least adept, answered my question in her usual serious and strictly accurate way: 'My grandfather has not discussed anything with me -' It sounded as though Licinius Rufius had actually told her it was too soon for public comment.

  Helena Justina leaned forward and tapped my wrist with the herbal tea strainer. 'Marriage isn't everything, Marcus!' She turned to Aelia Annaea. 'I remember when my former husband first asked for me. I was young; I thought it was my duty to accept him. But I can recall feeling very angry that he had placed me in the position where I felt obliged to have him just because he was the one who had asked.'

  'I think I understand that,' Aelia Annaea responded. Then, somewhat to the surprise of both Helena and me, she mentioned that she had been married herself, then after three years and no children she had been very recently widowed. Something in her tone implied she had no plans to repeat the experience.

  'Was your marriage happy?' Helena asked in her forthright way.

  'I had nothing to complain about.'

  'That sounds rather qualified.'

  'Well, I could never in conscience have requested a divorce.'

  'And yet?' asked Helena, smiling.

  'And yet, Helena!' Aelia Annaea had probably not talked like this before. We watched the young widow surprising herself: 'To be honest, when my husband died I felt I had been given another chance in life.' Her eyes sparkled wickedly. 'I do enjoy myself now. A widow has a different status. For a year at least, I shall have a certain independence She stopped, as if we might disapprove of what she was saying.

  'Why only a year?' Helena growled.

  Aelia looked rueful. 'That's about as long as a woman with a fortune can expect to hold out against the hordes of people who want to suggest ways she can invest it with them!'

  Claudia Rufina certainly looked shocked now. Helena turned to her kindly: 'Don't listen to us crabby things! You should just try to feel sure that you share common bonds with your husband.'

  'Love?' asked Claudia, rather defiantly.

  Helena laughed. 'Well, that might be stretching it.'

  'Love is a luxury!' I joined in the teasing. 'But you don't need to demand anything excessive – a shared fondness for chariot races, or a keen interest in sheep-breeding can be a wonderful basis for at least four or five years together.'

  Torn between Helena's advice and my flippancy, Claudia looked puzzled. I noticed Marius Optatus had been listening to all this and apparently watching both girls with curious interest. Apart from his one brief outburst he had said hardly anything, yet seemed quite content to sit here as one of the party.

  I said gently to our two visitors, 'Your friend Tiberius sounds fascinating. I think I'd like to meet this young man!'

  They agreed that I must do so, then with one accord they jumped up from their seats and decided that they really had to leave.

  I stayed behind alone while they were being seen off. I wanted to think about the 'strange incident' when an old biddy (or a young dancer, well disguised?) had tried to talk to Claudia's grandfather.

  XXXIII

  Optatus tried to vanish for the rest of the afternoon. I had obviously upset him somehow, but he was useless as a sulker: he had the kind of stubborn nature that refused to let him miss his meals. At dinner he was there again, a silent presence. Helena and I talked to Marmarides our driver about going into Corduba next day. We let Optatus work his way through half a loaf of farm-baked bread, a bowl of preserved olive salad and some smoked sausage from the hanging rack above the hearth. Then he drank a whole jug of water from the dolium, and sat and picked his teeth.

  Helena moved away from the bench at the table, needing space for two. With a slight sigh she eased herself into a chair near the hot water cauldron on the cooking bench. I put one leg up on the bench, twisting to look at our friend. I was still eating; I had more appetite than him.

  'Something struck me today,' Helena put in from her chair beside the cooking bench. 'Those two young women called the Quinctius son charming. They were not just saying it because he had flirted with them prettily; they meant that everybody thinks he is wonderful.'

  'Everyone except you,' I suggested to Marius Optatus. I would be the second exception, if I came up with my usual reaction to jumped-up lads in administrative posts.

  'Don't answer if you don't want to, Marius,' Helena said. 'We are all living in the same house, and there are rules of good manners.'

  She had sensed what was the matter, and he finally broke his silence in reply. 'What you do is horrible, Falco.'

  I pulled through my teeth a piece of sausage skin that was too tough to eat. 'How have I offended you?'

  'I think you must offend everyone.'

  'Close!' I took a spill from a vase that stood with the saltbox on the table. Everyone in Rome has been fed that myth about Hispanians cleaning their teeth with their own urine, so I was glad to find that in this villa rustica they had heard of using a sharp bit of stick. Never believe what you read. Half the time it has just been copied by a pig-ignorant hack from some previous author's bogus scroll.

  Optatus pushed away his bowl and swung out from the table. In the measured pace of life in the country he took a small pottery lamp, carried it to an amphora, filled a jug from the larger container, filled the lamp from the jug, brought it back to the hearth, lit his toothpick from the embers, lit the lamp wick, placed the light on the table and stood there thoughtfully. His actions alerted the lamp-boy to go about his task of lighting the rest of the house, and the cook to collect crockery to wash. Marmarides caught my eye, then went out to feed the carriage mules. People were now moving about freely in the kitchen, and our discussion took on a more informal tone.

  'The Annaei and Licinii Ruth are my friends,' he complained. 'I grew up with them.'

  'Would that be with the boys – or the girls?' I asked pointedly. 'Which am I not allowed to approach in my work, Marius?' He made no answer, so I added quietly, 'Aelia Annaea certainly knew exactly what our conversation was about – and I really don't believe I took advantage of Claudia.' Optatus resumed his place at the table at last, his tall shadow wavering on the kitchen wall as he sat down. 'They both know my role; I told them quite freely. If those two young ladies have mad
e a pet of Quinctius Quadratus, they are both mature enough to take the consequences.'

  'I don't see what this has to do -'

  'His father is heavily implicated in a probable conspiracy. I think we can guess that deliberate influence was used to get the son his posting as quaestor. The Quinctii are building themselves a dangerous powerbase in Baetica. If I end up nailing Attractus, his son is almost certain to be disgraced at the same time. The son may be an innocent tool of a devious father, but that quaestorship makes him look a willing participant in the master plan. Even if he's as pure as snow, he's stuck with how it looks – though from what you told me about the way he kicked you out of your tenancy, "pure" is not the word to use.'

  Optatus was brooding on his personal problems. 'They will not succeed in their ambitions.' At least he was talking again. 'People here don't welcome their interference. people will resist them; I will do so myself. When I have money, I will buy land of my own. If I cannot achieve it myself, at least my descendants will be equal to the Quinctii.'

  'You've already been saving!' Helena guessed acutely. 'You're mulling over a plan!'

  'You could marry into an estate,' I suggested. 'That would help.' He looked at me, affronted. 'Marius Optatus, you are well respected in the local community. All sorts of people regard you kindly. Set your sights high.'

  'You are advising me from experience?' He sounded barbed.

  I said, 'A man should go for the girl he wants, my friend.'

  Helena was looking worried. 'She might not always be available!'

  'She might be,' I retorted. I pretended to be unaware of any feelings Optatus had. 'Take Claudia Rufina, for example – you could say the signs are all there that she's earmarked for the fabulous quaestor "Tiberius". But will it ever happen? I suggest it's unlikely. He comes from an old Italian family. The Quinctii are certain to look for a bride from the same patrician Roman background. Making money from the provinces is one thing. Making an alliance is another.'