A dying light in Corduba mdf-8 Read online

  'Family troubles,' he shrugged.

  I gave up, without obvious results, but feeling I had been touching nerves. He had remained too calm. If he was innocent I had insulted him more than he had shown. If he was truly ignorant of any conspiracy, he ought to have been excited to discover that one existed. He ought to be shocked. He ought to be outraged that maybe some of the well-clad guests at his own table tonight had betrayed the high standards he had just proclaimed for Baetican commerce. He ought to be afraid that they had offended Rome.

  Without doubt, he knew a cartel was being brokered. If Annaeus did not himself belong to it, then he knew who did.

  As I was leaving I saw what his family troubles must be. While their elders were only just sitting down to their banquet, the younger generation were rushing off to places unknown and habits unseemly. If the three Annaeus sons had been friends of Aelianus, he must have enjoyed a jolly time in Baetica. They were various ages, but of a similar mentality: as they set off riding out from the stables when 1 began my own slow walk to the front of the house, they galloped either side of me, coming closer than I found comfortable, while they whooped and whistled and chided each other loudly for not flattening me properly.

  A young woman who might be their sister was also leaving the house as they raced off down the drive. She was a self-assured piece in her mid-twenties, wrapped in a furred stole. She was wearing more pearls and sapphires than I had ever seen layered on a single bosom – too many, in fact, to let you see what kind of bosom it was (though it looked promising). She was waiting to enter a carriage from which emerged the head of a man about the same age as her. He was indeceutly handsome. He was cheering a younger male, very drunk already, who had rushed out from the carriage to be violently ill on the mansion's immaculate steps. Corduba at festival time was the place to be.

  I might have asked for a lift in the carriage, but I did not fancy being thrown up on. To her credit, as I passed her the daughter did warn me to watch where I stepped.

  Unfed, unwatered, and unlustrated, I turned away and set off wearily back towards Corduba. There was no chance of returning to the Camillus estate tonight. I needed to find myself a lodging where the owner was still sober and had a bed to offer despite the festival crowds. Before that I would have to flog through the dark countryside that lay beyond the Annaeus property, back to the even darker streets of the town, passing the cemetery on the way. I am not afraid of ghosts – but I don't care for the hideous real-life characters who lurk among the tombs of a necropolis at night.

  I walked steadily. I folded my toga, as well as you an fold a cumbersome ellipse, then slung it over one shoulder. I had gone beyond the reach of the torches, though I had pulled one up and stolen it. I was finding my way along the track back to town, concentrating on my thoughts about the day. I did not hear anyone following, even though I stayed alert to the possibility. But I certainly felt the sharp stone that flew out of nowhere and smacked into the back of my neck.

  XXVI

  Instinct wanted me to slap my hand on the pain, and to bow my head. Damn instinct. I wanted to stay alive.

  I spun around. I drew my sword. In Rome carrying a weapon is illegal – but here that did not apply. All Romans know the provinces are hotbeds of banditry. All Romans on holiday or foreign service go armed.

  Ironically my sword, an unofficial relic of my five years in the army, was a short stabbing blade made from the finest Spanish steel.

  I listened. If there were more than one assailant out there I could be in deep trouble. Was this how Anacrites and Valentinus had felt when the arrows stopped them in their tracks?

  Nobody rushed me. There was only silence, however hard I listened.

  Had I imagined it? No; there was blood on my neck. At my feet lay the culprit stone, large and pointed like a flint. There was no mistake. I picked it up; it also had my blood on it. I tucked it into the pouch at my belt. Well, I was enjoying myself in a foreign province; I was bound to want a souvenir.

  Sometimes in the country yokels let fly with missiles. Sometimes in the city idiots hurl tiles and bricks. It is a territorial gesture, an act of defiance when strangers pass. I did not believe that was what had just occurred.

  I rammed my torch into soft ground at the edge of the track and moved away from it. Letting the toga slide down to my elbow, I wound the cloth around my forearm so it could act as a shield. With the torch alight I was still providing a target, but I preferred to risk that than to douse the flame and plunge myself into darkness in the middle of strange countryside. I strained my ears, shifting position continually.

  Eventually, when nothing happened, I pulled up the torch again and searched around in circles. On either side of the track lay olive groves. In the dark they were full of hazards, though these were purely natural. Weeding hoes lay waiting to be stepped on, their handles all set to spring up and break my nose. Low branches were ready to crack my brow. For all I knew the groves contained courting couples who might turn nasty in a wild provincial manner if I interrupted them in mid-fumble. I was about to give up when I stumbled into a disorientated sheep.

  The animal was very tired. It must belong to the lustral flock. Then I remembered the shepherdess with the interesting eyes. I had seen her before. She had looked very different in her sophisticated little gold costume as Diana, but even smothered in sheepskin I ought to have recognised the girl.

  Keeping my sword out, I walked back grimly to the Annaeus house. Nobody attacked me again – which was odd. Why hadn't the dancer tried to kill me out there on the track?

  Fired up by annoyance at myself as much as anything, I made a formal complaint. This time, with blood trickling down my neck, I was given a better welcome. I kept making a fuss until Annaeus Maximus reluctantly ordered a search for the girl. The chief shepherd, who was still there with most of his accomplices, was summoned to respond to my accusations.

  Annaeus seemed taken aback by my story. According to him, most of the group were well known to everyone, actors from the local theatre. They routinely earned extra money by providing assistance with civic rituals. This was better than allowing real shepherds to get big ideas, I could see that. Naturally the man then claimed this particular girl was a stranger to him.

  The leader of the actors turned up, still dressed as the chief shepherd and emitting a belch after his supper. He confessed he had employed a few extras to pad out the parade today. This included the shepherdess with the big brown eyes (whom he rather clearly remembered). She had presented herself when he was auditioning; he had no idea where she came from, though her name was supposed to be Selia. He said she wasn't local, though by that he merely meant she did not come from the immediate confines of Corduba; Hispalis would still be a possibility. I had just let the killer of Valentinus slip right through my fingers. And needless to say, all the slaves Annaeus had sent out to look for her came back empty-handed.

  'I'm sorry.' The actor appeared pretty genuine. 'Next time I'll ask for references.'

  'Why?' I scoffed bitterly. 'Do you think she'd admit she was up to no good? Anyway – are you constantly being offered the services of undulating women?'

  He looked shamefaced. 'No,' he mumbled. 'Though that was the second one this week.'

  'And what was the first one like?'

  'Older, though she could dance better.'

  'Why didn't she get the job instead of Selia, then?'

  'She wasn't from around here.' Trust a local to take precedence. He looked even more ashamed, then rallied with his big excuse: 'Well, Selia was thoroughly professional; she even brought her own sheep!'

  'She's abandoned it now!' I retorted. She was a professional killer – and if she could claim a whole sheep, whoever was paying her expenses must be allowing her a substantial daily rate.

  XXVII

  I spent the night at the Annaeus house. The notables let me feed at their table (well, their tenants' table). They loaned me an empty cell in their slaves' barracks. It was near the well, so I even manag
ed to get something to wash my wounded neck – and tnere was all I could wish for to drink. What civilised people. Next morning their steward sent me away on a very slow horse which he said I could borrow indefinitely since its useful life had run out. I said I would report my gracious treatment by the Annaei to the Emperor. The steward smiled, openly showing his contempt.

  The three sons had come home at dawn. I met them thundering in as I rode away. On principle they left me in a cloud of dust again, though the initiative had gone out of them to some extent and they were all looking faintly tired. As far as I knew the daughter was still out. Women have more stamina.

  The Camillus estate lay bathed in sunlight when I finally rode back. As I expected, Helena had already followed up her promise to go over to the Licinius Rufius spread and pursue the next suspect for me. Marmarides, looking annoyed at having his nose put out of joint, told me Marius Optatus had driven her.

  It gave me time to bathe and change my tunic, then to hang around the kitchen until the cook found me the kind of nourishing breakfast certain old women like to lay before an honest young man who is known to have fathered an almost-born baby and who clearly needs his strength built up. As I enjoyed the food, she cleaned my cut neck with a thyme wash and stuck on some sort of salve. Needless to say, its main ingredient was olive oil.

  Helena returned to find me still being pampered. She grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and inspected the damage. 'You'll live.'

  'Thanks for the loving concern.'

  'Who did it?' I winked; she took the point. We walked outside to the shady area of garden near the house, where a bench was placed under a fig tree on a wall. There, safe from being overheard, I told her about the shepherdess. Helena winced. 'You think this pageant queen all bundled up in smelly wool is the "dancer from Hispalis"?'

  I did not want to say I had definitely recognised her, since that gave a false impression of me gawping too keenly at women. 'Striking down men from behind certainly seems to be her trademark. But Anacrites and Valentinus were then rammed against walls. Apart from the fact that there were none available last night, if it was Selia, she made no attempt to follow up.'

  'Maybe she relies on her two musicians to do the dirty work, and didn't have them with her.'

  'Then what was the point of the stone? It seemed random – more like a warning than anything.'

  'Marcus, if the stone had hit you on the head, would you have been killed?' Sparing Helena's feelings, I said no. It certainly could have done more damage. But stone- throwing takes a good aim.

  'Don't worry. What it's done is put me on my guard.' Helena frowned. 'I do worry.'

  So did I. I had been struck by a recollection of Anacrites mumbling 'dangerous woman' when I said I was coming to Baetica. I now realised it was not Helena he had meant. He too must have been warning me – about his assailant.

  To lighten the atmosphere I related my experience with Annaeus Maximus. 'I gained some insight into his attitude. His family is in a political trough. He is socially crippled by what happened to Seneca. Undeserved or not, the taint has lingered. Wealth alone might recapture the family's old lustre, but they've clearly lost heart too. Maximus certainly does not want a career in Rome, though he doesn't seem to mind being the big boy around here. Still, the Annaei are yesterday's heroes, and now it all depends whether running Corduba will be enough for them.'

  'Will it?'

  'They are not stupid.'

  'What about the younger generation?' Helena asked. 'Running wild with great panache.' I described what I had seen of the sons and the jewel-clad daughter.

  Helena smiled. 'I can tell you about the daughter – including where she stayed last night!'

  I pricked up my ears. 'Scandal?'

  'Nothing like it. Her name is Aelia Annaea. She was at the Licinius Rufius house. Despite the alleged feud between their families Aelia Annaea and Claudia Rufina, the other fellow's granddaughter, are good friends.'

  'Flow sensible you women are! And so you met both of them today?'

  'Yes. Claudia Rufina is quite young. She seems genuinely good-natured. Aelia Annaea is more of a character; the bad girl enjoys knowing that her papa would hate her to accept hospitality from Licinius when the two men aren't speaking.'

  'What does Licinius feel about it?'

  'I didn't meet him.'

  'Aelia sounds a bundle of trouble. And if Licinius encourages her to upset her father, he sounds a wicked old man.'

  'Don't be a prig. I liked Aelia.'

  'You always like rebels! What about her little friend?' 'Much more serious. Claudia Rufina yearns to endow public buildings and earn a statue in her honour.' 'Let me guess: the Annaea babe is pretty -'

  'Oh, you thought so?' Helena asked quickly; she had not forgotten me saying that I had seen Aelia Annaea at her home last night.

  'Well, she's rich enough to get herself admired for her necklaces, and she's polite,' I corrected myself. 'Honestly, I hardly noticed the girl… Nice sapphires!'

  'Not your type!' Helena sneered.

  'I'll decide my type, thank you! Anyway, she was being picked up by someone last night; I bet she's betrothed to the handsome god I saw in the carriage when she went off. I suppose the Rufius poppet with the commendable social ambitions will be very plain -'

  Helena's eyes were bright. 'You're so predictable! How can you ever judge human nature when you're so bound up in prejudice?'

  'I get by. Human nature makes people fall into distinct pigeonholes.'

  'Wrong!' Helena said crisply. 'Claudia is just rather serious.' I still reckoned Claudia Rufina would turn out to be plain. 'The three of us had a civilised chat over a refreshing tisane. And you're wrong about Aelia Annaea too.'

  'How's that?'

  'She was happy and light-hearted. Nobody has burdened her with a future husband of any kind, least of all a gooddooking untrustworthy one.' Helena Justina had never liked handsome men. So she claimed, anyway. There must have been some reason why she chose to fall for me. 'She was overdressed in jewellery, but wore nothing like a betrothal ring. She is very direct. If the situation called for it, she would have asked for one.'

  'The arrangement may not be public knowledge yet.'

  'Trust me; she's not spoken for! Claudia Rufina, on the other hand, was sporting a heavy bracelet of garnets, which cannot be to her taste (she told me she collects ivory miniatures). The awful bracelet looked just the thing a man would grab at a goldsmith's for a girl he feels obliged to present with a formal gift. Expensive and horrible. If she does ever marry the man who gave it to her, she will be obliged to treasure it for a lifetime, poor soul.'

  I found myself smiling. Helena herself was dressed simply, in white, with hardly any extra decoration; while pregnant she found wearing jewellery uncomfortable. She unconsciously fingered a silver ring which I had given her. It was a plain design with its love message hidden inside. It represented the time I had suffered as a slave in a silver mine in Britain. I hoped any comparison she was making with Claudia Rufina's gift was favourable.

  I cleared my throat. 'Well, did you meet any male hangers-on today?'

  'No, but there was talk of "Tiberius", who was thought to be at the gymnasium. He sounds like the man you saw. If he's good-looking enough to irritate you, he's also bound to be crazed on sports.'

  'Because he's handsome?' I chortled. In fact having seen him I agreed he must be a handball lout. The man I saw had a thick neck and probably a brain to match. When he chose a wife he would be looking at the size of her bust and wondering how readily she would let him run off to exercise or hunt.

  The thought of hunting made me wonder if his formal name was Quinctius.

  'The youth you saw being sick on the steps was probably Claudia's brother.'

  'The lad who was taken to Rome with the Baetican group?'

  'He never appeared this morning. He was still in bed. I heard distant groans that were supposed to be him with a wine-headache.'

  'If the handsome dog is after Clau
dia I bet there's a scheme to marry her brother to her best friend Aelia.' I was always a romantic.

  Helena was scathing: 'Aelia Annaea would eat a young lad for lunch!' She seemed well disposed towards both girls, but I could tell Aelia Annaea was the one who really appealed to her.

  I scowled. 'There's not much to gain from courting the young people. It's the old men who run Corduba. From what I saw last night that's wise; their heirs look thoroughly overindulged: bored girls and bad young men.'

  'Oh, they're just rich and silly,' Helena demurred. Her trip to the Licinius house had cheered her up since yesterday. Her mother's highly expensive midwife had advised me to keep her mind occupied for these last few weeks – though the woman probably did not expect Helena to be gallivanting about Baetica.

  'So what's your verdict, my darling? Have we decided these young creatures just have too much spending cash and too little parental supervision – or are the brats up to no good?'

  'I don't know yet, Marcus. But I'll find out.'

  I stretched lazily. 'You should enjoy yourself more. A good long bathe is what I recommend. If you whistle loudly while you're steaming, Optatus and I will keep out of the way.'

  Helena Justina patted her bulge and told the child-inwaiting that if she had as many baths as its father suggested the baby would be washed away. Sometimes I wondered if Helena saw through my schemes. It would be like her to have found out exactly what the midwife had told me – and to disobey deliberately.

  'So I've seen the gem-encrusted Aelia. What's Claudia Rufina like?'

  'Neat, smart, and rather shy,' said Helena. 'She has a rather big nose which she unfortunately accentuates by tilting back her head then looking at people over it. She needs a tall husband – which is interesting, Marcus, because from the way Marius Optatus insisted on driving me today instead of Marmarides, I'd say he has a yen for Claudia! When we got there he vanished to discuss farrning with the old man, but I swear he only wanted to go so he – could offer greetings to the girl.'