Foreign Bodies

by David Wishart

  Frontus looked round. ‘No. But he’s a regular; you shouldn’t have any problems checking with him yourself.’

  ‘Local man?’

  ‘No again; he’s based in Divodurum. Footwear.’

  ‘You wouldn’t know where he lodges?’

  ‘I’m sorry, that I can’t tell you. But as I say, he’ll be around. Is it that urgent?’

  ‘Pretty much so.’ Damn! We were on to something here, I was certain of that. ‘Could you give him a message for me, do you think? Next time you see him?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Just ask him to call in at the residence as soon as he can. I’ll either be there myself, or he can arrange a time and a place to meet. OK?’

  ‘Perfectly.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I stood up. ‘Much obliged for the help.’

  ‘You’re very welcome.’

  I checked with our Argus-eyed owner/barman on the way out, but sure enough he hadn’t any thoughts on the matter.

  Ah, well, we were a little further forward, anyway. And maybe this Verus, when I finally got to see him, would come up trumps.

  TWENTY

  Perilla was waiting for me in the atrium when I got back. Impatiently, and dressed to the nines.

  ‘Marcus,’ she said. ‘You need to get changed. Now.’

  ‘Ah … run that past me again?’

  ‘We’re going out for dinner. To Optima and Secundus’s.’

  ‘What? Gods, lady …!’

  ‘Yes, well, I know it’s short notice, but she asked, and I said we weren’t doing anything particular this evening. It’s nothing formal, not a full-scale dinner party, just a family meal. Only the four of us.’

  ‘Right. Which is why you’re wearing your best mantle, gold-piece-a-bottle scent, and the family jewels. Why the hell couldn’t she make the invite for two or three days down the line like a proper civilized person? Or is this some kind of weird Gallic custom? Disconcert the Roman?’

  ‘I suspect it’s just her, dear. You’ve met her yourself. She is rather impulsive.’

  Well, that was one word for her. Not the one I would’ve chosen, mind, but at least it was polite. I sighed.

  ‘OK, party mantle and slippers it is,’ I said. ‘I just hope the woman’s impulsiveness doesn’t extend to serving up any local delicacies. An evening of Julia Optima I can stand, but not if it involves roast bear in a cream-cheese sauce washed down with a pot of Gaulish beer.’

  ‘Don’t be tiresome, Marcus.’

  ‘Just watch your mantle when old Secundus gets excited and starts splashing the gravy around, that’s all.’

  ‘Hah!’

  I made for the stairs.

  Actually, I needn’t have worried; the meal was perfectly normal and absolutely delicious. The wine wasn’t bad, either – Massilian, and top of the range. By the time we’d got to the fruit and nuts stage, I was relaxed and pretty mellow.

  I’d obviously done Julius Secundus an injustice, too, in comparing him with my stepfather Priscus. Oh, sure, a certain amount of Priscan geekery crept into the conversation now and again, but it was clear he was keeping his hobby-horse on a tight rein, and unlike Priscus he had other interests that didn’t teeter on the spinning edge of monomania. Like how the racing teams in Rome were shaping at present. Me, I don’t follow the cars all that closely, but you can’t go down to the Square for a morning shave without picking up a certain amount of current gossip, and at least it made a pleasant change from a rundown of the uses of the dative in Ancient Oscan. There was no shop talk, either: I’d been expecting to be grilled on how the case was going but it wasn’t even mentioned, which came as another pleasant surprise.

  Perilla was enjoying herself as well. She’d been right when she’d said that Optima was interested in – and knew a lot about – local traditions, customs and history; despite the fact that the lady was looking a complete and total stunner in a mantle that did for her figure what any self-respecting sculptor given a commission for Venus Clothed would’ve hocked his chisel for, she was absolutely no bimbo. Far from it. Yeah, well, to each his own; having been thoroughly Perilla’d over the years myself, I had more than a little sympathy for old Secundus. Mind you, being married to a honey like Julia Optima would make up for a hell of a lot.

  So all in all when the lads came in to clear away we were having a very unexpectedly pleasant evening.

  ‘Now, Corvinus,’ Secundus said, picking up his wine-cup. ‘I promised to show you my silverware collection, or some of it, anyway. Only if you’re agreeable, of course.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘That’d be great.’

  ‘Then we’ll go through to the study. Optima? Perilla? You’ll join us?’

  ‘Certainly,’ Perilla said.

  ‘This way, then.’

  ‘Study’ was the wrong word; oh, sure, there was a reading-couch and table, plus a book cubby on one of the walls, but most of the room was given over to the silverware, everything from what looked like a big mixing-bowl for wine that stood apart on a low plinth to a set of spoons in an angled wooden display frame. I reckoned there was getting on for a hundredweight of the stuff, all in prime condition and gleaming like it’d been freshly polished. Which, probably, it had been: whoever on Secundus’s staff had landed that particular job, slave or free, I didn’t envy the poor bugger. Even Bathyllus would’ve blanched, and the little bald-head is never happier than when he’s buffing away at the bronzes.

  ‘Oh, my!’ Perilla breathed.

  ‘Yes, I’m quite proud of it,’ Secundus said. ‘All Gaulish made, or Celtic, rather, because I’m not sure myself about the provenance of some of the pieces. This drinking horn, for example.’ He picked it up from the table beside him. ‘I bought that from a merchant who said he’d had it from a seller in Rhaetia. It may have been made there, or it may simply have travelled; I don’t know. In any case, it’s a beautiful piece of work.’

  ‘It certainly is,’ Perilla said. ‘May I see, please?’

  ‘Of course.’ He handed it over.

  ‘How old would it be?’ I said.

  ‘Again, I’m not sure. Certainly more than three hundred years, possibly older.’ He smiled. ‘Say about the time we Gauls were sacking Rome.’

  I winced. Oh, ha; they couldn’t resist a dig, could they? Not even the most Romanized of them.

  ‘This part of the decoration,’ Perilla said. ‘A … ram with a serpent’s tail, isn’t it?’

  ‘The god Cernunnos,’ Optima said. ‘Protector of animals. The ram is especially sacred to him, and he’s sometimes shown that way.’

  ‘Oh, yes. I remember you mentioning that.’ She set the horn down again. ‘He’s the Gaulish equivalent of Apollo, isn’t he?’

  ‘In a way. But our gods are rather more generalized than yours. They don’t specialize nearly so much, so it’s difficult to put them into compartments.’

  Secundus chuckled. ‘Optima knows far more about that side of things than I do,’ he said. ‘For me, these are simply beautiful pieces of craftsmanship. I’m not so interested in the symbolism, or the underlying story.’

  ‘How long have you been collecting?’ I said.

  ‘Most of my life. And my father started the collection before me, in a small way.’ He picked up a cloak-brooch that lay beside the drinking horn and handed it to me. ‘This was the first piece he ever bought, a gift for my mother when they were betrothed. Look at the intricacy of the patternwork! Absolutely flawless! Whoever produced that was not only a consummate artist but a first-class draughtsman.’

  Yeah, I’d have to agree. The guy had had first-class eyesight, too, because the amount of detail – pinpoint-accurate detail – he’d managed to squeeze in to a space the length and width of two of my fingers was incredible. It knocked any equivalent bit of jewellery I’d ever seen back home into a cocked hat.

  Well, if Secundus was a bit obsessive at least there were worse things to get obsessive about. I was impressed. More than impressed. I laid it back down.

  ‘Wha
t about the big one over there?’ I said. ‘The wine-mixing bowl.’

  ‘Ah. I was saving that for last, because it’s the gem of the collection. Still, now that you’ve asked …’ He went over to it, and we followed. ‘It’s not a wine bowl; the old Celts didn’t drink wine. It was probably used for holding beer or mead at a religious ceremony. Isn’t it magnificent?’ It certainly was: a good two feet wide by eighteen inches deep, silver picked out in gold and decorated all over, inside and out. ‘I’ve no idea of age; I think more or less contemporary with the drinking horn, although that’s only a guess because the designs may be Celtic but the actual silver-working technique is much more advanced, possibly Thracian. As to the designs themselves, Optima will be able to tell you more about them than I could.’

  ‘That’s Cernunnos again, isn’t it?’ Perilla pointed to the seated figure on the bowl’s inside face, crowned with antlers, surrounded by animals and holding a snake.

  ‘Yes, it is,’ Optima said. ‘The serpent is wisdom. The thing in his other hand is a torque, the sign of a chief’s power to rule. So the god is wisdom combined with power, or power to rule through wisdom. At least, that’s what I think the meaning is.’

  ‘What about the scene on the other side? A human sacrifice?’

  Yeah, I’d noticed that already myself. The scene was made up of a line of armed men led by three guys blowing what I assumed were war horns, and next to them a larger figure holding a smaller one by the ankles and lowering him head-down into a king-size stew-pot. Nice.

  ‘It’s the most likely explanation, yes; the old Celts certainly practised ritual drowning. But there might be another explanation, a kinder one. You’ve heard of the Cauldron of Rebirth?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s one of the Three Magical Treasures that the druids talk about. Talked about. Dead men – those killed in battle, especially – who were put into the Cauldron came alive again, to fight another day. That may be what’s shown here.’ Optima smiled. ‘But that’s just a guess, I’m afraid. Wishful thinking.’

  ‘Useful if you could make it work,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, it would be, Valerius Corvinus. Very useful. And rebirth – whether literal or metaphorical – is an important concept to a Gaul.’

  ‘Well, have you seen enough?’ Secundus said. ‘I wouldn’t want to bore you. And I could, very easily, believe me.’

  I grinned. ‘Yeah, I think that’ll do me,’ I said. ‘Even so, it’s been fascinating. Right, Perilla?’

  ‘Indeed it has,’ the lady said. ‘Thank you, Julius Secundus. And of course you too, Optima.’

  We went back out.

  ‘So it’s an ongoing process, is it?’ I said to Secundus as he closed the study door behind us. ‘The collecting, I mean?’

  ‘Oh, very much so. Not a cheap hobby, I know, but we live quite simply otherwise, and suitable pieces don’t come up for sale all that often.’ Secundus led the way back along the corridor towards the dining room. ‘Of course, I have my network of suppliers who keep their eyes peeled for anything I might find interesting, particularly if it fills a gap somewhere or other. You met Sulinus, didn’t you? The man I was with in the market square when we first talked?’

  ‘Yeah, I did.’

  ‘He is especially useful, coming as he does from Caesarodunum. That’s more or less the geographical centre of—’ He stared at me. ‘Are you all right, Corvinus? You look unwell.’

  ‘Uh … no. No, I’m fine, thanks. Maybe just your good wine catching up on me all at once,’ I said.

  Jupiter! Sweet Jupiter and all the gods!

  ‘Perhaps a breath of fresh air?’ Optima said. ‘If you’d like to have a turn round the garden the back door’s this way.’

  She turned.

  ‘Uh-uh. Honestly. Even so, perhaps we should be getting back. Thank you for a splendid meal.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Perilla was giving me a very suspicious look. ‘I’m sure Procurator Laco would be happy to allow us to reciprocate in a few days’ time. Isn’t that so, Marcus?’

  ‘Yeah. Yeah, definitely.’ I managed a weak grin. ‘The ladies can arrange it between them, Secundus, if that’s all right with you.’

  ‘Certainly it is.’ He took my empty wine-cup from me. ‘We’ll look forward to it.’

  ‘Good night, then. And thanks again.’

  ‘Now, Marcus,’ Perilla said when we were settled in the carriage and trundling our way back to the residence. ‘Will you please explain the meaning of that little farce? We couldn’t have left any faster if we’d been greased. I was totally embarrassed.’

  ‘Secundus’s merchant pal Sulinus is our perp,’ I said.

  ‘What? How on earth do you know that?’

  ‘Because he’s from Caesarodunum. Or claims he is, rather, which is just the point. According to Nerva, the dead merchant – Tarbeisus – came from there too.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Gods, lady! It explains everything! One of them must’ve been lying, and it can’t’ve been Tarbeisus, because he was the one who got stiffed. So it must be Sulinus. And if he’s the liar then ipso facto he’s also the man we want.’

  ‘I’m sorry, dear, you’ve lost me. Why should either of them be lying in the first place?’

  ‘Because Anda caught one of them out.’

  ‘And when would that have been?’

  Oh, yeah; we’d left in such a hurry for the impromptu dinner appointment that I hadn’t had time to bring the lady up to date on the case. I did now.

  ‘So one of the punters standing at the bar with Tarbeisus – the crucial punter – must’ve been Sulinus,’ I finished. ‘Whatever was said, it showed Anda – who had been to Caesarodunum – that he didn’t know the place at all. Oh, sure, it was pure bad luck on Sulinus’s part. Doubly bad luck, in fact: he’d chosen a town that it was most unlikely any of the merchants frequenting Augusta would know, because it was well off the beaten track where they were concerned, only to find himself talking to someone who actually came from there. Plus his gaffe had been noticed by one of the only two men in town who’d know what it meant. You see? It explains all of the murders together: Drutus and Anda had to die, because they could’ve fingered him to the authorities, and Tarbeisus had to go as well in case he blew the guy’s cover, innocently or otherwise, later on.’

  ‘Yes.’ She was twisting her lock of hair. ‘Yes, that makes sense. Of course it does. But why should Sulinus need to invent a bogus background for himself in the first place? After all, there are plenty of places in Gaul that he might have been to that he could’ve used instead. Why choose somewhere he’d never been before? It was simply asking for trouble.’

  ‘Gods, Perilla, use your brain, please.’

  ‘Marcus!’

  ‘Well, even so. He couldn’t’ve used anywhere all that big or well-known, because that would’ve increased the chances of what actually did happen happening: that sooner or later he’d run up against someone who should’ve recognized him as a fellow townsman but didn’t. While if he was fronting for the Brits, which he was and is, choosing a place on that side of the country would’ve been too much of a risk if he did come under suspicion. Somewhere reasonably small, in the far south or south-west, comparatively out in the sticks and a good few hundred miles from the Gallic Strait, would’ve been perfect.’

  ‘So what are you going to do now?’

  ‘See Balbinus, first thing tomorrow morning. Shop the bastard. That side of things isn’t my concern, or not directly: it’s political. Let Balbinus handle it.’

  Which wasn’t, in the event, how things turned out. But then, I wasn’t to know that at the time, was I?

  TWENTY-ONE

  ‘First thing’ was a bit of an overstatement: there wasn’t much point in making too early a visit to the government offices, because civil provincial admin in a relatively laid-back town like Augusta didn’t kick in until the start of the second hour, and Balbinus himself, conscientious though he was, probably wouldn’t turn up until the sun was a little
further along its curve; while things being as hush-hush as they were I couldn’t blow the whistle on Sulinus to anyone barring the guy in person. So I had a leisurely breakfast and set out on the short walk to the government admin building just shy of the third.

  ‘Saenius Balbinus, pal,’ I said to the clerk on the desk. ‘He in yet?’

  ‘No, sir. Nor likely to be, I’m afraid, not immediately. He had some business outside town to look after. Was it urgent?’

  Damn. ‘Yeah, it was, as a matter of fact,’ I said. ‘You know when he’ll be back? Or where I can find him?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, Valerius Corvinus. He didn’t say. He won’t be in this morning, certainly, although you can try again in the afternoon. Was there a message I could give? Or perhaps I can help you myself?’

  ‘No, that’s fine. And no message as such. Just say that I have to see him urgently.’ I was turning to go before I thought again. ‘Scratch that. Tell him I know now who X is.’

  The clerk’s brow furrowed. ‘X, sir?’

  ‘Yeah. He’ll understand. Exactly those words, right?’ And if I wanted to stress the importance of the meeting, then they would do the trick in spades. ‘I’ll call again after midday.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  So. Not back to the residence; I didn’t fancy sitting twiddling my thumbs for another three or four hours, and Perilla would no doubt be out gallivanting somewhere or other. Maybe the market square and a second shave, just to say I’d tried the Gaulish version. Or maybe even, given the lady was a bit more relaxed now on the subject, a cup of wine in one of the wineshops I hadn’t had the opportunity of trying.

  I set off down the main drag.

  I’d almost reached the square when I spotted a familiar figure ahead. Segomarus.

  ‘Valerius Corvinus!’ he said when we’d closed the gap. ‘Just the man! I was on my way to see you.’

  ‘Yeah?’ I was cautious. ‘What about?’

  ‘Come on! We had a deal, remember? The Cabiri family background? You owe me a jug of wine.’

  Oh. Right. Gods, this business of the three local murders, not to mention saving Claudius’s invasion plans for Britain, had practically put the original case out of my head.