A dying light in Corduba mdf-8 Page 9

  Lately she had become withdrawn, lost even to me in the concerns of her pregnancy. She moved carefully now, with her back slightly arched for balance. She spent a lot of time being busy on her own, engaged in tasks I never really knew about. We were still close; I had, for instance, been favoured with full details of all the physical problems which her mother kept mentioning. I had myself scoured apothecaries for cures, and had my head bitten off for bringing them home.

  Helena still told me her private thoughts. I knew she wanted the baby to be a girl (and I knew why). I also knew that if one more person asked if she was hoping for a boy, she was likely to knock them down and jump on their heads. She was heartily sick of being nagged. And the main reason she was starting to lose her temper was that she was afraid. I had promised to stay near and share everything with her, but she reckoned when it came to it I would find an excuse to escape. Everyone we knew believed I would let her down.

  The senator sighed, still in contemplation of our conversation with his son. 'Marcus, I would be happier if neither you nor Aelianus were in contact with the palace spy network.'

  'So would I,' I agreed sombrely. 'Anacrites has given me plenty of aggravation. But he has given me work too – and I need that. Don't worry. Anacrites is in no condition to trouble Aelianus again. Even if he makes a miraculous recovery I reckon I can handle him.' The gods knew, I had had enough practice. The senator must have heard details of my long enmity with the Chief Spy – and we both thought it was Anacrites who had intervened with the Emperor's son Domitian to ensure I was refused promotion socially. That had been a personal blow to the Camilli. They wanted me to make equestrian rank, in order to protect Helena's good name.

  'In general, Marcus, how do you see the Chief Spy's role?'

  'Interesting question. On a descending curve, I should say. Anacrites is devious, but he's not as efficient as he ought to be and he works with a historical disadvantage: his team has always been small, and his line of command is through the Praetorian Guard. So his theoretical task, like that of the Praetorians, is limited to acting as the Emperor's bodyguard.' Of course that now included providing protection for Vespasian's two sons, Titus and Domitian.

  'I think the whole show is due for a shake-out,' the senator said.

  'Be disbanded?'

  'Maybe not. Both Vespasian and Titus hate the idea of being emperors who openly pay for trumped-up evidence to destroy their political enemies. Vespasian won't change, but Titus might want a tougher organisation – and Titus is already commander of the Praetorians.'

  'Are you telling me you know something, sir?'

  'No, but I can sense a mood among the palace staff that there will soon be scope for men who offer to help Titus achieve his ends. He's a dasher; he wants everything yesterday -'

  I knew what that meant. 'By the quickest means – legal or not! That's bad news. We don't want to go back to the old state-employed informers. The network that was so notorious under Tiberius and Nero – little more than torturers in basement prison cells.'

  Decimus was mulling this over gloomily. He was an old crony of Vespasian, and a shrewd judge of a situation. His advice mattered. 'Marcus, it's your world. If there is a power struggle, I suppose you may want to involve yourself -'

  'I'd prefer to run fast the other way!' I was thinking about the implications. 'Rivalries already exist,' I confirmed, thinking of the open antagonism between Anacrites and Laeta that I had witnessed at the dinner. 'Anacrites has been tussling with just the kind of clever bureaucrat who might suggest to Titus that he should develop a new agency, one with a fuller remit, which could answer directly to Titus himself – In any case, Anacrites is seriously wounded. If he dies there will be a scuffle among people who want his old job.'

  'Who's the bureaucrat?'

  The senator, who naturally knew the correspondence chief, shuddered distastefully.

  I felt I was myself already being used as a patball between Laeta and Anacrites. This was the kind of situation where the general good – for instance the smooth running of the Spanish olive oil trade – could be overturned in the pursuit of some disastrous administrators' feud. And it was a situation where Rome could, yet again, end up in the grip of sinister forces who ruled by torture and infamy.

  It was at this point that Julia Justa, who had been sitting with us in silence as a respectable matron ought to when her male relatives debate world issues, decided she would exert her rights. She waved to Helena, signalling her to come over and join us.

  'I would prefer to keep Aelianus right out of this,' her father carried on. 'I'm beginning to be sorry I ever sent him out to Spain. He seemed a bit raw; the governor was a friend; it looked like an ideal opportunity. My son could see administration working, and I had bought a new estate on the River Baetis which needed organising.' Helena Justina had condescended to notice her mother waving and was coming around the portico. Decimus continued, 'Of course he's inexperienced -' I had realised what was coming. 'I could still use a friend to look at the estate.' Sensing that I preferred her not to overhear, Helena sped up and reached us. By that time her father was unstoppable: The oil problem in that quaestor's letter sounds like something a man like you could clear up in a matter of weeks if you were out there on the spot, Marcus!'

  Julia Justa fastidiously removed a grape pip from her elegant lip. Her voice was dry. 'Well, it's not as if he's needed here. Having babies is women's work!'

  I didn't stop to look at Helena's expression: Baetica is off-limits. I promised Helena I would be here when the child is born. It's more than a promise; it's what I want.'

  'I'm only surprised you don't suggest taking her with you!' her mother sniffed. . This was unfair when I had already taken the decent line. Helena Justina's smile was dangerously quiet. 'Oh, taking me away to Baetica is out of the question!' she said.

  That was when I knew for sure that Baetica was where I would be when I let Helena down.

  XVI

  'I kept him alive,' snarled my mother. 'You never said I was expected to make him sensible as well. If I know men, he never was.' She glanced at Helena, whose eyes gleamed warmly in agreement.

  Apparently Anacrites was now lurching in and out of consciousness. He could yet lurch the wrong way and die. Once I would have been glad. Now the bastard had made me feel responsible. Meanwhile, whenever he opened his eyes, Ma pulled his mouth open too and spooned in chicken broth.

  'Does he know where he is?'

  'Not even who he is. He doesn't know anything.'

  'Has he spoken?'

  'Just mumbles like a hopeless drunk.'

  There could be a reason for that. 'Are you giving him your brothers' wine?'

  'Only a dribble.' No wonder he wasn't lucid. Uncles Fabius and Junius, who shared a farm when they were not trying to tear each other's throats out, produced a harsh red Campagnan rot-gut with a kick that blew the wax out of your ears. A goatskin or two was enough to lay out a whole cohort of hard-living Praetorians.

  'If he can survive that, you must have saved him!'

  'I never know what you've got against your uncles,' grumbled Ma.

  I loathed their awful wine, for one thing. I also thought the pair of them were illogical, moody clowns.

  Helena and I inspected the invalid. Anacrites looked unpleasantly pale, and already much thinner. I could not tell whether this was one of his conscious phases or not. His eyes were nearly closed, but not quite. He made no attempt to speak or move. Calling his name caused no reaction.

  'Ma, I've found out more about what's been going on and I've decided it's too dangerous keeping him. He's part of the Praetorian Guard; I reckon they can be trusted to look after one of their own. I've spoken to a centurion I know, and Anacrites is going to be taken into the safety of the Praetorian Camp. A man called Frontinus will turn up and whisk him away secretly. Then don't mention to anybody that you had him here.'

  'Oh I see!' complained Ma, highly affronted. 'Now I'm not good enough!'

  'You're wonderful
,' Helena soothed her. 'But if his attackers find out where he is, you're not strong enough to fend them off ' Actually, if I knew my mother she would have a damned good try.

  Helena and I sat with Anacrites for a while, so Ma could have a rest. My mother's idea of having a rest was to gather five shopping baskets and rush out to the market, pausing only to shower Helena with rude comments on her appearance and dark advice on managing her pregnancy. I watched Helena bite her tongue. Ma scuttled off. If she met any of her witchy cronies, which was quite likely, she would be away for hours. This made a mockery of us coming to visit her, but was typical in my family. At least it prevented quarrels. I knew we had just narrowly avoided yet another one.

  Anacrites, Helena and I now had the apartment to ourselves. Without Ma whirling to and fro it felt unnaturally quiet. She had stashed the invalid in a bed that had belonged at various times to my elder brother and me. Sometimes when we were boys we had shared it, so this had been the scene of much lewd talk and a multitude of ludicrous plans – plans that were now doomed to be forever unfulfilled. I left home, and ended up as an informer. My brother was dead. Before he was killed in Judaea Festus had dossed here on trips home from the army. The gods only know what scenes of surreptitious debauchery our little room had seen then.

  It seemed odd to be here with Helena. Odder still that the familiar old bed, with its rickety pine frame and twisted webbing, now possessed a brown chequered cover that I did not recognise and a spanking new pillow. Before long my eyes were sending messages that had Anacrites not been inconveniently in possession I would have grabbed Helena and renewed my own acquaintance with the bed…

  'Don't push your luck,' murmured Helena, with what I hoped was shared regret.

  Since there was no hope of persuading Anacrites to contribute usefully, the choice of conversation was ours. It was the morning after our dinner at the Camillus house. I had reported the latest facts to Helena, but we were still chewing over the story.

  'Someone's been stupid,' I said. 'There may be a commercial conspiracy in Corduba. Presumably Anacrites and his man were attacked in a feeble attempt to deter investigation. The way that group of Baeticans left Rome immediately afterwards certainly makes it look as if they knew something about it. But our officials are aware of whatever's going on; Claudius Laeta can take whatever steps he thinks necessary from this end. He's made himself acting Chief Spy, apparently. It's his decision. I'm certainly not going out there.'

  'I see,' replied my beloved, ever queen of the unexpected. 'There is nothing to discuss then.' Her brown eyes were thoughtful; that tended to precede trouble. 'Marcus, you do realise that you may have had a lucky escape the night of the dinner and the attacks?'

  'How would that be?' I made an attempt to act the innocent.

  'You're known as an imperial agent, and you had been talking to Anacrites. I expect you also found a reason to meet the beautiful dancing girl -' I pished. Helena carried on regardless. 'And you spoke to Valentinus. You were probably seen doing that, then when you both left the dinner at the same time, it must have looked like more than coincidence. But unlike Anacrites and Valentinus you didn't leave the Palatine alone. You came home to Fountain Court with two palace slaves, carrying your garum jar. Perhaps if it hadn't been for them you would have been set upon too.'

  'I had thought of that,' I admitted. 'I didn't want to worry you.'

  'I was worried.'

  'Well, don't brood on it. This must be the first recorded incidence of a man having his life saved by an amphora of fish-pickle.'

  Helena was not laughing. 'Marcus, you're involved whether you want to be or not.'

  We were silent for a while. Anacrites seemed to be fading right before my eyes. I felt a surge of anger again. 'I'd like to get whoever murdered Valentinus.'

  'Of course you would, Marcus.'

  'Fellow feeling.'

  'I know.'

  Helena Justina always spoke her mind and let me know exactly where I stood. If there was any chance of an argument she set about it briskly. Sounding meek was worrying. It meant she might be planning some big surprise.

  'Helena, I'm not going to let these killers get away with it. If they are still in Rome -'

  'They won't be,' said Helena.

  She was right. I had to swallow it. 'Then I'll be wasting my time as usual.'

  Laeta will ask you to be the man who goes to Baetica.' Laeta can go red in the face and burst a blood vessel.' Laeta will make the Emperor or Titus order it.' 'They'll be ordering trouble then.'

  She gazed at me sombrely. 'I think you ought to be prepared to go to Spain.'

  Helena's offer seemed out of the question – and yet straight away I began to wonder if it might be feasible.

  We believed we had nearly two months before the baby would be born. I did a rapid calculation: a week lost on the journey out, plus several days to travel inland to Corduba. Ten more days for returning home. In between, another week should be ample to identify and assess the personnel involved and tackle a solution… Oh yes. Easy to go, do the job, and come home just in time to put down my luggage on the doormat and receive the newborn baby into my arms from a smiling midwife who had just finished tidying its proud and happy mama…

  A fool could convince himself that it would work, provided nothing went wrong. But I knew better. Travelling always takes longer than you hope. And things always go wrong.

  It was far too tight. And what if the baby came early anyway? Apart from outfacing the oil cartel conspirators – something which hardly interested me, though that was what would make the state provide my fare – where in this ludicrous timetable was there any allowance for tracing Diana and her murderous musicians?

  'Helena, thanks for the offer, but be sensible. Just because everyone else assumes I'm planning to bunk off and abandon you doesn't mean they are right!'

  'I'm coming with you,' she told me. I knew that tone of voice. This was no mere suggestion. Being bossed and bullied by relatives was irritating her too much. Helena had decided to abscond from Rome.

  It was at that moment that Anacrites opened his eyes and stared at me vaguely. By the looks of him his body was giving up and his black soul was on the ferryboat to Hades. His mind was just about still here, however.

  I told him bitterly, 'I've just been informed I have to sail to Baetica on this dead-end job of yours!'

  'Falco…' he croaked. What a compliment. He might not have known who he was, but he recognised me. I still refused to spoon-feed the bastard with broth. 'Dangerous woman!' he moaned. Maybe it was apropos of nothing, though it sounded like fair comment on my chosen partner in life.

  He faded out again. Well, enigmas are what you expect from spies.

  Helena Justina ignored him. 'Don't mention to your mother that we're going,' she instructed me 'And don't you tell yours either!' I retorted nervously.

  PART TWO:

  BAETICAN SPAIN – CORDUBA

  AD73: mid April

  The trader I consider to be an energetic man, and one bent on making money; but it is a dangerous career and one subject to disaster. On the other hand it is from the farming class that the bravest men and the sturdiest soldiers come, their calling is most highly respected, their livelihood is most assured and is looked on with the least hostility, and those who are engaged in that pursuit are least likely to be disaffected.

  Cato the Elder

  XVII

  'You pay me by the mile,' said the carriage-hire man.

  I didn't believe it. That would mean at the end of our hiring period I just had to lie to him about how far I had driven. He was an ex-legionary. How could he be so innocent?

  'What's the catch?' I asked.

  He grinned, appreciating that I had at least had the courtesy to query the system, instead of jumping in with intent to cheat. 'No catch.'

  The hireman was a wide-shouldered former footslogger whose name was Stertius. I was unsure what to make of him; my mission was making me distrust everyone. This man owned a commercia
l transport business in the southern Baetican port of Malaca – mainly ox-wagons collecting amphorae of fish-pickle from all along the coast to bring them to port, but also gigs, carts and carriages for travellers. It would be an ideal cover if he engaged in espionage; he would see everyone who came and went. He had been in the Roman army; he could easily have been recruited by the legions to work for Anacrites; even Laeta could have coerced him somewhere along the line. Equally, local loyalty could put him firmly in league with the men I had come to investigate – or the dancing girl.

  Helena sat down on our mound of baggage in the quiet, unobtrusive manner of a woman who was making a point. We had been sailing for a week, then landed in the wrong place so we now had a lengthy trip by road ahead of us. She was very tired. She was sitting in the hot sun. She did not need me dragging out what ought to have been a straightforward commercial transaction. She stroked Nux as if the dog were her only friend.

  I still felt queasy from the ocean. It was possible to travel the entire way from Rome to Gades overland if you had the time to spare. Someone like Julius Caesar who wanted to show up well in his memoirs took pride in reaching Hispania without crossing water. Most people with interesting lives to lead preferred the quicker sea trip, and Helena and I were not in a good state for forced marches anyway. So I had agreed to take a boat. Getting this far was torture for anyone like me who could be seasick just looking at a sail. I had been groaning all the way, and my stomach was still not sure it had returned to land. 'I'm dazed. Explain your system.'

  'You pay me what I freely admit is a hefty deposit.' Stertius had the typical sardonic air of an old soldier. He had retired from the army after decades in north Africa, then crossed the Straits to Spain to start his business. Up to a point I trusted him commercially, though I was beginning to fear he was the type who enjoys himself inflicting arcane mysteries on helpless customers. 'If you don't use up your allocation, I'll give you a rebate. If you overrun, of course, I'll have to charge you more.'