'That's commendable, sir. Going back to the dinner, Anacrites was also present. And a couple of others, including myself.'
'That may be so. There were spare couches. I had intended to take my son and a friend of his, but that kind of occasion can be too stiff for the young so they were excused.'
'One guest was Camillus Aelianus, the son of Vespasian's friend Verus.'
'Oh yes. Back from Corduba. Straightforward lad; knows what he's doing.' Quinctius was just the sort to approve of that pompous young bigot.
'Perhaps you remember one other man. I need to identify what he was doing there - reclining on the right- hand end couch, opposite Anacrites - quiet fellow; hardly spoke. Did you know him?'
'Never even noticed him.' Thirty years in politics made it impossible for me to tell whether Quinctius Attractus was honest. (After thirty years in politics, almost certainly he was not.) 'What's his significance?'
'Nothing any more: the man is dead.' If he had anything to do with killing Valentinus, he was good; he showed complete indifference. 'And finally, may I ask if you knew the entertainers, sir? There was a girl who danced, with a pair of Libyan-style accompanists - I believe you paid tneir fee. Did you know them personally?'
'Certainly not! I don't mingle with tarts and lyre- players.'
I smiled. 'I meant, did you book them for the dinner specially, sir?'
'No,' he said, still contemptuous. 'There are people to do that. I pay for the musicians; I don't need to know where they come from.'
'Or know their names?'
He growled. I thanked him for his patience. Still playing the big man in Baetica, he asked me to report any developments. I promised to keep him informed, though I had no intention of it. Then, since he had mentioned that I might, I went to see his secretary.
Correspondence and record-keeping at the house of Quinctius Attractus was conducted by a typical Greek scribe in a tunic almost as neat as his master's. In a clean little office, he catalogued the senator's life in curious detail. A cynic might wonder whether this implied that the senator feared he might one day be called to account. If so, he must be very worried indeed. Any tribunal investigating Quinctius was going to expire under the weight of written evidence.
'The name's Falco.' The scribe made no move to note me down but he looked as if he would later list me under 'Visitors: Uninvited, Canegory: Dubious'. 'I'm enquiring about the senator's guests at the last dinner for the oily Baeticans?'
'You mean the Society of Olive Oil Producers?' he corrected humourlessly. 'I have details, certainly.'
'His honour says you will tell me.'
'I shall have to confirm that.'
'You do so then.'
I sat on a stool among racks of locked scroll boxes while the slave disappeared to check. Don't ask me how I know that the boxes were locked.
When he came back his manner was even more pedantic, as if he had been told I was trouble. He unlocked a silver box and removed a document. I was not allowed to crane over his shoulder, but I could see the script. It was a perfect, neutral cursive hand that could not have changed since he first learned to copy by rote.
He read out five names: 'Annuals Maximus, Licinius Rufius, Rufius Constans, Norbanus, Cyzacus.' Then he corrected himself: No- Rufius Constans was not at the dinner. He is the grandson of Licinius. He had gone to the theatre, I understand, with my master's son.' That almost sounded as if he were reciting something somebody had drummed into him.
'How old are these two lads?'
Quinctius Quadratus is twenty-five. The Baetican boy looks younger.' Hardly adolescents then. The younger Quinctius would have just been elected to the Senate if he was to be a provincial quaestor as his father had boasted.
'Is the senator a stern father? Was he annoyed by them bunking off to a play?'
'Not at all. He encourages their friendship, and their independence. They are both promising young men.'
I grinned. 'That fine phrase can mean they are promising to cause trouble!' The secretary gazed at me coldly. He had never been trained to gossip. I felt like a slug spotted taking a stroll across a particularly elegant dish of dressed salad. 'The Baetican visitors make an interesting list. We have an Annaeus - presumably from the same Corduban family as the famous Senecas?' I had picked that up from Laeta at the dinner. 'And who else? A couple of men from the provincial merchant class? What can you tell me?'
'I cannot give personal information!' he cried.
'I don't need to know who slept with a flute girl or the state of their impetigo! Why were they welcome guests of a Roman senator?'
Looking distasteful the slave squeezed out: 'My muter is a very important figure in Baetica. The first of those I mentioned, Annaeus and Licinius, are large landholders in Corduba.' Those would be the favoured pair who had been dining either side of Attractus at the dinner. 'The last two are businessmen from further south, involved with transportation, I believe.'
Norbanus and Cyzacus?' The two who kept their heads down, conversing among themselves. Lower-class - perhaps even ex-slaves. 'They are shippers?'
'So I understand,' agreed the secretary, as if I was making him swear an oath to undertake physical torments and huge financial expense on behalf of an extremely bad- tempered god.
'Thank you,' I answered heavily.
'Is that all?'
'I need to interview these men. Are they staying here?' 'No.'
'Can you give me the address of their lodging in Rome?' 'They were staying here,' admitted the cautious Greek
reluctantly. 'All of them left Rome very early today.'
I raised an eyebrow gently. 'Really? How long had they been with you?'
'Just a few days.' The secretary made an effort not to look uncomfortable.
'How many is a few?'
'About a week.'
'Only a week? Isn't their decision rather sudden?'
'I could not say.' I would have to ask the house steward if I wanted precise details of the Baeticans' original booking - but private informers are not given access to the domestic staff in a senator's house.
'Is it possible to interview the senator's son?' 'Quinctius Quadratus left for Corduba as well.' Was that planned?'
'Of course. He is taking up his new provincial post.'
I could not fault the newly fledged quaestor - but how many provincials, especially men of status, would make a long sea trip to Rome then skip for home almost immediately, without fully enjoying the sights, exploring the possibilities for social advancement, and making sure they stayed away long enough to make those at home believe they had conquered Roman society?
As tourists their behaviour was highly suspicious. They might as well have left behind a wall plaque telling me these gadfly Corduban businessmen were up to no good.
XIII
That night I took Helena to the refined Capena Gate district to dine at the large, slightly faded villa which had been her family home. It was time her mother had another chance to rage at her about the poor arrangements we were making for the baby's birth and upbringing. (Julia Justa had a well-rehearsed script on this subject.) And I wanted to see her father. I like to keep my senators in sets.
As usual, before my official meeting I made sure that Helena's papa and I had conspired so our stories would match. I found Decimus Camillus Verus at the baths we both frequented. He was a tall, stooping figure with thinning, spiked hair, who already looked hunted even before I invited myself to dinner and explained that I now required him to play the heavy father to one of his rebellious sons.
'This is imperial business. I need to interview Aelianus. I'm telling you in advance so you can make sure he'll be there!'
'You overestimate my paternal authority, Marcus.'
'You're a Stoic!' I grinned and explained the situation. Then I gave Camillus a stiff bout of swordplay to make him feel even more despondent, and we parted friends.
His attitude to me, whom many in his place would have loathed, was open and amiable: 'I have no objection
to you providing me with grandchildren, Marcus. A new generation is my one hope of getting someone on my side!'
'Oh I'm with you, senator!' In fact we both knew his relationship with me (like mine with his daughter) was the main reason the illustrious Camillus had a hard time at home.
Neither of the young Camillus brothers, Aelianus and Justinus, were at dinner. They were bright fellows in their early twenties brought up to have moderate habits - so naturally they were out on the town. As a sober citizen of thirty-three, approaching the grave honour of Roman fatherhood, I tried not to look as if I wished I were out there with them.
'Is Justinus still keen on the theatre?' Their youngest rascal had taken up leering after actresses.
'They both like to keep me worried!' Camillus senior reported drily. He kept his troubles close to his chest. 'Aelianus has promised to return in an hour.' Immediately I noticed his wife working out that he and I must have discussed this subject previously.
'At least he knows where his home is!' Julia Justa had a tart version of Helena's sarcasm. She was a handsome, hard-done-by woman, like her daughter, with fierce intelligence and liquid brown eyes. Maybe Helena would end up like this. Helena herself stabbed at her bowl of shrimp dumplings, looking morose. She knew what was coming.
Her mother took a deep breath, in a way that was familiar to me. I had a mother too. The views of these two women from distinctly different backgrounds were tragically similar, especially in regard to me. 'You look as if you are about to rush away with acute diarrhoea, Marcus Didius,' smiled the noble Julia through thin lips. She understood men. Well, she was married to one, and had produced two more.
'I wouldn't dream of insulting the wonderful banquet before us!' It was a workaday spread, in fact, for the Camilli were struggling against the dire financial troubles that afflict hereditary millionaires. Still, flattery seemed wise.
'Someone has to ensure that my daughter is fed.' A certain kind of woman always goes for the self-righteous in insults.
'Cobnuts!' Helena contributed. It was perhaps injudicious to use a phrase she had clearly picked up from me. 'With donkey bells on them!' she added - an embellishment of her own.
'I don't believe I know that expression, Helena.'
'The nuts are mine,' I admitted. 'I take no credit for the bells.' To Helena I said, 'If word's going around that I starve you, I'll have to buy you a pork rissole on the way home and insist that you eat it in public.'
'Cobnuts again. You never let me do anything scandalous.'
'Please be serious!' her mother retorted. After a day hard at work, I felt too tired to respond politely and Julia Justa seemed to sense my weakness. On first hearing the news of our forthcoming child her reaction had been muted, but since then she had had six months to brood. Tonight she had opted for the full lecture. 'I simply feel there are things we all ought to face up to, since it does look as if Helena will be carrying her child to term. This time,' she added unnecessarily, as if to have had one miscarriage was somehow Helena's fault. 'I had hoped to see you married before this, Helena.'
'We are married,' said Helena stubbornly.
'Be sensible.'
'Marriage is an agreement between two people to live together. Marcus and I have clasped hands and agreed.'
'It's plain you have done more than that -' Julia Justa tried appealing to me, pretending she thought I was more reasonable: 'Marcus, help me 'out!'
'It is true,' I mused, 'that if I went before the Censor and was asked "To the best of your knowledge and belief and by your own intention, Didius Falco, are you living in a valid state of marriage?" I should bravely answer "Yes, sir!"'
The senator smiled and engaged in a bit of private commentary. 'I love that "to the best of your knowledge and belief'!' His own wife received this very coolly, as if she suspected some hidden jibe.
'Formalities are not required,' growled Helena. 'We don't need an augury because we know we are going to be happy -' It sounded more of a threat than a promise. 'And we don't need a written contract to tell us how our affairs will be unwound if we part, because we won't ever
separate.' Actually we didn't need a contract because there was nothing financial to unwind. Helena possessed money but I refused to touch it. I had none, which saved a lot of fuss. 'Just be grateful we are sparing Papa the expense of a ceremony and the burden of a dowry. Times will be hard if he is to put both of my brothers into the Senate -'
'I doubt that will occur,' her mother replied bitterly. She decided not to specify why, though it was obviously our fault: bringing the family into disrepute.
'Let's be friends,' I said quietly. I'II do my best to acquire greater status, and when I'm a suave equestrian counting beans on my farm in Latium and fiddling my taxes like respectable people do, we'll all wonder what the fuss was about.'
Helena's father was keeping quiet. He knew his daughter was not the problem nowadays. It was his sons he needed to watch. Without extremely careful treatment Justinus was likely to end up entangled with an actress (specifically illegal for the son of a senator) while my current enquiries were beginning to suggest that Aelianus was involved in an intrigue that could be both dangerous and politically disastrous. He had told his father nothing about it - a bad omen in itself.
Luckily at that point a slave brought a message that Aelianus had come home. His father and I were able to escape to the study to interview him. By the rules of convention Helena Justina would remain with her mama.
Well, she would do until she lost her temper. That might happen fairly soon. I overheard her mother asking, 'How are your bowels, Helena?' I winced, and fled after her papa. He had already skipped out of it. For a senator, he was a wise man.
XIV
Three of us were seated together, like an intellectual symposium. Lack of space in the small, scroll-filled room made civilised reclining impossible. Letters, accounts and intriguing works of literature were piled all around us in teetering stacks. If challenged about his untidiness (as he regularly was by his wife) Decimus Camillus Verus would say that he knew exactly where everything was. One of his likeable characteristics: in truth he could have had no idea.
The senator and I were both upright on his reading couch. Aelianus had squeezed on to a stool which his father's secretary occupied in the daytime. While he fiddled with a pot of pens, a bust of Vespasian stared down from a shelf above him, as if our eminent Emperor were checking that the young man's neck was clean.
This son and his father looked fairly alike. They had matching strong eyebrows, though the boy was more thickset. He was also surly where his father was mild- mannered. It was a phase of youth - unfortunately a phase which could lose him the chance of making useful friends. There was no point telling him that. Being critical of his social skills was the certain way to rush him into making life's fatal mistakes.
'I don't have to talk to you, Falco!'
'It's advisable,' his father chastised him briefly.
I kept my voice quiet. 'You can talk to me informally
here - or you can be sent for a full grilling on the Palatine.' 'Is that a threat?'
'Senators' sons don't get beaten up by the Praetorian Guard.' I made it sound as if they could be, when someone with my clout requested it.
Aelianus glared. Maybe he thought that if he had been anybody else's son I would have taken him to a wine bar and enjoyed a much more easygoing chat without involving his family. Maybe he was right.
'What's this about?' he demanded.
'One man dead and another close to Hades. A strong Baetican connection, and an unhealthy whiff of conspiracy. Your presence at the last Olive Oil Producers' dinner in close company with one of the victims now needs accounting for.'
He went pale. 'If I have to explain myself I want to see someone more senior.'
'Of course,' I agreed. 'I'll just point out that asking for special treatment makes you sound like a man in trouble. People with nothing to hide give their evidence to the regular official.'
'And
that's you?' He was being careful now.
'It's me. Orders from the top.'
'You're trying to implicate me in something.' Dear gods, he was truculent. And I hadn't even started yet. 'Actually I want to clear you.'
'Just answer the questions,' his father instructed patiently.
Hoping for filial obedience, I tried greater formality: 'Camillus Aelianus, how did you come to know Anacrites, and why did he take you to that dinner as his guest?'
'Why don't you ask him?' Useless. Well, I was somebody's son. I should have known the odds on obtaining filial obedience were short.
A Dying Light in Corduba Page 8