Foreign Bodies

by David Wishart

  ‘Nice to have met you. Sulinus.’

  ‘Valerius Corvinus.’ He gave me another nod. ‘My pleasure. Enjoy your stay.’

  I carried on to the residence. Not that, again, I was destined to stay there for long. Bathyllus met me as usual in the atrium.

  ‘A message from Saenius Balbinus, sir,’ he said. ‘He’d like to talk to you in his office as soon as you’re able.’

  What, again? This was the second time in two days. Still, it had to be important.

  It was. And, it transpired, a total gobsmacker.

  ‘Drutus was one of our agents,’ he said as soon as the door closed behind the outgoing clerk.

  ‘What?’ I stared at him.

  ‘It’s true. He has been for years. I’ve just had the reply to my message to the governor saying he’d been murdered. The courier made the journey from Durocortorum in record time, on Hister’s instructions, and he almost killed five horses and broke his own neck doing it.’

  Jupiter in heaven! I sat down on the stool beside the desk. ‘You didn’t know?’

  ‘No, I didn’t. The information was classified top secret, for the governor only. Now, of course, under the circumstances, as Hister’s representative I have to. You, too, naturally; I have his specific clearance for that.’ He ran a hand across his face. ‘What a mess. What a gods’-awful pig-swill of a mess.’

  ‘Yeah. Right.’ My brain had gone numb. ‘So there’s a definite connection with the political side of things after all?’

  ‘Oh, yes, that’s beyond any doubt. Not just that, but a definite connection with Britain.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘I said Drutus was our agent, which in a way he was. More accurately, he was Verica’s.’

  ‘Who the hell is Verica?’

  ‘King of the Atrebates tribe. Or to be exact ex-king, king in exile as of two or three years back, when Caratacus threw him out.’

  ‘Pal, you’re just giving me names here. Remember you’re talking to a political ignoramus. You’ll have to explain.’

  He sighed. ‘Very well. A brief social and political history of Britain over the past twenty years, all right? You’re sitting comfortably?’

  ‘Bugger that, chum. Go ahead.’

  ‘Caratacus is the son of the Catuvellaunan king Cunobelinus; the Catuvellauni being one of the major tribes in the south-east part of the island and neighbours of the Atrebates, ditto only a bit further down. You’re with me?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Twenty or so years back, Cunobelinus dies and his brother Epaticcus becomes king. Epaticcus is a completely different kettle of fish altogether; he’s overtly aggressive, and unlike his brother fervently anti-Rome. He mounts a campaign against the Atrebates and takes most of their kingdom, helped by his nephew Caratacus, who is very much out of the same mould and, in our terms, an even more dangerous piece of work. Epaticcus then goes and dies himself – this is five years ago – and Caratacus takes over. He completes the conquest of the Atrebates and drives their king, Verica, into exile. Verica goes to Rome and puts his expertise at the service of the Emperor Gaius, who is thinking of invading the island and in the process will get Verica his kingdom back. Still OK?’

  ‘Cut it out, Balbinus, I’m not that much of an idiot.’

  He grinned. ‘I’m sorry. Of course not. Anyway, Gaius’s plans came to nothing, but now Claudius is preparing to do things properly, still with Verica’s help and goodwill. Which is where we are at the moment.’

  ‘Hang on,’ I said. ‘We’re talking about the situation the other side of the Gallic Strait. Where does this agent business come in? Agenting for what?’

  ‘Yes, well, you need to remember that the Strait is only a geographical barrier. Essentially Gaul and Britain are the same country, the only real difference being that we took the former from the locals a hundred years back and changed things about a bit to suit ourselves. The people are still the same, they’ve the same language and customs, more or less, even some of the tribes are the same; there’s an Atrebates tribe to the west of here, for example, up around Nemetocenna near the Lower Germany border, and a tribe of Belgae to match ours over in Britain. So to a lot of Gauls what is happening across the Strait, or is about to happen, is relevant, because the British are kin. And you’ve been here long enough now to know how important that can be.’

  Yeah, right. ‘So they take sides?’

  ‘Indeed they do. Or they would, given the chance. Which, of course, both the pro- and anti-Roman camps among the British themselves – Verica’s and Caratacus’s, in effect – know perfectly well and are trying to exploit. Essentially the war – call it that – has already started and been running for the past three years, only it’s Celt against Celt, a propaganda war beneath the surface. We can help and hinder at need, sure, we’ve plenty of actual muscle, but at root most of the time using direct force isn’t the answer, and it may even make things worse; while for the same reason the anti-Roman party can’t cause real trouble too overtly because they know at the first signs it’ll be stamped flat and the country stitched up tighter than a gnat’s sphincter. Hence the agents, ours and the agents provocateurs.’

  ‘Only now things have changed.’

  ‘Yes, indeed. The closer the actual invasion comes the more desperate the anti-Roman party – Caratacus, because he’s effectively the British leader – will be. We’ve talked about this before. If Caratacus can persuade the Treveri, at least, to revolt within the next few months then the campaign will be seriously jeopardized. It’s an all-or-nothing throw, but if it comes off then at the very least he’ll have bought himself some breathing space. So you see how important getting to the root of this business is?’

  Gods! I shifted on my stool. ‘Drutus was on to something, right?’ I said. ‘Something specific?’

  ‘He must have been. It makes perfect sense, with hindsight. Probably he’d identified our agent provocateur.’ He was frowning. ‘But in that case why the hell didn’t he just come to me, tell me the whole story, and let me take things from there? I could’ve had the bastard arrested within the hour.’

  ‘Perhaps he wasn’t sure himself. Or more likely he wanted more names – the agent’s local contacts, say – before he took things any further. That’d make sense, wouldn’t it? Coming directly to you might’ve blown his cover too prematurely.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Balbinus ran a hand over his chin, and I noticed he hadn’t shaved that morning. ‘Even so, some sort of formal indication of what he was up to wouldn’t have been difficult. A private message. He could’ve managed that easily.’

  ‘I don’t think he had the time or the opportunity. He didn’t have the information himself until the evening he was killed.’ I told him what the tavern-keeper had told me. ‘My bet is that the servant Anda, who must’ve been in on his secret, had just discovered something off his own bat and the two of them decided to play a lone game. For the time being, at least.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, that’s fair enough. Still—’

  ‘You want the theory? For what it’s worth?’

  ‘Corvinus, I’m grasping at straws at present. Of course I want your theory, if you think it’s valid.’

  ‘All right.’ I settled back on the stool. ‘Me, like I say, I think the whole thing was a bolt out of the blue. Anda finds out, how I don’t know yet, but it doesn’t matter, that X is our villain, and also that he’s got some sort of secret rendezvous arranged for that night. He tells Drutus, and they meet to talk things over and do the planning in the room above the tavern. Drutus takes the time between then and when things start moving to go round to his lady friend’s, to say he won’t be staying the night after all and leave her his coin for safe keeping. Then—’

  ‘Hold on. Why should he do that? If he had time to play with then why not use it in contacting me?’

  I sighed. ‘Balbinus, pal. You married, at all? Any significant other, here or back in Rome?’

  ‘No. What does that have to do with it?’

  �
��Leaving aside the concrete proof aspect of the thing, the guy might not have known he was going to his death, but he sure as hell must have realized what he was about was pretty risky. He may’ve been a professional agent, but he was human like the rest of us; he couldn’t just disappear for the night without warning and leave her to worry. Besides, there was the coin. You said it was British, right? Atrebatan?’

  ‘Yes. Struck by Verica’s father Commius.’

  ‘OK. So now with hindsight we know why he was carrying it; it was a sign, if he ever needed to use it, that would prove his bona fides to any other undercover Verican sympathizer he came into contact with. Only it’d go the other way, too; if he was caught with it on him then anyone on the other side would know he was an enemy. Oh, sure, the chances were that if he and Anda were caught snooping under suspicious circumstances it probably wouldn’t make all that much difference, but at least they could try bluffing their way out of trouble. So he had to leave it behind, somewhere safe.’

  ‘All right. I’ll accept that; certainly it seems to fit. Carry on, Corvinus.’

  ‘The rest’s pretty straightforward, except that before I’m sure of the details I’ll have to have another look at the place where the bodies were found. Basically, though, they follow X to the rendezvous point outside town; only they’ve been spotted themselves, and either X or his co-conspirator kills them. End of story.’

  Balbinus pulled at his ear. ‘So who’s our X?’ he said. ‘Let alone the person or persons he was meeting? That’s the crucial factor here.’

  I shrugged. ‘Your guess is as good as mine. We’ve got one clue, though. Before I left the tavern, the owner told me he’d caught the last few words of what Anda had been saying to Drutus when he interrupted them with the bean stew. Quote: “He’s lying. He’s never been there.”’

  ‘Who was lying? Where had he never been?’

  ‘Yeah, right; those are the questions. If we had the answers we’d have our murderer and so your British agent. But we don’t. Not yet, anyway.’

  ‘You must have some thoughts on the matter, surely.’

  ‘Just one obvious one. The trouble is, it can’t be right because it’s completely impossible.’

  ‘Tell me in any case.’

  ‘That Burdigalan wine merchant I mentioned to you. The one who volunteered to help with the Cabirus business. You remember?’

  ‘Yes. Segomarus, wasn’t it?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘You think it’s him?’

  I hesitated. ‘Under normal circumstances he’d be among my front runners, sure. There’s something not quite straight about him for a start, and he’s from well out of town, the other side of the country, in fact, as far away from here as you can get. Or claims he is, at any rate, which is just the point: my tavern-owner friend said that Anda had travelled pretty extensively when he was younger, so it’s a fair bet that, whoever X is, Anda had caught him out in a lie about where he originated and taken things from there.’

  ‘Sounds good to me.’ Balbinus had perked up. ‘Good enough to pull him in for questioning, at least.’

  ‘Hold your horses, pal. I said: Segomarus is a non-starter. Whoever X is, he absolutely isn’t it.’

  ‘You care to explain why not?’

  ‘Because he arrived with us, in Laco’s party. Quite definitely; I can vouch for that myself. He was with us all the way, too, so there’s no question of him having ridden on ahead and then come back for some reason.’

  ‘Why should that—?’ Balbinus stopped. ‘Oh, yes. Yes, of course, stupid of me. You didn’t arrive until late in the afternoon, did you?’

  ‘No. And by that time Anda had already made his discovery, whatever it was. So as much as I’d fancy the guy otherwise, he’s definitely out.’

  ‘Bugger.’

  ‘As you say, bugger. Still, he can’t be the only game in town, can he?’

  ‘Far from it, I’m afraid. That’s the trouble: Augusta may not be as big a place as Durocortorum, but it is on the main route to Moguntiacum and the Rhineland. There are plenty of non-locals about. Mostly merchants, but others too. And Anda didn’t specify a merchant in any case. Without something else to go on we’re looking for a needle in a haystack.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I stood up. ‘Well, maybe something will come. We just have to hope.’

  ‘It’ll have to come damned quickly, then. We’re running out of time.’

  So, what next? I’d told Balbinus that I needed to have another look at the spot where the bodies had been found, and that was true: as I remembered it, there had been no real cover, none at all. That wouldn’t have mattered much in the case of the original theory, sure, – that Drutus and Anda had been engaged in a clandestine meeting on their own account – but it was crucial now. I had to check. I set out for the Moguntiacum Gate and the road beyond.

  There was no sign of my goat-herder friend this time; presumably he was pasturing his charges elsewhere. I found the exact spot where the bodies had lain, but his time I went further into the hinterland.

  Or started to, rather. The ground rose sharply for twenty-odd paces, then suddenly fell away in a steep scree that was practically a full-blown cliff. The broadish hollow at the bottom, eight or ten feet below, would be accessible on its other three sides but – as I’d just discovered by accidentally almost falling into the bloody thing and breaking a leg – tucked neatly out of sight and completely invisible from the direction of the road.

  OK; so far, so good: if someone were to go carefully through the underbrush – crawling, even – to the top of the rise they’d be able to look down into the hollow and see and hear what was going on, without themselves being seen from below, even on a brightly moonlit night like the night of the murder had been.

  Only they had been seen, hadn’t they? Or possibly whoever was in the hollow had known they were there all the time. Like I’d said to Balbinus, that side of things didn’t really matter; whatever the ins and outs of it, the killer had managed to sneak up behind them, take them by surprise, and do the business …

  Which, come to think of it, was interesting in itself. There must’ve been something to watch, otherwise they’d’ve smelt a rat and been on their guard, and that meant there had to be more than two villains involved: two of them down below, to keep the conversation – and so the watchers’ attention – going while the third took care of the killing. Chances were, then, that the second theory – that it was a set-up – was the one to go for; that Drutus and Anda hadn’t known there was a third person involved, probably because they were being followed in their turn. Oh, sure, if they’d turned round to look they might’ve seen him, granted, but they weren’t likely to do that, were they? All their attention would be fixed on the guy ahead, to make sure he didn’t leave the road unexpectedly and mess things up for them while staying far enough back not to get themselves spotted. And the third man, if he was being equally careful to keep out of sight as no doubt he was, could well at a pinch have used the cover of the ditch, which was a good three feet deep and bone dry at this time of year.

  Yeah. I’d go for that. It would work, and it made sense.

  Getting down into the hollow from up top clearly wasn’t an option: another argument, if I’d needed one, for a third member of the party and an ambush, since if the guys down below had just happened to spot Drutus and Anda eavesdropping then climbing up to get them wasn’t a viable proposition; while by the time any would-be killer had come the long way round the pair would either be ready for him when he arrived – they both had their knives, after all – or would have legged it back to the road long before he got there.

  I retraced my steps and went round the side.

  Someone had been standing there, right enough: the long grass that covered the hollow’s base still showed signs of having been trampled flat.

  Check.

  So, that was about all I could manage at present. I set off back to town.

  There was no sign of Perilla when I got back to the re
sidence; scarcely surprising, mind, because we were still a good couple of hours shy of dinner time. I consulted Bathyllus when he brought a well-earned cup of wine through to me in the atrium.

  ‘The mistress went out, sir, shortly after you did yourself,’ he said. ‘With the Lady Julia Optima.’

  Right; so the girls had patched up their differences after all, had they? Or just declared a diplomatic truce. Absolutely fine by me.

  ‘They say where they were going?’ I asked.

  ‘The shrine of Arduinna was mentioned.’

  ‘Who’s Arduinna when she’s at home?’

  He sniffed. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t the slightest idea, sir. But she has a shrine in the hills, seemingly, about a mile outside of town on the Durocortorum road.’

  I nearly swallowed the wine-cup. ‘Perilla’s gone out riding?’ I said.

  ‘So it would appear.’

  Gods! Next thing was, the sky would fall on our heads. The lady could ride, sure, but she didn’t do it for pleasure, any more than I did. Horses did not feature all that prominently in the Corvinus household.

  ‘Fair enough, Bathyllus,’ I said. ‘We’ll just have to possess ourselves with patience.’

  She arrived back about an hour later, looking wind-blown and flushed.

  ‘Oh, you’re here, Marcus,’ she said. ‘Good day?’

  ‘Complicated.’ She bent down and kissed me. ‘I’ll tell you later. How about yours?’

  ‘Simply splendid.’ She undid her cloak and handed it to Bathyllus, who’d oiled in behind her. ‘Yes, please, Bathyllus. I’m absolutely parched.’

  ‘Certainly, madam.’ He looked at me and hesitated. ‘Sir?’

  ‘Ah …’

  ‘Oh, go on, Bathyllus, bring him another cupful of wine.’ Bathyllus exited. ‘I must say, dear, Julia Optima isn’t at all the dragon I expected to begin with. We had a lovely time.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Well, the lady certainly seemed in a surprisingly good mood. ‘The shrine of Arduinna, Bathyllus said. And riding.’