Foreign Bodies

by David Wishart

  ‘Some hundred miles west of Massilia, on the other side of the bay. Well out of our way to Lugdunum, of course, which is a pity since it would have been interesting to see the process in action, or failing that to talk to the locals concerned.’

  ‘Yeah, well, you could always make the detour yourself,’ I said. ‘We’d be sorry to lose you, of course, but—’

  ‘Marcus!’ Perilla snapped.

  ‘Oh, it’s quite the wrong season.’ I was favoured with the white-toothed smile in all its glory. ‘Besides, like you, I’m not a free agent. I have a job to do.’

  ‘Going the round of the local mud-holes testing the water. Yeah, I know.’

  ‘Quite,’ he said equably. ‘Although I wouldn’t exactly call the hot springs of Northern Gaul “mud-holes”. Most have been developed as sacred sites by the locals for centuries, and a systematic assessment and cataloguing of their various healing powers will be of tremendous use where keeping our border forces fit and healthy goes. Not only the men, either; there is, to my certain knowledge, a spring near Moguntiacum itself where the waters are of sovereign use in the treatment of sprains and muscular problems in horses.’

  ‘Is that so, now?’

  ‘Marcus, behave yourself,’ Perilla said. She gave Crinas one of her best smiles, and her hair another pat. ‘You were saying, about the fishermen?’

  He turned his back on me. ‘The Lateran salt-marsh is a prime breeding ground for mullet,’ he said. ‘At the close of the breeding season the young fish pour in shoals down the channel which connects with the open sea, but unfortunately this only happens at high tide, which means that the local fishermen can’t stretch their nets across it. Accordingly, when the rush begins, they go down to the seashore and call for the dolphins, who gather in a line beyond the shallows between the open water itself and the mouth of the channel and drive the fish back to where the men are waiting with their hand-nets and fish spears. Amazing, really, but as far as I know absolutely true.’

  ‘Bollocks,’ I said.

  ‘Marcus!’

  ‘Yeah, well, it is.’

  Crinas turned, and shrugged. ‘As I said, Valerius Corvinus, I haven’t seen it happen myself, so I can’t give the story my personal imprimatur. But it’s well attested, and quite consistent with the creatures’ nature. You’re at liberty to believe it or not, as you please. Now if you’ll excuse me I must leave you for the present. I have my meal to prepare.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be silly!’ Perilla said. Gushed. ‘We’ve plenty of food, and you’re more than welcome to eat with us. Isn’t he, dear?’

  ‘Ah …’ She was right about the food, certainly: Meton had packed enough pre-cooked stuff and sundries in the picnic hamper to feed a dozen people for a month. All the same, if I had to put up with this smarmy bugger’s company for the foreseeable future I’d rather it wasn’t at mealtimes as well, if it could be avoided. Besides—

  ‘Thank you for the offer, but no.’ Crinas gave her another winning smile. ‘I limit myself to a very strict diet, principally spelt porridge, raw vegetables and fruit, and I won’t embarrass you by sharing your table.’ He bowed slightly. ‘Until later, then.’

  Perilla watched him go to where, presumably, he was bunking down with his sack of monkey food under one of the awnings near the front of the boat.

  ‘Well, I thought he was charming,’ she said.

  ‘So I noticed.’

  She coloured. ‘And just what is that supposed to mean?’

  ‘You know perfectly well.’ I took her arm and steered her back towards our cabin. ‘You should be thoroughly ashamed of yourself.’

  ‘What?’ She stopped.

  ‘As an exhibition of sheer, blatant flirting that took some beating.’

  ‘Marcus, that is complete nonsense, and you know it! If anyone’s behaviour was reprehensible it was yours. You were confrontational and boorish from the very start, simply because when you challenged him to give a professional assessment of you he had it right to a T. On extremely short acquaintance, what’s more.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Perilla! I’ve heard this Hippocratean guff before, and—’

  ‘He was absolutely correct about the wine, too. You drink far too much.’

  ‘Now just a minute!’

  ‘In fact, I think that for the duration of this trip you should put yourself in Domitius Crinas’s hands. It isn’t often that you have someone of his obvious abilities in such close proximity, and you must admit he’s a splendid advertisement for his own beliefs.’

  Oh, shit; things were taking a seriously worrying turn here, and I needed to nip them in the bud right now. I took her by the arm again. This time we made the cabin, and I closed the door behind us.

  ‘Look, lady,’ I said. ‘Read my lips. I have no intention of living for the next half-month or however long it takes to get to Lugdunum on spelt porridge and fucking raw carrots just so that you can suck up to Mister Perfectly Proportioned Bloody Smartass. Understand?’

  ‘Yes, of course I do.’ She smiled. ‘Leaving aside your ridiculous aspersions, naturally. But there’s no need to go to extremes. Cutting down on your wine intake would be quite sufficient.’

  Bugger. ‘Perilla …’

  ‘We’ll see what Crinas recommends. Meanwhile’ – she opened the door again – ‘I’m hungry. I’m going to fetch Bathyllus and get him to see to dinner. All right?’

  ‘I don’t see why just because you fancy the smoothie bastard I should have to—’

  She leaned forward and kissed me.

  ‘Jealousy, Corvinus,’ she said, ‘is a terrible thing. Especially when there’s no reason for it. Now make yourself comfortable on the couch until I get back. Have a cup of wine. The regime doesn’t start until tomorrow.’

  Well, that was fair enough. After she’d gone I poured myself a belter of the Falernian and settled down on the couch with it.

  Fuck.

  I was up bright and early the next morning. We’d got another glorious day, with hardly a ripple in the water apart from what the Leucothea, under her full spread of sails, was making herself. There wasn’t a smidgeon of land in sight, which surprised and unnerved me a bit; most shipping, certainly the commercial stuff, will hug the coasts as far as possible, or island-hop where the trip necessitates crossing the open sea, even if that means, as it usually does, that they take a much longer route to where they’re going. Imperial yachts, though, are laws unto themselves, which is fair enough when you reckon that there’s usually a good reason for getting their passengers, cargo or documents to where they’re going in double-quick time. And the captains and crews are naturally the best in the business: when the job description contains points like, May be responsible for the safety, well-being and rapid conveyance of the most important and powerful men in the Empire, guys who’d lose themselves on a rowing boat crossing the Tiber don’t get very far in the selection process.

  Not that I was the first one awake of the non-crew members, mind. I noticed that Crinas was up on the half-deck, doing what I assumed were his normal morning exercises.

  Me, like most Romans, I’ve never understood the Greek passion for physical exercise. Gently tossing a ball around in the palaestra before a bath, sure, I can get that, although I’m not one for it much myself, but sit-ups like our doctor pal was currently doing – plural, and very much so – are completely beyond the pale.

  He looked good on it, mind, I’ll give him that. Not an ounce of flab on his gleaming, tightly muscled torso or even the hint of a pot belly. Bastard.

  He gave me a friendly wave. Yeah, well, maybe Perilla was right, and I had been a bit crotchety the day before. Plus, after all, we’d be in his company for some time yet. Time for building bridges. I went over.

  ‘Good morning, Corvinus,’ he said, standing up and mopping the sweat off with a towel. ‘Did you sleep well?’

  ‘Yeah, not bad,’ I said. ‘You?’

  ‘Oh, I sleep like a log. Always have done, wherever I am. Besides, it was a wonderful night. V
ery peaceful, once I got used to the creaking and movement of the ship.’

  ‘You done much sailing?’

  ‘Almost none. I spent most of my life in Alexandria, where I did my training, and I only came to Rome four years ago. That was the longest sea voyage I’d ever made, in fact the only one of any consequence until now. You’ve been to Alexandria?’

  ‘Yeah, a few years back. It’s a lovely place.’

  ‘It is indeed.’ He looked past my shoulder. ‘Ah, Lady Rufia. You’re an early bird by nature too, it appears.’

  I turned; she was coming towards us from the deckhouse, dressed in her wrap. Gods alive! Early bird by nature, my foot. I hadn’t seen the lady up and around at this hour out of choice for a long time. If ever.

  Hmm.

  ‘Good morning, Domitius Crinas,’ she said. ‘How are you this morning?’

  ‘Very well, thank you.’

  ‘I assume Marcus has been asking your advice as to how much he should limit his wine consumption?’

  I glared at her. The lady didn’t put off time, did she? Even so, raising the subject with the guy almost before we were within shouting distance of breakfast was a whammy well below the belt.

  ‘Ah … no, he hasn’t.’ Crinas had the decency to look embarrassed. ‘At least, not yet.’

  ‘I’m sure he was working up to it.’ Viper! ‘So, what’s your opinion? Medically speaking?’

  ‘Hippocrates recommends no more than three cups of wine a day. That’s Greek cups, of course, kylikes. Let’s say the equivalent of four of ours.’

  Shit! Only four cups? A day?

  Bacchus in spangles!

  ‘That, naturally, is the top limit, and well watered. I myself, as I said, prefer to allow myself only one. A cup of wine a day, taken with food, will certainly do no harm, absolutely the reverse. Hippocrates was no champion of total abstinence, and nor am I.’

  ‘There, now, dear!’ Perilla turned to me with a dazzling smile. ‘Limiting yourself to four cups of wine a day won’t be too much of a hardship, will it?’

  ‘Jupiter, lady …!’

  ‘Besides, I’m sure you’ll feel all the better for it by the time we get to Lugdunum.’ She turned back to Crinas. ‘Have you been there before, Domitius Crinas?’

  ‘No. Not even to Massilia. As I was just saying to your husband, I’ve never been west of Italy at all.’ He smiled. ‘To tell the truth, barring Alexandria where I grew up, I haven’t been much to the east, either. Have you been to Gaul before yourself?’

  ‘No. Neither Marcus nor I. We lived in Athens for a while, and we’ve travelled round the east a little, including Alexandria, but we’ve never been to the western provinces. I’m quite looking forward to seeing Massilia and Lugdunum. Massilia, of course, is bound to be worth seeing, but Marcus was saying that the emperor told him Lugdunum has its points, too.’

  ‘Then if you don’t mind I’ll tag along on your expeditions. Assuming we’re given the time, of course. And assuming that your husband doesn’t object.’ The smile was transferred to me.

  ‘Oh, Marcus won’t mind, will you, dear? He isn’t one for sightseeing in any case. He prefers to lounge about in the local wineshops.’

  I unclenched my teeth. ‘Yeah, well, I’m not going to have the chance of doing that this time round, am I?’ I said. ‘Not on four sodding cups of wine a day.’

  ‘Marcus!’

  ‘Besides, once we get to Lugdunum I’ll be working, and Chummie here will be en route to his mud baths.’

  ‘I did say if we’re given the time, Valerius Corvinus,’ Crinas said reproachfully. ‘It will naturally all depend on the travel arrangements the governor has made for us.’

  ‘Right. Right.’

  Gods!

  THREE

  We got to Massilia on schedule just shy of noon on the third day.

  Since it’s in Gaul you forget just how old and respectable, city-wise, the place is. It predates the province that surrounds it by a good four hundred years, and it isn’t a Gallic city at all: Massilia is pure Greek, and has been ever since Phocis founded it over six hundred years back, making it just a tad younger than Rome herself. In fact, the reason we Romans got our greedy little hands on it in the first place was because the Massilians asked the Senate for help against their hairy-in-the-hoof Gallic neighbours, only to find that they’d swapped one lot of pushy barbarians for another. Who needs enemies when you can have friends?

  So we are talking civilization here, with all that entails. Which unfortunately, unless I could put the kybosh on it pretty smartly, now not only meant my being dragged round a serious number of Places of Local Interest by Perilla but also having to keep a watchful eye on her squeaky-clean co-sightseer and possible would-be toyboy.

  Bugger.

  ‘We simply must see the temples of Artemis and Apollo, dear,’ she said as the Leucothea entered the long inlet that formed the town’s underbelly and led to the inner harbour, while the three of us watched her progress from the rail. ‘Isn’t that so, Domitius Crinas?’

  ‘Oh, absolutely.’

  ‘And then there’s the statue of Pytheas, of course. That’s supposed to have been done from life, by a sculptor who actually knew him.’

  ‘Really?’ Crinas said. ‘Now that I did not know.’

  ‘Who’s Pytheas when he’s at home?’ I said.

  They both gave me a Look.

  ‘Oh, Marcus!’ Perilla said. ‘The famous explorer, of course!’

  ‘Uh-uh. Sorry, no bells.’

  ‘I distinctly remember telling you about him yesterday. He sailed as far as Thule, where the sun never sets and there are floating cliffs of ice.’ Yeah, well, no doubt she had told me, but selective deafness is a trait that I’ve cultivated pretty assiduously over the years where the lady’s more arcane interests are concerned. ‘Honestly, you really are impossible at times.’

  Not half as impossible as sodding midnight suns and floating ice cliffs, that was sure; me, I’d bet the old guy was either lying through his teeth or when he’d made the trip he’d been stewed to the gills first to last. Or maybe somehow he’d got his hands on a stash of that qef the Parthians are so fond of sniffing and was stoned out of his skull. But then sometimes Perilla and rationality part company completely, and there’s no sense in arguing with her.

  ‘Look,’ I said. ‘We’re not on holiday; we’re on a job here, or on two jobs, rather. Massilia’s no more than a stopover.’ I turned to Crinas. ‘You’d agree, wouldn’t you, pal?’

  ‘Of course, in principle. But—’

  ‘Really, dear!’ Perilla frowned. ‘Pushing on to Lugdunum straight away can’t be all that important if this Cabirus man has already been dead for a month. And Domitius Crinas’s hot springs aren’t going to dry up overnight, now, are they? I’m certain that Tiberius Claudius wouldn’t begrudge us a little sightseeing. Particularly since it’s our first visit.’

  True enough, all of it. Particularly the bit about Claudius, who was a fellow sightseeing, box-ticking nut if ever I’d met one. Hell’s teeth. Still, unless whoever was in charge here was super-super-efficient, there was bound to be a little hiatus before we headed off into the sticks.

  I temporized. ‘We’ll just take things as they come, OK?’ I said. ‘We aren’t even ashore yet.’

  Not that there was far to go. We nosed our way past the bar of the inner harbour and docked at an empty stretch of quay. By pre-arrangement, obviously: I could see what had to be a reception party of slaves with a young guy in a sharp purple-striped mantle heading it.

  The lads tied us fast to the bollards back and front and set the gang-plank in place. I gave the captain a goodbye-and-thanks wave, and stepped ashore …

  Jupiter!

  Yeah, well, I’d been expecting it, but after three days on a boat it still felt like we’d landed in the middle of a full-scale earthquake. I grabbed the nearest sailor’s shoulder for support.

  The young guy came up, hand outstretched.

  ‘Valerius Corvinus?’ he
said. ‘Delighted to meet you. I’m Curtius Bassus, Governor Catellus’s aide. Welcome to Massilia, sir. You had a pleasant trip?’

  ‘Yeah. Yeah, it was fine.’ I shook, and glanced back at Perilla, just in time to see Crinas, who’d followed me down and seemed completely at ease, put his hand under her elbow to steady her as her foot touched the quay. Bastard. ‘Very enjoyable, in fact.’

  ‘That’s excellent.’ He beamed. ‘The governor sends his apologies, or would have done if he’d known you were coming, but he’s away on walkabout at present.’

  ‘“Walkabout”?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. The judicial circuit. It’s that time of year, I’m afraid.’ He turned to Crinas, and the smile slipped down a notch. ‘Domitius Crinas, isn’t it? The doctor fellow.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Crinas said drily. ‘The doctor fellow.’

  ‘Jolly good. I’m glad to meet you as well. Now. Not to worry, gentlemen, we have everything in hand. You won’t be leaving for Lugdunum until the day after tomorrow, and of course we have apartments prepared for you at the governor’s residence. I’ve a carriage waiting, if you’d like to follow me. Don’t worry about your slaves and luggage.’ He snapped his fingers at the leader of the bought help standing behind him and pointed him to the gang-plank. ‘Those will follow on.’

  He turned to go.

  ‘Ah … and this is my wife, pal,’ I said. ‘Rufia Perilla.’

  ‘Mmm?’ He turned back. ‘Oh, I do apologize. I’m very pleased to meet you, madam.’

  So; not one of Rome’s foremost egalitarians, evidently, either where women or freedmen doctors were concerned. Not surprising, mind, because if he was one of the Curtii – which, as the governor’s aide, he probably was – then he was from one of the oldest aristocratic families in Rome. And you don’t get anyone more poker-arsed double-dyed, antediluvian conservative than that shower.

  Perilla gave him a brittle smile. Yeah, well; fortunately, we’d only be here a couple of days, because any longer and I could see Curtius all-teeth-and-hair-oil Bassus taking the first-mentioned commodities home in a bag.