Foreign Bodies

by David Wishart

  He was staring at me. ‘That,’ he said, ‘is the biggest load of crap I have ever heard.’

  ‘Yeah? Not from where I’m sitting, sunshine.’

  ‘You say Diligenta knew all about this?’

  ‘Uh-huh. She must’ve done.’

  ‘OK. So why hasn’t she fingered me, or my uncle, for her husband’s murder? Or at least given it as a strong possibility, to you or anyone else? She hasn’t, has she?’

  Bugger; he was right. Quite the reverse, in fact, in Oppianus’s case. And she hadn’t even hinted at Vindus; hadn’t so much as mentioned him. ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Then maybe she didn’t. Know, I mean.’

  ‘Know about the pregnancy? Or know that I was responsible? If it’s the first, then how could she have sent Claudilla away before it showed to cover things up? If the second, then why should Cabirus try to force a marriage on me at all? And if he didn’t then what possible reason would either I or my uncle have for killing him? Not to mention the fact that just killing Cabirus wouldn’t solve the problem, because given that Claudilla could point the finger at me Diligenta would be able to force the marriage herself, if she wanted to: one step higher than pond life in my uncle’s opinion they may be, but the Cabiri are highly respected in Lugdunum, as well as being imperial protégés, so they’d be believed, no question. In fact, if anything it would make things far worse. Admit it, Corvinus; your scenario is pure and utter balls from start to finish.’

  Hell; put like that I was inclined to agree.

  Fuck.

  ‘It still doesn’t get round the fact that you’ve just confirmed that the girl is actually pregnant and that you’re the baby’s father,’ I said.

  ‘Really?’ He looked round the room. ‘I don’t see any witnesses, myself. Do you?’

  My fists knotted, but I said nothing. He gave me a disarming smile.

  ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I want to be reasonable here. So long as it’s off the record, which it is, you’re right about the pregnancy, and that I’ve got no intention whatsoever of marrying the girl. But as far as I know she hasn’t told her mother who was responsible. Why that should be I’ve no idea, but there you go. That’s women for you, and she always was a silly little bitch.’ He stood up. ‘Now if that’s all you want with me I have my duties to attend to.’

  I was counting slowly to ten in my head while I forced myself to unball my fists. ‘Not quite all, pal,’ I said. ‘You go hunting with Titus Cabirus, yes? Up in the mountains?’

  ‘Occasionally.’ He frowned. ‘So?’

  ‘I was just wondering. Licinius Nerva told me a story two or three days ago. About a dead wolf that was dumped in the market square a while back.’

  ‘I’d heard about that.’ He was guarded. ‘What does it have to do with me?’

  ‘Yeah, well, you know best, of course. But so long as we’re speaking off the record I thought you might fill me in about how it got there. The consensus of opinion seems to be that it was just a prank, but I’m not altogether sure about that because, and Nerva agrees, it might well have much more sinister implications. In fact, I was thinking about going into the matter more deeply while I’m here. In my capacity as the emperor’s personal representative, of course. Naturally, if I did as a result discover anything, whatever form it took, I’d have to put in an official report to the governor.’ I waited. ‘No hassle, no comeback, I guarantee. Not if the information is freely offered, and there’s an innocent explanation after all. Is there, do you know?’

  I’d rocked him, that was obvious. He licked his lips nervously.

  ‘Off the record, right?’ he said.

  ‘As ever is.’

  ‘Very well. You know what a frat is?’

  ‘Yeah. A bloody stupid all-lads-together society where overbred young bastards like you play childish games, have jolly midnight romps in their secret clubhouse, and think they’re being ever so modern and daring despite actually being a bunch of total prats. That do for a working definition?’

  He coloured. ‘You’re entitled to your opinion, of course. But there’s more to it than that.’

  ‘You don’t say? Well, well; you learn something new every day.’

  ‘We – most of the guards officers and some of the younger set from the best families – have a frat called the Sons of Lug.’ I tried to keep a straight face and didn’t quite manage it. He shot me a venomous look and cleared his throat. ‘It’s pretty exclusive. Prospective members have to be nominated, and before they can join they have to pass a test involving some personal risk, physical or otherwise.’

  I was beginning to see the light here; no pun – the god Lug being who he was – intended. ‘And dumping the wolf was Titus Cabirus’s, right?’

  ‘Yes. We’d killed it a couple of days before and left it in the clubhouse over in the Canabae. It was Cabirus’s task to get it from there to the market square without being seen by the Town Watch.’

  ‘My goodness, what a ripping wheeze. Absolutely super.’

  That got me another look. ‘You can be as sarcastic as you like, Corvinus,’ he said, ‘but frats have their purpose. They foster comradeship, discipline, resourcefulness—’

  ‘Infantile behaviour, schoolboy humour, and intelligence at an operational level that would disgrace a chicken. Yeah. Fine. With you.’ I’d had enough of this; I stood up as well. ‘Thank you, Julius Vindus. You’ve been very helpful. Now bugger off.’

  His fists clenched and unclenched, and I was hoping he’d take a swing at me so I could reciprocate. But he didn’t. He marched out, slamming the door behind him.

  So much for that, then. They were a pair, him and his uncle, but I didn’t think they were our murderers.

  Damn.

  TWELVE

  We set off for Augusta just after breakfast, three days later. Accompanied, to my surprise and horror, by Domitius Crinas.

  ‘A very good morning to you, Valerius Corvinus,’ he said, giving us his best smile. ‘And of course to you too, Perilla. I see that we’re to be travelling companions yet again. What a fortunate and unexpected coincidence.’

  ‘What the hell are you doing here, pal?’ I said. ‘I thought you’d gone north already.’

  ‘Marcus!’ Perilla hissed.

  ‘Oh, that’s perfectly all right, Perilla.’ The smile hadn’t so much as wavered. ‘Actually, the hot springs at the Sanctuary of Lug deserved more of my attention than I’d thought they would, and now is really my earliest opportunity to move on. I have my own mule, of course, so I won’t inflict my company on you if you don’t wish it. I wouldn’t want to—’

  ‘Nonsense!’ Perilla said. ‘Licinius Nerva has given us a coach to ourselves, so we’ve plenty of room.’ She turned to me. ‘Isn’t that so, dear?’

  Pointed as hell.

  ‘Yeah, I suppose so,’ I said between gritted teeth.

  ‘That’s settled, then.’ The lady beamed. ‘You can hitch your mule to the back and sit inside with us.’

  Fuck.

  When imperial procurators, real ones, take to the road they don’t do things by halves; which meant that given Laco’s entourage – not only his personal household and a guard of a dozen mounted troops but a gaggle of admin clerks – we were a pretty big party already. Add in self, Perilla, Bathyllus, Phryne and Smarmer, plus a sprinkling of merchants who were tagging along for safety – main arterial route or not, pax Romana or not, we’d be travelling through some rough country where banditry was part of the local economy – and you got smaller mass migrations. At least we’d be travelling faster this time round: because the journey was a regular thing, accommodation arrangements for the official party were all in place, meaning we could use ordinary carriages, not the slow-as-a-snail sleeping variety. The merchants, of course, would have to fend for themselves, but since most of them were regulars on the route in any case and had their own networks in place that wasn’t a problem. Smarmer … well, as far as I was concerned the bastard could roll himself in his cloak and doss down under the carriage, but I’d
bet anything you liked that with Perilla fighting his corner he’d end up on the VIP strength. Which, in the event, was what happened.

  One other surprise, although not so unpleasant, was that the officer in charge of Laco’s squaddies was young Titus. He drifted over while we were stopped for a comfort break and change of horses at one of the posting stations just after noon.

  ‘I didn’t get a chance to ask you, Corvinus,’ he said, voice lowered. ‘Did Vesca call round?’ Vesca, if you remember, was the friend with the convenient empty room and the provider of his alibi for the day of the murder.

  ‘Yeah, she did, as it happens,’ I said; she’d put in an appearance at the Residence the previous afternoon. ‘You got your confirmation.’

  ‘So I’m off the hook, am I?’

  ‘More or less.’

  ‘Excellent!’ He looked relieved.

  If he wanted to take the qualification as a straight ‘yes’, which it wasn’t – there was still the possibility that Titus, his girlfriend Aia, and Vesca had cooked up the tale between them – then that was OK with me, for the present. He turned to go.

  ‘Incidentally,’ I said, ‘I had an interesting talk with your colleague Julius Vindus. About a wolf.’

  He turned back. The relieved look had disappeared. ‘Ah,’ he said.

  ‘“Ah” is right.’ I grinned. ‘Don’t worry, pal, it won’t go any further. Investigating the clandestine dumping of dead wolves in market squares isn’t part of my remit, and if you and your frat pals want to play silly buggers on your own time then it’s no business of mine. However, I just wanted to check something before I left it.’

  ‘Yes?’ He was looking wary again.

  ‘Your brother Publius. He knew, didn’t he?’

  His eyes widened. ‘How on earth did you know that?’

  ‘Just a guess, putting two and two together. When I last talked to him and your name came up he got pretty jumpy, for no particular reason that I could see, but he obviously had something to hide. Then when Vindus told me about the wolf I remembered what your Uncle Quintus had said, about Publius walking around town on his own at night. Two and two, like I say. He saw you?’

  Titus nodded. ‘I’d just pulled the wolf out of the cart and was carrying it to the middle of the square when Publius came round the corner. He swore not to tell.’

  ‘Yeah, I suspect he’s good at keeping secrets, is young Publius,’ I said drily.

  ‘He’s a good brother. Odd, sure, but I can take odd.’ The relieved look was back. ‘So. I’m glad we’ve got that cleared up as well.’ He glanced over his shoulder. ‘They’re harnessing the new horses. I think we’re about ready to start off again.’

  ‘Oh, whoopee.’ I moved back to our coach, where Perilla and Crinas were already ensconced with the Robbers board between them. Oh, the joys. ‘Incidentally, who’s your friend Vercingetorix?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Sorry. Private joke.’ I’d noticed that the big Gaul from the bath-house was one of the merchant party. ‘The guy who looks like a fugitive from the Battle for Alesia. Over there, collecting his mule from the horse trough. You were chatting to him when I saw you at the town baths.’

  ‘Oh. I think his name’s Segus. Segomarus. But he’s not a friend, we just got talking. Why do you ask?’

  ‘No reason, pal. It’s just that you don’t see many Gauls with that marked an aversion to barbers. At least, I haven’t so far.’

  He grinned. ‘You’ll see more in future, Corvinus. We’re out in the sticks now, or pretty close to them, and this part wasn’t called Hairy Gaul for nothing. Segus is from Burdigala, and you don’t get much more backwoods than that.’

  ‘Where’s Burdigala?’

  ‘The other side of the country. Down in the south-west.’

  ‘He’s a long way from home, then, isn’t he? What’s he doing over here?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. You’d have to ask him yourself, although you’d have your work cut out because I don’t think he speaks much Latin. Now if you’ll excuse me I’ll have to be getting back to my troop.’

  ‘Yeah. Sure. I’ll see you around.’

  He gave me another grin. ‘Not much doubt about that. For the next ten days, anyway.’

  I was frowning as I walked back to the coach. Backwoods Gaul, eh? So what was a backwoods Gaul who probably washed in a basin and put soap in his hair while he was at it doing in a Roman bath-house?

  Ah, leave it; the guy had probably just taken the opportunity to soak up a little of the local culture. No pun intended.

  Ten days, right? And with practically no wine and Smarmer taking up a third of our coach space all the way. Life could not be better, could it?

  Bugger.

  Ten days it was. The sun was well into its final quarter when we passed through Augusta’s Narbonensian Gate.

  If I’d needed further proof that we were well out in the sticks then Augusta was it. Lugdunum had been a pleasant enough place, sure, but imperial patronage or not, capital of the province or not, and pace the emperor, it was a long way from being hub-of-the-universe material; still, it was Rome, Athens and Alexandria all rolled into one beside Augusta. Even Perilla was moved to comment.

  ‘Is this it, Marcus?’ she said staring out at the sparse little wooden houses, the open gutters-cum-sewers that flanked the road, and the yards full of livestock that were rapidly establishing Augusta’s prevalent odour through the open carriage window. ‘I thought it was a veterans’ colony.’

  ‘Yeah, well, it is,’ I said. ‘Still, you wanted to come, lady. Don’t grizzle.’

  ‘But it’s so primitive!’

  ‘If it’s any consolation, Perilla,’ Crinas said, ‘I think there’s a lot of development going on at present. The emperor’s very keen on civic improvements in the major Gallic communities; witness my own assignment.’

  ‘Oh, marvellous.’

  ‘And remember, Augusta is only the province’s second town. The governor is based at Durocortorum.’

  She stared at him wide-eyed. ‘I thought we were staying at the residence!’ she said.

  ‘We are. Or at least at the place where the governor – and of course the procurator – stay when they come through.’ He smiled. ‘Don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll be very nice. And there’s plenty for you to see, too, while you’re here. I understand there’s quite a famous sanctuary of Lenus Mars on the other side of the river which should be well worth a visit.’

  Perilla murmured what sounded very like ‘Fuck Lenus Mars’ under her breath, but I must’ve misheard, because the lady most definitely does not do the f-word, and the phrase ‘famous sanctuary’ pushes her culture-button every time. Even so, she was clearly far from a happy bunny. Crinas having beaten her the last three games running at Robbers didn’t help, either: she’s not the world’s most gracious loser, is Perilla.

  Ah, well, like I said, she’d only herself to blame; she’d insisted on coming. And we weren’t here for fun, after all.

  ‘Perhaps it’ll get better when we reach the centre,’ Crinas said diplomatically.

  It didn’t. By the time we came in sight of the residence – which, to be fair, although small was reassuringly substantial, and stone-built – you could’ve used her expression to pickle radishes.

  We’d gradually lost the unofficial members of the company along the way, so it was only us and Laco’s team. When we finally rolled to a stop in the residence’s courtyard, there was the usual reception committee waiting, headed by a smart-looking young guy in a tribune’s uniform.

  Laco disembarked from his own carriage.

  ‘Quintus,’ he said. ‘Delighted to see you again.’

  ‘And I you, Procurator.’ The guy smiled. ‘Did you have a pleasant journey?’

  ‘Not too bad, not too bad.’ I’d got down myself. Laco turned. ‘Corvinus, this is Governor Hister’s aide, Saenius Balbinus, who will be liaising with you. You had word that Valerius Corvinus would be coming, Quintus?’

  ‘Of course.’ Balbinu
s held out his hand, and we shook. ‘A pleasure to meet you, sir. And you, madam.’ Perilla had got down behind me, with Smarmer in attendance. ‘Everything’s arranged. It’s not exactly the Palatine, as I’m sure the procurator would be the first to admit, but I hope you’ll be comfortable.’

  ‘I’m sure we will, Saenius Balbinus.’ Perilla smiled sweetly: the lady can be diplomatic, too, when she likes, and at least it appeared we wouldn’t be dossing down on Laco’s floor. ‘This is Domitius Crinas, by the way.’

  ‘Ah, doctor!’ Balbinus positively beamed. ‘A real pleasure! I happened on a copy of your treatise on the saline baths in Alexandria a while back. Excellent, simply excellent!’

  ‘You’re interested in medicine?’ Crinas sounded surprised, as well he might: Balbinus, being the governor’s aide, would come from a broad-striper family, and an upper-class Roman who read medical treatises for fun was as rare as a goat with feathers. Unless, of course – which was more likely – he was just buttering Smarmer up and had boned up on him in advance, but if so then he was doing a first-class job. Crinas beamed back.

  ‘Only as a layman. And only certain aspects of it. But I fully endorse the emperor’s wish to develop the northern spas for the use of the Rhine garrisons. We must have a long talk about that while you’re here.’ Well, I was all in favour of that; anything that kept the bastard away from Perilla had my full approval. Political animal or not, I was beginning to like Saenius Balbinus. ‘Now. You’ll want to freshen up after your journey. The town baths are quite adequate, but the residence does have a small suite of its own which I’m sure the procurator would be happy for you to use.’ He glanced at Laco.

  ‘Of course,’ Laco said.

  ‘I gave the order two hours ago, so they should be hot. Meanwhile, I’ll have you shown to your rooms, and if everything is satisfactory we’ll meet again at dinner.’

  ‘That sounds great,’ I said. ‘Thanks, pal.’