A dying light in Corduba mdf-8

by Lindsey Davis

I smiled like a pleasant fellow. 'Reputable businessmen would want nothing to do with such villainy?'

  'Of course not,' they assured me.

  'And you would immediately report such an approach to the authorities?' I dropped the pose: 'Don't bother to insult me by answering that!'

  Old Cyzacus was picking his teeth, but behind the ensuing grimace he may have looked offended that I had just accused them of lying. Liars are always very sensitive.

  Norbanus continued to be as unhelpful as possible. 'Is there a cartel, Falco? If so, good luck to it!' he declared. Then he spat on the floor. 'Tcha! They'll never do it – the bloody producers couldn't organise themselves!'

  I leaned my elbows on the table, linking my fingers and surveying the reprobates over my hands. I tried ingratiating myself: 'I think you're right. I've seen them in Corduba. They spend so much time making sure they don't get missed off the guest-list for the next soirwith the proconsul, they can't manage much else.'

  'All they care about,' Norbanus growled, 'is taking a turn as duovir and sending their sons to ponce about in Rome spending money – wasting their capital!' he added, as if failure to thrive as an investor was an unforgivable offence.

  'So don't you think Attractus managed to lean on them?'

  Cyzacus took an interest: 'He could lean until he fell over. The producers would never do anything risky.'

  'And what about you two?' I challenged. This only produced contemptuous smiles. 'All right. You've been frank with me, so I'll return the compliment. I have to report to the Emperor. I'm going to tell Vespasian that I am convinced there is a cartel being mooted. That Attractus is the prime mover. And that all the men who were seen dining with him at the Society of Olive Oil Producers' dinner at the end of March have assured me they were horrified and that they spumed the idea. Well, you wouldn't want to be indicted with him before the court of conspiracy, would you?'

  'Let us know if you get him there,' Norbanus said drily. 'We'll all come and cheer.'

  'Perhaps you'd like to help me form a case? Perhaps you'd like to give evidence?'

  Neither even bothered to reply. And I didn't bother offering another free fare to Rome on the strength of future assistance. They would not appear in court. Rome has its own snobberies anyway. A couple of foreigners engaged in transportation – however flourishing their businesses – would be despised. I needed to subpoena the estate owners at least. Land counts. Land is respectable. But to indict a senator with a long Roman pedigree even Annaeus and Rufius would not be enough. The Quinctii would walk, unless I could produce witnesses of their own social weight. And where were they?

  I was glad I had spoken to these two in person, despite the long trip. I did feel their story carried weight. Their assessment of the producers matched my own. Norbanus and Cyzacus seemed too self-reliant to follow the lead of an entrepreneur from the political world – and too capable of making money on their own account. Not that I could ever rely on this: if the men Attractus had summoned to Rome had leapt at his suggestion, they were hardly likely to tell me. Price-fixing works on subtlety. Nobody ever admits it is happening.

  I was leaving. 'I said there were two reasons why I came to Baetica.'

  Cyzacus stopped wielding his toothpick. 'What is the other one?' For a vague old man, he responded well.

  'It's not pleasant. The night you dined on the Palatine a man was killed.'

  'Nothing to do with us.'

  'I think it was. Another man, a high official, was seriously wounded. He may be dead too. Both victims were at the dinner. Both were in fact dining with Attractus – which means he's implicated, and as his guests so are you. Somebody slipped up that night – and it won't go away.' This was a long shot. I was hoping that if the Baeticans were unconnected with the attacks, they would turn in the real perpetrator to absolve themselves.

  'We can't help you,' said Norbanus. So much for that pious hope.

  'Oh? Then why did you leave Rome so fast the next day?'

  'Our business was concluded. Since we turned down his offer, we all thought it would be presuming on the senator's hospitality to remain.'

  'You've just admitted that an offer was made,' I pointed out. Norbanus grinned evilly.

  The excuse for leaving could be true. Staying at the Quinctius house after refusing to play the Attractus game could have been embarrassing. Besides, if they hated the plan, they might want to escape before Attractus tried putting on more pressure. And if they had said no, then they heard about the murder and suspected it was connected with the cartel scheme, they were bound to flee.

  'It looks bad,' I returned sombrely. 'A sudden departure straight after a killing tends to appear significant in court. Part of my work includes finding evidence for banisters, and I can assure you that's the sort of tale that makes them gloat and think of massive fees.'

  'You're making wild accusations,' Norbanus told me coolly.

  'No!

  My simple reply for once caused silence.

  Cyzacus recovered himself. 'We offer our sympathy to the victims.'

  'Then perhaps you would like to help. I need to find a girl who comes from Hispalis. In delicate official parlance: we think she may have important information relating to the deaths.'

  'She did it?' Norbanus sneered crudely.

  I smiled. 'She was at the dinner, dancing for Attractus; he claims he doesn't know her though he paid her fee. You may have recognised her; her name's Selia – probably.'

  To my surprise they made no quibble about it: they knew Selia. It was her real name. She was a local girl of moderate talent, struggling to make a career where all the demand was for dancers from (Jades. (Lades dancers had organised a closed shop on the entertainment circuit… it had a familiar ring.) Cyzacus and Norbanus remembered seeing Selia at the dinner on the Palatine; they had been surprised, but assumed she had finally made the big breakthrough in Rome. Recently they had heard she was back in Hispalis, so they assumed it came to nothing.

  I stared Cyzacus in the eye. 'Just how well do you kuow her? Would Selia be the lovely who came here looking for you recently?'

  'Girls like Selia are not welcome at the bargees' clubroom,' he maintained.

  'So she never found you?'

  'That's right,' he answered with a cool glare that suggested he was lying again, but that I would extract no more.

  Patiently I explained why I was asking: 'There's another woman going around asking questions about this business. They're both trouble. I need to know which is up to what. Your fellow members implied that the girl who came here was a looker – but their standards may be more flexible than mine.' The daytime skivers playing dice looked as if anything in a dress would make them salivate. 'So was it Selia or not?'

  'Since I never saw her,' sneered Cyzacus, 'I can't say.'

  He and Norbanus were closing up on me, but when I asked the most important question they did know the answer and they told me straight away: they gave me directions to where Selia lived.

  XLIV

  I walked back to the quays, needing to rid my mind of other men enjoying a long convivial lunch – which they called doing business. I hated my work. I was tired of working alone, unable to trust even the people who had commissioned me. This was a worse case than usual. I was sick of being a plaything in the pointless bureaucratic feud between Laeta and Anacrites.

  If Helena had been here, she would have made me feel ludicrous by appearing to sympathise – then suggesting that what I wanted was a new job as a cut-out-fringe sewer in the suede-purse market, with a stall on the Via Ostiana. Just thinking about it made me grin. I needed her.

  I found myself staring at the shipping. More boats than I would have expected had plied their way through the straits of Hercules and into the broad gulf at the start of the Atlantic Ocean, past Gades, past the lighthouse at Turris Caepionis, and up the wide estuary of the Baetis to reach Hispalis. Huge merchantmen from all around the Inner Sea were here, and even deep-sea ships that ventured around the outer edge of Lusita
nia to make landfall in North Gaul and Britain by the hard route. They lined the wharves; they jostled in the channel. Some were anchored out in the river, for lack of space on the quays. There was a queueing system for the barges that came down from Corduba. And this was April, not even the olive harvesting season.

  It wasn't April. May had arrived. Some time this month, unavoidably, Helena would produce our child. While I stood here dreaming she might even be having it…

  Now I had Selia's address. Even so, I was in no hurry to go chasing there. I was thinking about this just as carefully as a man who finally made a successful move on a girl who had been playing hard to get – and with the same mixture of excitement and nerves. I would be lucky if the worst that happened was acquiring a slapped face.

  Before I could tackle the dancer, I had to prepare myself. Brace myself. She was a woman; I could handle her. Well, I was a man so I assumed I could; plenty of us have been caught out like that. She might even be on my side – if I had a side. The evidence in Rome said Selia was a killer. It might be wrong. She might work for Anacrites. If she did, someone else must have attacked Valentinus and him – unless the Chief Spy was even more behind with approving expenses for his agents than usual. That would be typical, though not many of his deadbeats responded by trying to crack his skull.

  If Selia was in the clear I still had to identify the real killer. That was a very big unknown.

  Whatever the truth – and being realistic, I thought she was the killer – this woman knew I had come to Baetica; she would be waiting for me. I even considered approaching the local watch and asking for an escort, an option I rejected out of sheer Roman prejudice. I would rather go alone. But I had no intention of just strolling up to her door and asking for a drink of water like an innocent passer-by. One wrong move and the dangerous lady might kill me.

  I must have been looking grim. For once the Fates decided that I was so pessimistic I might give up this job altogether and deprive them of a lot of fun. So for the first time ever they decided to offer me a helping hand.

  The hand was ink-stained and nail-bitten, attached to a weedy arm which protruded from a shrunken long-sleeved tunic with extremely ragged cuffs. The arm hung from a shoulder over which was slung a worn satchel; its flap was folded back for easy access and I could see note-tablets inside. The shoulder served as a bony hanger for the rest of the tunic, which came down below the knees of a short, sad-dooking man with pouchy eyes and uncombed hair. Every dry old thong of his sandals had curled back on itself at the edges. He had the air of being much rebuffed and cursed. He was clearly ill-paid. I deduced, even before he confirmed the tragedy, that he worked for the government.

  'Is your name Falco?' I shook the inky hand cautiously as a sign that it might be. I wondered how he knew. 'I'm Gnaeus Drusillus Placidus.'

  'Pleased to meet you,' I said. I wasn't. I had been halfenjoying myself remembering Selia as I prepared myself to visit her house. The interruption hurt.

  'I thought you would be coming downriver to speak to me.'

  'You knew I was here?' I ventured cautiously.

  'The quaestor's clerk told me to look out for you.' The old black slave from Hadrumetum; the one who had lost the correspondence with Anacrites – or had it lifted from him.

  'He didn't tell me about you!'

  The man looked surprised. 'Pm the procurator,' he cried importantly. 'I supervise the port taxes and export tax.' My enthusiasm still failed to match his. In desperation he lowered his voice and hissed, 'It was me who started this!'

  I nearly let myself down completely by asking 'Started what?' But his urgency and the way he looked over his shoulder for eavesdroppers explained everything.

  'It was you!' I murmured discreetly, but with the note of applause the man deserved. 'You were the sharp-eyed fellow who first wrote to Anacrites, sounding the alarm!'

  XLV

  I was looking at him keenly now. Still an unimpressive experience. I would like to complain that he behaved officiously, but he was just perfectly straight. Nobody likes a government official they cannot moan about.

  We walked nearer to the water, deliberately looking casual. As a procurator he would have an offrce, but it would be stuffed with staff from the cache of public slaves. They would probably look honest – until the day when it counted. What he and I had to discuss could be the big secret they were all waiting to sell.

  'What's your history?' I asked. 'You're not from Baetica? You sound Roman to me; you have the Palatine twang.'

  He was not offended at the question. He was proud of his life, with reason. 'I am an imperial freedman. From Nero's time,' he felt obliged to add. He knew I would have asked. Palace freedmen are always judged by the regime when their career took off. 'But that does not affect my loyalty.'

  'Anyone who struggled to serve the state under Nero will welcome Vespasian with a huge sigh of relief. Vespasian knows that.'

  'I do my job.' It was a statement I believed.

  'So how did you reach this position?'

  'I bought my freedom, worked in commerce, earned enough to be granted equestrian rank, and offered myself for useful posts. They sent me here.' He had the kind of record I ought to pursue myself; maybe if I had been born a slave I might have managed it. Instead pride and obstinacy got firmly in my way.

  'And now you've stirred up quite a controversy. What's the smell that you don't like?'

  He did not answer immediately. 'Hard to say. I nearly did not make a report at all.'

  Did you discuss it with anyone?'

  'The quaestor.'

  'Cornelius?'

  He looked shocked. 'Who else?' Clearly the new quaestor was not an alternative.

  'Decent?'

  'I liked him. No side. Did the job – you can't often say that!'

  'How did Cornelius get along with the proconsul?'

  'He was the chosen deputy, in the old-fashioned way. They had worked together before. He was the senior tribune when the old man had a legion. They came out as a pair. But now Cornelius needs a career move. He wants to show his face in the Senate. The old man agreed to release him.'

  'After which he had to take whatever he was sent as a replacement! But I heard Cornelius hasn't gone back to Rome? He's travelling.'

  An angry expression passed over Placidus' face. 'Cornelius going on his travels is all part of the nasty smell!' That was intriguing. 'Rome would have been too convenient, wouldn't it? He could have made the report on our problem himself.'

  'What are you telling me, Placidus?'

  'Cornelius was going back. He wanted to go back.' 'Keen?'

  'Highly excited.' One of those. A careerist. I kept my face neutral. On the lower rung of the public service ladder, Placidus was a careerist himself. 'He was ready for politics. He wanted to get married too.'

  'A fatalist! So where exactly is he?' I demanded, with a sinking feeling. For some reason I felt he was about to say the young man was dead.

  'In Athens.'

  Once I recovered from the unexpected answer I asked, 'What's the attraction in Athens?'

  'You mean apart from art, history, language and philosophy?' asked Placidus rather drily. I had an idea he was the type of cultural dreamer who would adore a trip to Greece. 'Well, Cornelius didn't care much for those, in fact; he wasn't the type. Someone in Rome just happened to have an unused ticket on a ship from Gades to Piraeus; he spoke to Cornelius' father and offered free use of it.'

  'Generous! Cornelius senior was delighted?'

  'What father would turn down the chance of getting his son to the University like that?'

  Well, mine, for one. But mine had long ago realised that the more I learned – about anything – the less control he had over me. He never lavished art, history, language or philosophy upon me. That way he never had to face me faking gratitude.

  But I could sympathise with Cornelius; he would have been trapped. No senatorial career comes cheap. Nor does marriage. To preserve good relations at home he had to go along wit
h whatever embarrassment his parent wellmeaningly bestowed on him – just because some acquaintance at the Curia had smiled and offered it. My own father was an auctioneer. He could recognise a bribe coming five miles away. Not all men are so adept.

  'So poor Cornelius only wanted to rush home to govern people, but he's stuck with a present that he would far rather dump – and he has his papa happily telling him it's a chance in a lifetime and he should be a grateful boy? Placidus, can I guess the name of his benefactor? Someone Cornelius did not want to write a nice thank-you letter to? Can the name of Quinctius Attractus be dropped into this conversation without causing a misfit?'

  'You've thrown a six, Falco.'

  'I've thrown a double, I think.'

  'You know how to play this game.'

  'I've played before.'

  We stared at the river gloomily. 'Cornelius is a very sharp young man,' said Placidus. 'He knows that a free trip always costs something.'

  'And what do you think this one will cost?'

  'A great deal to consumers of olive oil!'

  'Through Cornelius not mentioning his disquiet about the upcoming situation in Baetica? I suppose he couldn't argue with his father who was far away in Rome. He couldn't risk writing a letter explaining, because the subject was too sensitive. So he's forced to take the ticket – and once he goes, he's obligated to the Quinctii.'

  'I can see you have done your research,' said Placidus, thoroughly miserable.

  'Can I get the timing straight? You and Cornelius became anxious about the influence of the Quinctii when?'

  'Last year when his son came out to Baetica. We knew there must be a reason and Cornelius guessed Quadratus was aiming to replace him in the quaestorship. At the same time Attractus was first starting to invite groups to Rome.'

  'So Quadratus may have warned his father that Cornelius might make adverse comments when he was debriefed by the Palace at the end of his tour? The Quinctii decided to delay him, while they consolidated their position. And when the unwanted cultural holiday arose, Cornelius gave in but you decided to take action?'