Foreign Bodies

by David Wishart

  ‘The first bit’s easy. I followed you.’

  ‘Fine. That I might’ve guessed, given time and several goes at it. Now what about the second?’

  ‘That’s the admission.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Yes, as I told you and Perilla, I am a doctor charged with reporting on the local hot springs for possible exploitation by the Rhine garrisons. However, my other purpose – less, ah, overt – is information gathering of a different kind.’

  Uh-huh. Click. ‘In other words, you’re a spy,’ I said. Bugger; the woods were full of them. It would seem you couldn’t move a yard in Gaul without tripping over one of the bastards.

  ‘More or less.’ He was looking, for Smarmer, unaccustomedly sheepish. ‘Specifically, though, I had the task – given to me by the emperor personally, I hasten to add – of watching your back. Should you need it.’

  I stared at him; that I hadn’t been expecting. ‘Why in the gods’ name should Claudius think I needed my back watching?’ I said. ‘He sent me out on a straightforward murder investigation. All this cloak-and-dagger stuff was incidental. Not to say accidental.’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. But he’s a very clever man; very clever indeed, and very cautious. Perhaps he was just making doubly sure of your safety while you were engaged on his private business, no more than that. Even so, I had my instructions, and they were quite clear and unequivocal.’

  ‘What was all this business of squiring my wife around the sites? How does that square?’

  ‘You seemed in no particular danger for the present,’ he said. ‘It was a good way of checking up on your movements at second hand, without making you suspicious.’

  ‘Yeah? Very laudable and sneaky. You sure that was your only reason, friend?’

  He actually blushed. ‘Well, you must admit that your wife is extremely charming and personable. Plus, we shared a genuine interest in local curiosities. In my own defence, when it transpired that your case was taking a more sinister turn I put my duty first straight away. I haven’t seen Perilla for days.’

  Hmm. Well, no doubt even government spies got these lecherous urges, and the smoothie bastard had just saved my life, after all. I was prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt, this time round.

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘So how did you know about the political side of things to begin with? That was supposed to be top secret.’

  ‘Oh, that was Balbinus, naturally. He told me.’

  I stared at him. ‘Balbinus knew who you were? Or what you were, rather?’

  ‘Of course. From the very start. I showed him my official credentials almost as soon as I got here. Signed, as I say, by the emperor personally. Licinius Nerva knew, too.’

  Fuck; wheels within wheels. I’ll never understand what makes these political bastards tick, or emperors, for that matter; I’m not sure I want to, either. ‘They might have let me in on the secret,’ I said. ‘I am a sodding imperial procurator, after all, for what it’s worth.’ Evidently that wasn’t very much, at the end of the day. ‘You’d’ve thought I rated. As well as having a personal interest.’

  ‘That would have defeated the purpose. Or at least confused the issue. Both they and I decided it would be better for you not to know, and for me to preserve my anonymity.’

  Yeah, well, I supposed he had a point, and it had paid off in the end. Still. ‘So,’ I said. ‘What happens now?’

  ‘We hand the whole thing over to the people in charge.’ He touched Segomarus/Licnus with his toe. ‘Including this fellow here. I’m sure they’ll deal with it to everyone’s satisfaction.’

  I shuddered, remembering what had happened a couple of years previously: yeah, I’d had experience before of traitors, or would-be traitors, being ‘dealt with’, in the bowels of the imperial palace when Gaius was emperor. It wasn’t a memory, unfortunately, that I was ever likely to lose. Things like that had to be done, no doubt, if the state was to be kept safe, but they turned my stomach.

  ‘Fair enough,’ I said. ‘There’s a cart out the back, seemingly. I’ll give you a hand to load chummie here onto it and you can deliver him to Balbinus. Or whoever. Tell him about Sulinus and Optima while you’re at it; no doubt he can pick them up no bother and add them to the bag.’

  He frowned. ‘And you? What are you going to do?’

  The hell, for once, with moderation. Besides, I reckon I deserved it, because the case was solved. Or at least if my assumptions were right it was. Those I’d have to check, but not today: today, I’d had enough.

  ‘I, pal,’ I said, ‘am going to find the nearest decent wineshop and get stewed.’

  TWENTY-TWO

  So that just about wrapped it up, both for the Cabirus side of things – barring one small but important detail – and the Treveran conspiracy. That was dead meat, too, if that wasn’t an unfortunate phrase in the circumstances, particularly after Balbinus managed to nail Sulinus’s druid friend, which he did in double-quick time. Me, I was careful not to ask how, but thinking back two years to the question-and-answer session I’d attended chez Gaius I had my sick-making suspicions: Optima was a Roman citizen, sure, so she’d be exempt from torture (not that that had weighed with our former emperor, of course), and she could at least expect a clean death. Sulinus and Segomarus/Licnus were another matter. All I could do – and it didn’t help much – was to tell myself that the result of putting them away had been the saving of hundreds, maybe thousands, of lives and a fresh round of human misery; plus, of course, potentially at least, a new province added to the empire. Lucky Britain.

  Yeah, well, not a bad few months’ work, all told. Claudius would be pleased. I’d be glad to get back home, though.

  There was still that one small important detail I mentioned, mind, and that I wasn’t looking forward to at all.

  We were just about to leave for Lugdunum a couple of days later, Perilla and I, with Perilla upstairs supervising the last of the packing, when Titus Cabirus came into the atrium.

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Corvinus,’ he said. ‘But I wondered if I might have a word before you go.’

  ‘Sure, pal, sit down. We’re in no hurry.’ Bathyllus was hovering. ‘Some wine?’

  ‘No, thank you. And this won’t take long, so I won’t sit; I’m on duty today, only here by Procurator Laco’s permission.’ He hesitated. ‘I only wanted to make it clear that where my uncle was concerned I knew absolutely nothing about the treason side of things. Or even suspected it.’

  ‘I never thought you did,’ I said mildly. ‘You’re no traitor. If you had you’d’ve reported it straight off, uncle or not.’

  He gave a stiff nod. ‘Good. That’s got that off my chest. I’ll leave you to get on. Have a safe journey home.’

  He turned.

  ‘Hang on,’ I said. ‘You still have some explaining to do, if you don’t mind. On the Lugdunum side.’

  He turned back. ‘What needs explaining?’ he said, and for the first time there was an edge to his voice. ‘The case is over. My – Balbinus has told me that Licnus freely confessed to murdering my father. So that’s that; you have your killer. Problem solved.’

  I let that one go for the present. The tone, too; although he’d never known him, according to what Brother Quintus had told me back in Lugdunum, thanks to his mother young Titus had idolized his missing uncle all his life. It would’ve come as a shock to discover at one and the same time that the guy had not only been a traitor to Rome but was his father’s murderer into the bargain. He was doing pretty well in keeping his feelings in check, sure, but there was no reason to push things unnecessarily.

  Even so.

  ‘He didn’t say why he did it,’ I said. ‘Not to me, at any rate. You happen to know, by any chance?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Stiff as hell. ‘Or at least I can guess. He did it out of revenge.’

  Uh-huh. Revenge. Well, that much was true enough. ‘Care to tell me the details?’ I said.

  ‘Why should you bother? It can’t matter now. He’s—’ He frown
ed, and cleared his throat. ‘Once they’re finished questioning him my uncle will be dead anyway, won’t he? They can’t execute him twice, for treason and murder both.’

  Yeah; that was how I read it, too. Just as he had, himself. Still, I waited. Finally, Titus said: ‘The time of the Florus revolt, or just after it, rather. My father …’ He stopped, swallowed, then began again, carefully and deliberately, his eyes never leaving mine. ‘It seems that my father was secretly passing information to the authorities on who’d been involved and how. Names, details, anything they didn’t already know and might not even suspect. One of the names was Uncle Licnus’s; they’d never got on, even before my father married my mother. Oh, he’d been involved in the revolt, sure, but not to the extent Father told the authorities he was, and that made all the difference between them turning a blind eye and pulling him in. He was lucky; he escaped in time and managed to get clean away. A lot of the men – and women – my father put the finger on weren’t so fortunate.’

  ‘Right,’ I said. ‘Which explains why, when things began to settle, your family had to move to Lugdunum.’

  He nodded, his face still completely devoid of expression. ‘People here aren’t stupid; they could put two and two together. Letting bygones be bygones for the sake of peace and harmony was one thing, but knowing someone had actively gone out of their way after the event to betray their own kind stuck in a lot of throats. Where my father was concerned, Augusta wouldn’t have been a very comfortable place to live in future.’

  ‘And no one in the family knew what he’d done at the time?’

  ‘No. Like I said, he’d kept it secret. Uncle Licnus didn’t get the chance to tell them, either; he suspected it, yes, but he only knew himself for sure some time later, when he was already on the run.’

  Check. I frowned; this next bit was going to be difficult, and I’d far rather have avoided it altogether – would have, if the lad hadn’t come round to see me. Still, what was done was done; he was here, he had a right to know the truth, and I couldn’t very well in all conscience shirk my responsibilities.

  ‘Maybe you’d best sit down after all,’ I said.

  He looked at me blankly. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Just do it.’ I waited until he was perched uneasily on the other couch. ‘Your uncle might be a traitor and a killer three times over, but he didn’t murder your father.’

  ‘What? Then who did?’

  I told him.

  We got back to Lugdunum twelve days later, too quick a trip this time round for my liking.

  Walking past the summer house where Claudius Cabirus had been killed, I glanced up at the house’s second storey. Sure enough, young Publius Cabirus was looking down at me through the window from his seat at the table where, no doubt, he was working on his models. I gave him a wave, but for all the response I got he might not have noticed me.

  He had, though. That was the point.

  I knocked at the door, and the maid I’d seen last time opened it.

  ‘Ah … Cotuinda, isn’t it?’ I said.

  ‘That’s right, sir.’ She gave me a guarded look.

  ‘The mistress at home?’

  No answer, but she opened the door wider and stepped back. I went in and followed her through to the living room.

  Diligenta was sitting next to the open window, stitching what looked like a piece of embroidery.

  ‘Valerius Corvinus!’ She set the embroidery aside. ‘You’re back!’

  ‘Yeah.’ I glanced at the wickerwork chair opposite. ‘You mind if I sit down?’

  ‘Not at all. Something to drink?’

  ‘No, I’m fine, thanks.’ I lowered myself into the chair.

  ‘Very well. Thank you, Cotuinda. That’s all.’ The servant went out. ‘Now. What can I do for you this time?’

  ‘Nothing at all, as a matter of fact,’ I said. ‘I know now who killed your husband, and why.’

  Things went very still. ‘Really?’ she said. ‘You found that out in Augusta?’

  ‘Not exactly.’ Bugger; I hated this. ‘But I did talk to your brother there, and it cleared things up for me.’

  She stared at me. ‘My brother?’

  ‘Licnus. Or Segomarus, as he was calling himself. He admitted he was responsible, which in a way he was. Not that that matters much.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m not with you.’ She’d gone pale as a ghost. ‘And Licnus? I told you: Licnus has been missing these twenty years. He’s probably dead.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I hope that’s the case by now. Certainly for his sake.’

  ‘Corvinus, you’re not making sense.’

  ‘I’m afraid I am,’ I said gently. ‘He’d’ve been executed for treason.’

  ‘Treason?’

  I told her, the whole boiling. Or the treason part of it, anyway. She sat and listened without saying a word, her face expressionless.

  ‘The thing is,’ I finished, ‘traitor or not, whatever he claimed to the contrary he couldn’t have done your husband’s murder. Oh, sure, he had good reason to, your son Titus explained all that. He had the opportunity, too, because he was in Lugdunum at the time. And like I say he admitted to the killing of his own free will. Even so, he couldn’t have been the killer. It’s just not possible.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Because he may have told you and your son Titus who he was, but he didn’t tell Publius.’

  She shook her head. ‘Valerius Corvinus, I’m sorry to have to repeat myself, but you really are not making any sense. Why should that matter?’

  I sighed; we were at the heart of it now, and I couldn’t put things off any longer. Much although I would’ve liked to.

  ‘It’s crucial,’ I said. ‘When I talked to him Publius insisted that he hadn’t seen anyone go into the summer house that afternoon. Me, I’m certain that it wasn’t because he was resting with the shutters closed, like you and he claimed; he’d been at his table working all the time, with a good view of the garden, just as he is now. If he’d seen Licnus – Segomarus – then he would’ve said. Oh, if it’d been anyone else – one of the family, his brother or his Uncle Quintus, for example – then he might have kept his mouth shut to protect them. But as far as he was concerned Segomarus was a stranger; he had no reason not to peach on him. So the logical assumption was that he was telling the absolute truth: he didn’t see anyone, no one at all.’ I paused. ‘That is, not until you went in yourself, to wake your husband up, and found the body. Which of course can mean only one thing.’ She hadn’t moved; she could’ve been a statue, for all the reaction I was getting. ‘You want to call him down, let me ask him again? Just to make certain?’

  ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘No, that won’t be necessary.’

  ‘So,’ I said gently. ‘There was no early business appointment that your husband had forgotten about and that you had to wake him up to remind him of. When you went into the summer house he was still asleep, and alive. Which is when you stabbed him.’

  ‘Yes.’ I could barely hear the word.

  ‘You want to tell me why, exactly? I mean, I can understand your basic reasons, but after all you had been married to the guy for twenty-odd years. That must’ve weighed, surely.’

  She lowered her head. When she lifted it again, she looked me straight in the eye.

  ‘I told you before,’ she said. ‘You’re a Roman. You don’t understand these things.’

  ‘Try me,’ I said.

  ‘I loved my brother. I still do. It pulled the heart out of me twenty years ago when he disappeared so suddenly, and there hasn’t been a day since that I haven’t thought about him, wondering if he was alive somewhere. Then, three months ago, Tiberius was away on business, I was sitting here as I am now, and he walked in. I recognized him at once, despite the long hair and moustache; I’d have recognized him anywhere. He told me the whole thing, how after the revolt Tiberius had lied about him so that he’d be arrested, possibly even executed. And that he hadn’t been the only one my husband
betrayed.’

  ‘You believed him? Just like that?’

  ‘I’d had my suspicions. Oh, not where Licnus himself was concerned; I’d never have believed Tiberius was that rotten, or I’d have left him long ago. But the rest of it, the betrayals …’ She stopped. ‘The final months, before we left Augusta, were quite bad. Nothing was said as such, not directly, but the atmosphere was poisonous. I found I had no friends any more, not even acquaintances, and enough hints were dropped to show we weren’t welcome and to suggest why. Quintus noticed it too. I faced Tiberius, asked him straight out whether there was any truth behind it, and he swore that there wasn’t. He swore. He was my husband; what else was I to think but that he was telling the truth, and it was all a misunderstanding?’

  I said nothing.

  ‘So eventually we gave up and moved away, down here to Lugdunum. Oh, we kept the wine business on, or rather Quintus did: they’d nothing against Quintus as such, quite the reverse. He’d been no supporter of Florus, and made no secret of it at the time, but afterwards he’d spoken up in defence of those who were to the Roman authorities, even although it made him a suspect himself. That had got noticed. They’re not bad people, the Augustans; they can make allowances.’

  ‘But not in your husband’s case.’

  ‘No, and I agree with them. Some things you can’t forgive and forget, ever: time makes no difference. I found out from Licnus that Tiberius wasn’t the man I thought I’d married, not the kind of man I’d ever have contemplated marrying for one moment if I’d known what he was; he’d lied to me from the start, and the fact that we’d been together for over twenty years since then only made matters worse. I killed him, and I’ve no regrets. I’d do it again, gladly.’ She took a deep breath. ‘So. What happens to me now?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said.

  She frowned. ‘What do you mean, you don’t know? Valerius Corvinus, I killed my husband, I’ve admitted it, and you have the authority, as the emperor’s representative, to do whatever you like with me. How can you not know?’

  I’d been thinking about this ever since we’d left Augusta, and it seemed the best way to go about things. ‘Just that,’ I said. ‘The decision’s not mine to make. Like you say, I’m only the emperor’s rep, not any sort of judge in my own right. My job, which I’ve done, is to find out the truth and report back to him. The rest’s not my concern.’