Grief-stricken women seem to make beelines for informers. It must be our comforting manner.
"You have to help me!" wailed Claudia Rufina.
I was very tired. Normally I could mop tears, straighten a mourning veil, and stop hiccups by giving a sudden shock by way of loud noises, cold keys down the cleavage, or an unexpected pinch on the backside. Today I just sighed.
"Of course he will!" Helena soothed the distressed young lady. "Marcus Didius is deeply sorry about what happened to Constans; he will help you if he can."
I had been left to sleep in, but still felt like a half-stuffed cushion. After days in the saddle my spine, and all the parts attached to it, were on fire. I needed to be placed in the tender care of my trainer Glaucus and his fiendish masseur from Tarsus, but they were many hundreds of miles away in Rome, and a great deal of the distance between us was sea.
Worse, when I had crawled into the kitchen this morning the breakfast which the aged cook had lovingly prepared for me had been devoured by Quadratus. Of course the old dear rushed to bring me another plateful, but it was not the same. So let's be literal about this: my mood was absolutely foul.
I held up a hand like a masterful orator. Claudia Rufina fell silent, though Helena sniffed; she hated sham.
"Helena Justina is correct about the deep sympathy I feel towards you and your family. Nothing can mitigate the untimely death of a promising youth with the Empire at his feet." And so much money, I thought. I was extremely tired. My mood was truly low.
"Thank you," said Claudia, catching me out by responding with dignity.
"You are a sensible young woman and I believe you will respect frankness." I was not normally this rough. I noticed Helenas eyebrows shoot up. Guilt increased my bad temper. "Excuse me if this sounds harsh: I came to Hispania on a difficult mission. I received no assistance-no assistance at all-from the dignitaries of Corduba, including your own family. I have still to solve a murder in Rome, and write a long report on certain commercial matters here. I have to condense my efforts into far too little time, in order to be able to return to Italy before Helena Justina gives birth." We all glanced at Helena; by now she looked so large it seemed likely we were expecting twins. "Claudia Rufina, this is no moment for me to take on a private commission, especially when it's fairly clear we're discussing a very sad accident."
"Besides which," muttered Helena, "Marcus has had his breakfast eaten by that young man of whom everyone thinks so highly."
"Tiberius?" Claudia was looking down that unfortunate nose of hers. She still seemed drawn to the handsome and eligible quaestor-yet her expression had a closed look, as if her attitude might be changing.
"Yes, Tiberius!" Helena's smile was like the benign glance of a sibyl just before she prophesied universal war.
"Oh," said Claudia. Then she added in her serious way, "I came in Grandfather's carriage. Would you like me to take Tiberius away?"
"That would be extremely kind," Helena answered. "You see, I am being frank too today."
"It's no trouble," replied Claudia quietly. "I would like a chance to talk to him anyway." That was when I started worrying about Claudia.
I was surveying our visitor more gently. She wore a dark veil, though she had it thrown around her casually as if a maid had persuaded her at the last minute. She had left the maid at home, traveling to see us set-faced and quite alone. Her gown was the blue one I had seen before, less neatly cinched in. Her hair was dressed as normal in a tight, plain style that emphasized the large shape of her nose. As a wealthy heiress she ought to be enjoying herself in elaborate funeral drapes pinned together with onyx jewelry. Instead she could be genuinely abstracted by grief.
"I think we'll send Tiberius home in our own carriage," I disagreed.
Helena looked annoyed. She was dying to be rid of him. "Marcus, Claudia Rufina said she wishes to speak to him."
"What about, Claudia?" I asked crisply.
Claudia looked me straight in the eye. "I want to ask him where he was when my brother died."
I looked straight back. "He was here. He is too badly hurt to ride. When he first took his fall, Helena Justina insisted that a doctor look at him. We know his injury is disabling."
Claudia's eyes dropped. She looked miserable and confused. She did not think of asking us why anyone should doubt that Quadratus had been hurt, or why we had already taken trouble to work out for ourselves that he had an alibi. She might have an inkling of our own doubts about him, but she still shrank from the full implications.
Helena linked her hands on her stomach. "Tell us why you came to see Marcus Didius."
"He investigates," Claudia declared with a proud tone. "I wished to hire him to discover how Constans was killed."
"Don't you believe what you have been told about it?" I asked.
Once again Claudia defied me with her stare. "No, I don't."
I ignored the drama. "Does your grandfather know that you have come to me?"
"I can afford to pay you!"
"Then be businesslike and answer the question I asked." Claudia was growing up almost before our eyes. "My grandfather would be furious. He forbids any discussion of what happened. So I didn't tell him I was coming here, or why."
I quite liked her in this mood. She was young and spoiled, but she was taking the initiative. Helena had noticed my change of expression, and she was looking less critical. As gently as I could, I explained to the girl, "Look-people come to me all the time claiming that their relatives have died in suspicious circumstances. They are usually wrong about it. Most people who die unnaturally have been killed by close members of their family, so I don't get asked for help because they're hiding the truth. When I am asked to investigate I almost always discover that the person died because their time was up, or in an honest accident."
Claudia Rufina took a deep, slow breath. "I understand." It will be hard to face losing Constans, but you may just have to accept that he is tragically gone."
She was struggling to seem reasonable. "You won't help me." I didn't say that." She looked up eagerly. "Something brought you here today when you ought to have been grieving, and comforting your grandmother. Something troubled you sufficiently to drive you from home on your own; I take that seriously, Claudia. Tell me why you feel suspicious."
"I don't know." She blushed. At least she was honest. That was a rare treat in a client.
I had spent large amounts of time dealing with women who were holding back in one situation or another. I waited. I could tell Helena Justina thought I was being over-stern. I was just far too tired to be messed about.
Claudia Rufina glanced at Helena for encouragement then said firmly: "I believe my brother was murdered. There is a reason, Marcus Didius. I think Constans knew something about what you are investigating. I believe he intended to reveal what he knew, so he was killed to stop him talking to the authorities."
There were a number of questions I might have gone on to ask her, but just as she had finished speaking Tiberius Quinctius Quadratus (in a fetching blue tunic that I last saw in the bathhouse) tapped on the door politely-in case we were discussing anything private-then as we all fell abruptly silent he strolled into the room.
He went straight to the girl. Considering he had admitted to me that the public were wrongly convinced he would marry her, it might have been kinder to keep his distance. But he was murmuring shock and regret. Then as Claudia collapsed in tears, he stooped over her chair, holding one of her hands and with his other arm gently around her hunched shoulders.
Young men are not normally so good with the bereaved. Maybe Helena and I were wrong about him. It is possible to take against someone, then continue to loathe them out of pure prejudice. Maybe Quadratus was a perfectly well-meaning lad, with a kind heart…
On the other hand, Claudia had not been crying until he spoke to her.
Claudia struggled to calm herself. She brushed away the tears and leaned forward to free herself from the young man's solicitous embrace. "Tiberius, I want to ask you something-"
I interrupted her. "If and when Quinctius Quadratus is required to answer questions, I'll deal with it." The girl caught my eye and fell silent. I wondered whether he noticed she might now have doubts about his probity.
Quadratus straightened up, remembering to put a hand to his sprained back. He was rather pale. His good looks were strong enough to take it. His physique was too sturdy for him to look anything other than bouncingly fit. "Falco, it's perfectly obvious you believe I have done wrong somewhere. I would like to answer your questions and clear things up!" Very good. Spoken like an innocent man, in fact.
"I have nothing to ask you, quaestor."
"You always use my title as if it were an insult… I wish to have these suspicions removed!"
"You are not under suspicion."
"That is clearly untrue." He sounded so pained, a court would free him on the spot. Juries love a man who goes to the trouble of bad acting. "This is all so unjust, Falco. It seems I cannot move in Baetica without incurring censure. Even the proconsul seems disinclined to work with me-I suppose he thinks I was appointed through influence, not on merit. But is it my fault if my family has strong connections with Baetica? I was as qualified for this quaestorship as any man in Rome!"
"That is perfectly true," I declared. So it was. Idiots with no sense of ethics are elected to the Senate every day. Some of them are bound to get dumped in important financial posts. "But be lenient," I teased him. "You do meet the occasional eccentric governor who criticizes his quaestor on the grounds that the lad has read Plato's Academy yet can't tell which way up an abacus should stand."
Quadratus was letting himself get snappy: "There are very competent people to do the sums, Falco!" True. And just as well, when the man who should be making decisions on the basis of those sums was unable to understand what the figures meant or whether his staff had fiddled them-and when he had told me he did not think there was any point in trying anyway. Quadratus ran his hands through his fine head of hair, looking troubled. "I have done nothing wrong."
I smiled. "Criminals say that every day. It makes life very hard for innocent men: all the good speeches are used up."
Quadratus frowned. "So where does that put me?"
I assumed an expression of surprise. I was enjoying myself. It was time to force the issue too: "Doing your job, I suggest." If my doubts about Laeta's purely personal interest were right, there was no point expecting him to pursue the Quinctii once he had snatched Anacrites' position. I may as well give this one a chance to damn himself in office. "Why not prove the proconsul wrong? You came to Baetica to fill the quaestorship. The efficient management of your function is the best way to demonstrate your quality. Just tell him hunting's lost its allure, and you're back in harness. Either he'll accept it with good grace, or he'll have to dismiss you and you can go to Rome to fight your case officially."
He looked at me as if I had just revealed the secrets of eternity. "By Jove, I will! You are right, Falco!" He beamed. The transformation had been slick. No longer the suffering accused, he was so used to his family brazenly grabbing whatever they wanted, he now burst with confidence that he could force the proconsul to act as he desired. The coming confrontation might be more interesting than Quadratus realized. "So you're not hounding me, after all?"
I smiled. Let him think that. "First, quaestor, I shall place my carriage at your disposal to return you to your father's estate."
"Of course; you must be sick of me. I'm sorry to be a burden. I've been looked after splendidly!"
"Think nothing of it," smiled Helena. "But I can't possibly take your carriage."
"Well you can't ride Prancer again." That demon! I ordered Optatus to put him down-" Prancer does not belong to Optatus," I interposed coldly. His owner is Annaeus Maximus, and his current trustee is me.
He threw you; that is what horses do. You were hurt; that was your risk when you mounted him. I'm no horseman, but Prancer never gave me any trouble. Maybe you upset the beast."
Swift to back off, he answered quietly, "As you say, Falco." Then he turned to Claudia Rufina. "If I'm leaving, I can easily take you home at the same time."
"I wouldn't hear of it," I told him. If Rufius Constans had known something about the cartel, whoever wanted him silenced might wonder if he had talked about it to Claudia. If Claudia was correct in thinking her brother had been murdered, then she herself needed to be guarded-even from suspects with firm alibis, I was not having her left alone with the son of the man who was running the cartel. "Quadratus, you need to travel the shortest way, for the sake of your sprained back. Helena and I will escort Claudia in her grandfather's carriage-"
"Maybe Tiberius would be more comfortable in that one," suggested Claudia suddenly. "It has a seat that can be pulled out flat so he can lie at full stretch."
I accepted the arrangement. Helena and I would escort Claudia in our own carriage. We would be going by way of the scene of the accident-though I did not tell the charming Tiberius
We all set out together in a procession of two carriages, but I had instructed the Rufius driver to maintain a dead slow speed, in order to protect the wounded gentleman. That enabled Marmarides to move ahead and lose them. I felt better after that, even though for much of the journey we were driving through the spreading fields of the Quinctius estate. I had ridden on top with Marmarides, leaving the women together, though Helena told me afterwards they had made a silent couple, with Claudia Rufina staring numbly into space. She had probably run out of energy and been overtaken at last by shock.
The scene of the young man's death had been marked by a portable altar. It stood at the roadside, so nobody could pass without taking note of the tragedy. On the slab stood flowers, bowls of oil, and wheaten cakes. A slave we found slumbering in the shade of a chestnut tree was supposed to be on guard at the sad shrine.
I remembered the place. The Rufius oil presses were in a yard before the main house; it was attached to what would have been the original farm, a villa rustica in an older style that had been abandoned when the family became prosperous and opted for a larger, more lavish and urban home. The old house was probably now occupied by bailiffs and overseers, though in the daytime it was normally deserted as they were all out in the fields and olive groves. That was how it must have been yesterday when young Rufius came out here.
I jumped down quickly as Marmarides pulled up. The main estate road ran through this yard. Marmarides made the mules wheel and parked the carriage on the shady side, where a horse was already tethered; I patted the animal as I went past and found its flanks warm from a recent ride. A flock of white geese came strutting towards me menacingly, but the slave who was guarding the shrine took a stick and drove them away.
There were various outbuildings into which I glanced: stables and plough stores, a wine cellar, a threshing floor, and finally the oil production area. This was roofed, but the wall that faced the yard comprised huge folding doors, presumably to allow access for carts; in summer they were left standing open.
Two rooms were used for oil production, which was normal on most farms. The outer one contained two presses, as well as vats let into the floor. Here there was no sign of Constans' death. The vats would be used for ladling out the pressed oil, allowing it to rest and separate from its other liquid as many as thirty times. Giant ladles were hung on the walls, along with a large quantity of esparto bags. I was examining these when somebody ducked in through the arch from the adjacent room and said at once, "Those are used to hold the pulp as it is pressed."
It was Marius Optatus. Having seen his horse outside I was expecting him, though I wondered what in Hades he was doing here. He went on quietly, "About twenty-five or thirty bags are piled up, with metal plates between them occasionally to hold them firm-" He gestured to the further room from which he had come. "Constans died in there."
Behind me in the yard I could hear Helena and Claudia dismounting slowly from the carriage, Helena trying to delay the girl so I would have time to view the scene alone. Optatus heard them too and looked concerned at their presence. I stepped into the yard and called to Helena to stay outside. Then I followed Optatus into the inner room.
Light struggled to infiltrate through slits in the north-facing walls. I stood for a moment, accustoming my eyes to the half-dark of the small room. A faint rich smell remained from last year's olives. The confined space was quiet, though we could hear the remote sounds of voices from the yard. The boy's body had been removed. It looked as if everything else had then been abandoned as it was.
"This is where the first crushing takes place," Optatus explained. "The fruit is picked, and carried in deep baskets to the farm. It is washed, sorted, and stored in heaps on a sloping floor for a couple of days. Then it comes here for malaxation. The olives are crushed in this mill, to form a rough pulp, evenly mixed. After that they go next door for the oil to be pressed out."
The crushing mill consisted of a large circular stone tank, into which whole fruit would be dumped. A central column was supposed to support heavy wooden arms which ran through the centers of two vertical hemispherical stones; these were kept slightly apart from each other by a strong rectangular box into which the wooden arms were fixed. It was plated with metal and formed part of the pivotal machinery which turned and supported the grinding stones.
"Poles are attached through each stone," Optatus explained in his steady unemotional way. "Two men walk around the vat and turn the poles slowly, churning the fruit."
"So it's not quite the same as grinding corn?" No; cornmills have a conical base and cup-shaped upper stone. This is the opposite-a basin into which the stone rollers fit."
"They move quite loosely?"
"Yes. The aim is to bruise the olives and free the oil, to make a slippery paste. But you try to avoid breaking the stones; they taste bitter."
We fell silent.
The old worn grinders were propped against a wall, one flat side out, one convex, both stained dark purple and badly misshapen. Pale new concrete had been used to improve the basin. One new stone stood within it in position, already fixed upright to the central pivot though it was held fast on blocks. Both stones had been supplied with brand-new turning poles, their wood still white from the adze.
"You see, Falco," my companion continued levelly, "the roller fits fairly loosely. In use the pole acts merely as a lever to move the stone around in the vat. The stones revolve almost of their own volition, due to the pressure of the fruit." Although the grinder still had wedges beneath it, he leaned on it to show me there was free play. Leverage on the pole would move the stone and tumble the olives against the sides of the basin, but not so tightly that the kernels were split.
I sighed. I fingered a collar, fitting tightly around the pole. "And this washer-which I presume is adjustable-is fixed here on the outside to keep the stone on?"
"It should be." Optatus was grim.
"Then I suppose I can work out what happened to the boy."
"You will!" Presumably Optatus had already thought through events, and did not like the result.
The second grinding stone lay on the ground. A pole had been partly thrust through it, but then smashed by a fall. Even in the dim light I noticed dark marks on the earth floor next to the stone; they looked like dried blood.
"So what do you reckon?" I asked Marius.
"The new grinders arrived two days ago but Licinius Rufius had not yet made arrangements for fitting them. I asked at the house, and apparently he intended to instruct the stonemasons who have been working on his new portico to do this job."
"Why didn't he?"
"He had had a dispute with them about a column they broke, and they had walked off the site."
"That's probably true. I saw the broken column when I was here before."
"Constans seems to have decided to surprise and please his grandfather. All he had said to anyone, however, was that he was coming over to inspect the new rollers before the bill from the supplier was authorized. Dear gods, Falco, if I had known his mind I would have helped him myself! I do wonder if he came over to ask me-but I had gone into Corduba to escape from Quadratus…"
"So they say he was alone-yet here we have the first new stone, already hauled into position."
"I have talked to the workers, and none of them was involved."
"This was some job to tackle! Rufius looked a sturdy lad, but he cannot possibly have moved the weight on his own."
"No, Falco. That is why I rode over here today; I just cannot believe what is being said about this accident. It would take at least two men to maneuver and fix these grinding stones-preferably four." The concern in our tenant's voice convinced me his motives were genuine. Like me, he was a practical man. The flaws in the story had astonished and dismayed him so much, he had had to see for himself.
So what is the fixing procedure, Marius? Each stone has to be lifted into the basin-I presume you get it upright with a fulcrum, and use ropes to heave it in?" I glanced around. Now my eyes were more used to the light, I could make out discarded equipment.
Optatus confirmed how difficult the task would be: "It's heavy work, but raising the stone in the basin is really the easy part.
Then the grinder has to be held upright, raised off the bottom, and wedged."
"To set it into position? It churns above the base of the tank?"
"Yes. Setting the height takes strength."
"And courage! You would know if a stone like that rolled over your toe."
"Or fell on your chest," growled Marius, thinking of what happened to young Rufius. "First you decide the position. Then somebody has to climb up and straddle the center pivot to aim the pole into its fixing on the column-I have done that, Falco, and unless you get lucky immediately, it leads to some raw cursing. The man who is to guide the end into position soon hates the man who pushes the pole through the stone. Making a fit is very difficult. You have to give clear directions-which your partner naturally gets wrong."
Optatus painted a neat picture of the joys of teamwork. I wished I could see him trying to organize a couple of my brothers-in-law in some simple household task.
"Maybe Rufius and his helper quarreled… Rufius must have been the one on the ground."
"Yes. The stone slipped, and fell out on him," Optatus agreed. "The estate workers told me they found him on his back with his arms outstretched, and the grinding stone right on top of him. It had caved in his chest, and crushed his stomach too."
I flinched. "Let's hope he died at once."
"He could not have lasted long. Even if the stone had been lifted straight off him, he would never have survived."
"The point," I said sourly, "is whether he could have avoided being crushed in the first place."
Optatus nodded. "I inspected the pole, Falco." He bent over it to show me. "Look, the cap has not been fitted. It looks as if very few wedges were being used to position the stone in the basin either; whoever was doing this job must have been a complete amateur-"
"Rufius was very young. He may never have seen rollers installed before."
"It was madness. Unplanned, unthinking incompetence. The grinding stone would have been wobbling around on the lever, very hard to control. Once it started to lean out at an angle, the man on the ground might have jumped out of the way if he was quick, but more likely he found its weight too much to resist."
"Instinct might have made him try to support the stone longer than he should, especially if he was inexperienced. Jupiter, it's ghastly- Wouldn't his friend up above heave on the top rim to pull the stone upright again?"
Optatus was blunt: "Maybe this 'friend' pushed the stone out instead!"
"You're leaping ahead- But that would explain why the 'friend' vanished afterwards."
Optatus became more than blunt; he was angry. "Even if it really was an accident, the friend could have got the stone off Constans afterwards. He would still have died in agony, but he need not have died alone."
"Some friend!"
A noise alerted us, too late perhaps, to the fact that Marmarides had just led in Helena and Claudia. Claudia's expression told us she had heard what Marius said.
Optatus straightened up at once and went to the girl. He placed both hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead. The action was brisk and he released her immediately. Claudia gave him a half-smile, and unlike when Quadratus swamped her with condolences she did not burst into tears again.
Optatus explained in a few words what we had been discussing. There is no doubt; Constans cannot have done this work alone. Somebody-as yet unidentified-was here helping him."
Somebody killed him." Claudia's voice was now eerily controlled.
I had to intervene. "It could have been a terrible accident. But whoever was here must have seen your brother badly hurt, and yet they simply abandoned him."
"You mean he need not have died? He could have been saved?" A high note of hysteria showed how Claudia's mind was racing.
"No, no. Please don't torture yourself with that thought. Once the stone slipped and fell on him his wounds would have been too severe." As I spoke to her, Marius put a hand on her arm and shook his head, trying to persuade her to believe it. Now Claudia did begin to cry, but instead of comforting her himself Marius looked embarrassed and steered her to Helena. As a lover he lacked useful instincts.
Helena held the girl close to her, kissed her, and then asked me, "Marcus, who do we think this missing companion was?"
"I'd happily name one person!" Marius snarled.
"We know you would-but Quinctius Quadratus has an unshakable alibi: the bastard couldn't ride. Even if his young pal Constans had gone over to our estate to fetch him, he would still need to get home again after the accident. How are you suggesting he did that?" Optatus was silent, reluctantly conceding the point.
"Call it murder, not an accident!" insisted Claudia, breaking free from Helena's arms.
"I won't do that, Claudia," I said patiently, "until I can either provide evidence, or make somebody confess. But I give you my word, I will do all I can to discover what happened, and if it really was murder, whoever was responsible will be made to pay."
Claudia Rufina made a visible effort to control her emotions. The young girl was brave, but she was close to breaking point. At a signal from Helena I quietly suggested we leave the scene of the tragedy and take her on to her grandparents' house.
The great half-finished house lay silent. The builders had been dismissed and the estate workers kept to their quarters. Frightened slaves flitted among the pillars indoors. Time had stopped.
The body of Rufius Constans had been raised on a bier in the atrium. Extravagant branches of cypress decorated the area. A canopy darkened what should have been a space filled with sunlight, while smoking brands caused visitors to choke and rub their streaming eyes. The young man awaited burial swathed in white, smothered with garlands, reeking of sweet preservative oils. Busts of his ancestors watched over him. Laurel wreaths which he had never managed to earn for himself had been placed on tripods to symbolize the honors his family had lost.
Marius and I exchanged glances, wondering if one of us could keep watch while the other climbed up to inspect the body. The possible gains were not worth the risk of discovery. We chose to avoid the howls of outrage.
In an adjacent reception room Licinius Rufius and his wife were seated, completely motionless. Both were clad in black. Both looked as if they had neither slept nor eaten since they learned of their grandson's death. Neither showed much interest in the fact we had brought back their granddaughter, though they seemed to be pleased that the rest of us had come to share their grief. The atmosphere was stultifying. I sympathized with their tragedy, but I was still weary and short-tempered after my long journey to Hispalis. I could feel my patience ebbing fast.
Chairs were produced. Claudia sat down immediately with her hands folded and her eyes downcast, resigned to her duty. Helena, Marius and I took our places more uneasily. There was a good chance we could all imitate statues for the next three hours and not hear a word spoken. I was angry, and I felt such passivity would not help.
"This is the most terrible tragedy. We all realize how deeply you are suffering."
A slight reaction passed over the grandfather's face, though he made no attempt to reply to me.
"Will you come to the funeral?" Claudia Adorata, the old lady, asked me in a hushed voice. She belonged to that group of women who seek their comfort in formal events. Marius and I both agreed to go; I had already decided with Helena that she should excuse herself. Nobody would thank us if she caused a disturbance by giving birth in the middle of the drawn-out obsequies.
I had to speak out: "Licinius Rufius, Claudia Adorata, forgive me for raising unwelcome issues. I speak as a friend. It has been established that somebody who has not come forward must have been with your grandson when he died. The situation needs to be looked into."
"Constans is gone," Licinius dragged out. "There is no point. You mean well," he conceded in his autocratic way.
"I do, sir. I respect your wish for privacy-" I knew it remained possible that the young man's death had been a sad-but avoidable-accident. I kept my voice calm and respectful. "I would like to speak to you in private; it concerns the safety of your granddaughter."
"My granddaughter!" His eyes flew to me, and met a cool reception.
No doubt Claudia Rufina would be smothered with attention after the funeral, but at the moment she was not being granted her due. The old man was sufficiently formal to stop discussing her in what amounted to a public situation, so he stared at me, but then indicated I could follow him to another room. Claudia herself made a swift movement as though she wanted to assert herself and come with us, but Helena Justina shook her head surreptitiously.
Licinius sat. I stood. It gave him status; I did not need it.
"I'll be brief. Your grandson may have died because of a bungled task, or it may have been more than an accident. Perhaps that only matters if you want to know for your own peace of mind. But I saw you and Constans at the proconsul's palace; I have drawn my own conclusions about why you took him there. I strongly believe there are people who will not have welcomed Constans speaking out-and they will be feeling relieved now he has been silenced."
"You said you wished to speak about my granddaughter, Falco."
"This does affect her. Will you tell me what Constans knew?"
"I have nothing to say on that subject."
"If Constans was aware of something illegal-perhaps the cartel I discussed with you recently, or maybe something even more serious-then you should consider the position very carefully. I knew them only a short time, but it seemed to me that Constans and Claudia were very close."
"Claudia Rufina is deeply upset-"
"It's worse than that. She may be in danger. Other people, those who had an interest in your grandson's silence, may now be wondering whether Constans told his sister what he knew."
Licinius Rufius made no remark, but he was listening to me much less impatiently.
"Don't lose them both!" I warned.
The girl was not my responsibility. Her grandfather possessed ample means for ensuring her protection. I had seeded his mind, anyway. He rose, looking gruff though on principle. He hated to acknowledge that anyone else knew better.
As he started to leave the room he turned to me with a faint smile. "Your skills seem limitless."
"Not at all. I cannot, for instance, lure you by any method I know into discussing the proposed cartel."
At last he allowed me to mention it, though he still sang the old refrain: "There is no cartel."
"I may even end up believing that." I smiled. "Try this, sir: a group of you, chosen for your prominence in the business world, were invited to Rome by an influential senator. A suggestion was made which you rejected out of hand. Then somebody-not necessarily the senator himself-made a stupid mistake. It became known that the Chief Spy was showing interest in your group. Somebody lost his head and arranged a couple of murderous attacks. The rest of you recognized a dangerous bungle, one which only drew attention to the unpalatable plan. You left Rome fast."
"Convincing," Licinius Rufius commented coolly. He was now walking slowly, as if due to his age and his bereavement. This would allow us a certain period of discussion before we rejoined our companions.
"Then I turned up here, suggesting you were all still in the thick of the conspiracy… Actually, sir, I've changed my mind: those of you who were important enough to run a cartel are well placed, by your very prominence in the oil-producing world, to ensure fair prices. You could be the people who take a stand against price-rigging."
"I told you that was my view, Falco."
"Olive oil is a rich commodity? There will be enough for every-one?
Licinius Rufius gripped my arm and stared at me keenly. "What's more, because the product has universal applications, including large consumption by the army, we producers should take care. Otherwise the whole industry may be taken over and state-controlled."
"Just as corn is! You are a man of sense-as well as probity."
We now reached the intriguing situation where it was Rufius who wanted something from me. He had stopped again. We were standing in a corridor. He seemed much more frail than when I first met him, though I hoped it was temporary. I could not press him to a seat, for there were none. I just had to hope I could squeeze him before the old chap collapsed.
"When I was in Rome, Falco, one of the arguments that was put to us was this: somebody at the Palace is extremely eager to assume the state control I mentioned. It was suggested that we all get together in a position of strength-" a position which sounded like the cartel to me- "Then we could resist that move-"
"By bribing the official?" I asked calmly. He bridled, but replied, "Was that a reasonable suggestion?" You mean, would it work? Only if there was nothing more subtle in the official's mind."
"Is there?"
I don't know. If we're talking about a particular official, then anything is possible. He has great power-and a mind like a Cretan labyrinth. Were you told his identity?"
No. Do you know who it is?"
I can guess." Claudius Laeta was the name that floated through my mind. I could still hear him gloating "Liquid gold!" when he and I were discussing olive oil.
Rufius was watching me closely: "If the threat of state control comes true-"
"As far as I know, sir, that is not current policy." I had seen a useful lever. Whatever Laeta might be intending, I had my own ideas about how I would report on Baetica once I returned to Rome. It was not necessarily Laeta who would be my first contact. After all, on other missions I had been received in private by the Emperor himself.
"Licinius Rufius, I am not empowered to make promises. But if I were putting forward official proposals, I might say that the oil producers of Baetica seem to me a responsible body of men who should be allowed to run their own industry." It would be cheap at least. Vespasian liked any system that cost the Treasury nothing. "Hispania has been a Roman province for a long time. We are not discussing some untrustworthy backwater full of savages in skins. And maybe it's time the Spanish provinces were thought about more carefully."
"In what way, Falco?"
"I can think of a number of provisions that Vespasian might consider. Granting wider rights of citizenship. Improved status for Romanized towns. Greater encouragement for Hispanians who wish to partake in the Senate or who qualify for equestrian posts in Rome."
"Would he do these things?"
"All I can say is that, unlike others, Vespasian listens to advice." And he knew the power of social bribes.
"You are very close to him, I think?"
"Not close enough for my own sake, sir!" I grinned.
I was still determined to extract his grandson's secret if I could. "You won't talk about Constans. I accept that, sir-" His protest died, fairly quietly. Perhaps his resolve was softening. "May I just ask you again about your visit to the proconsul?"
Licinius Rufius sighed. He breathed deeply and slowly. I let him take his time. "Falco, I had a long discussion with my grandson after the party given by the sons of Annaeus Maximus."
"You were angry with him for going to the party without telling you?"
"To start with. That became a minor matter. I sensed he was in serious trouble. He was afraid of something. He told me there had been a dancer at the party who was asking questions. It was rather confusing-"
"There are two dancers," I explained.
"So it seems. All I ever persuaded Constans to say was that he had political information involving one of them."
"Not the one at the Annaeus party?"
"I think not. There was another girl Constans and his friends had known, a local entertainer. I dread to think what class of girl-"
"Not a very good dancer," I told him. "You know of her?"
"Her name is Selia; she comes from Hispalis." She had tried to kill me three days ago; I kept that to myself. "What's the story with Constans?"
"He had been involved in hiring her once. I cannot imagine how it came about; my grandson was a quiet lad-"
Light was dawning. "I think it was Quadratus who wanted her hired-but he had gone back to Rome for the Senate elections. So he wrote and asked Constans to organize this girl from Hispalis to dance at that dinner we all went to on the Palatine?"
"Something like that." Licinius was trying to avoid telling me. He had failed to appreciate how important it was. "It sounds perfectly harmless. My grandson paid her fare and appearance fee- though, as you know, he didn't even attend. It's annoying, and a waste of money, but young people do far worse things. Frankly, I could not understand why Constans became so exercised about it."
"And how did this come to light, sir?"
"Annaeus Maximus had ridden over here after his sons' drinking party."
"To complain about Constans being a guest?"
"No. Maximus came to warn me that his lads had seen fit to allow in a dancer."
"Warn you, sir?"
"The dancer had been asking questions-it is presumably the same woman who had already accosted me. She is taking an interest in what happened when we went to Rome. Well you must know who I mean! She's asking much the same as you, Falco; Annaeus and I presume you are working with her. She has been hanging around Corduba for weeks."
"I can see how that would have alarmed you all!" I avoided comment on the suggestion that I was part of some joint inquiry team. "And how did this frighten Rufius Constans?"
"What upset him, and made me persuade him to appeal to the proconsul, was that the dancer who performed for the Annaei had also been asking questions about the other girl. One of the Annaeus boys had then told her that it was Constans who paid for Selia's trip to Rome. On learning that, for some reason, my grandson became hysterical."
I could have told him the reason. Perhaps it was better to leave Licinius merely puzzled than to say that Selia's performance in Rome had included murder. Rufius Constans had been her paymaster. I could not believe he had known what he was doing. It seemed much more likely the poor boy was someone's dupe. But it looked bad-and had probably seemed worse to him. It would be easy to suggest that it had been Rufius Constans who panicked and paid Selia to start crashing inconvenient inquirers into Roman walls. My own view was that he was too immature to do that. However, his precise role called for examination, as the boy must have realized.
I could imagine his thoughts when he heard his grandfather and Annaeus Maximus-two men who were normally barely on speaking terms-anxiously discussing government inquiry agents, then revealing that one official had been told how Selia and Constans were linked. He probably thought he was about to be arrested-and so he should have been, both to protect him as a witness and to allow time to question him. Frankly, if he were still alive, I would be arresting him myself.
We made a slow and thoughtful journey back to the Camillus estate. I traveled in the carriage this time, and told Helena of my talk with the grandfather. Helena was feeling very tired but still had strength to worry about the bereaved family. "Something needs to be done for poor Claudia."
"What's her problem? I think she's seen through Quadratus."
"Quadratus may think much more of her though, now she's the sole heiress!"
I grinned. "I wouldn't worry. Claudia may have become a fortune-hunter's dream-though I'm sure her grandpapa is up to the situation. Anyway, as you said yourself once, the Quinctii will be looking for a bride with seven consuls in her pedigree and an ancestry she can trace on copper tablets all the way to the Seven Kings of Rome."
"Meanwhile Claudia," said Helena, "harbors serious ideas of using her inheritance to make endowments in the local community. She wishes to make her life as a female benefactress to Corduba-and now that she'll inherit the entire family fortune, she'll be even more determined."
"Commendable! Still, she's not averse to men."
"No," Helena agreed. "She is a good young woman with a fine character. She has been well brought up. She is honest, direct, serious, and loyal to those she loves. She ought to be head of her own household; she will make a chaste, intelligent partner and an admirable mother."
I knew my girl. "That's a set speech! What exactly are you planning, fruit?"
"She could be married with a clause in her dowry that says large sums are supplied for the comfort of her husband and any children-but that Claudia Rufina is to have a fixed annual amount to devote to the community."
"Married to whom, my darling?"
"How about someone from a rising senatorial family who are not snobbish about background, but who would be happy to offer their position and refinement-"
"In return for her glittering collateral?"
"Oh don't be crude, Marcus!"
"It was your idea," I pointed out.
"She already knows Aelianus," mused Helena.
"Of course she does," I answered, thinking how much pleasure it would give me to shackle that young man to a serious girl with a rather large nose whose funds he was forced to respect.
Helena looked pleased with herself. "She's a nice girl. Marius Optatus may not be too pleased with me, but I think I'm going to invite Claudia to Rome. Obviously she cannot stay with us-" No; our cramped, ill-decorated apartment was not the place to entertain a fabulous olive oil heiress. "So I shall have to ask Mother to take her instead!"
Well I'm sure she'll conquer Rome with ease, my love-and her fortune should conquer your brother! Just give me a chance to clear up the residue of events from her own brother's disastrous visit to the Golden City first."
Our house was quiet and subdued that evening. Nobody took much enjoyment in dinner, and we dispersed quickly afterwards. I was sitting alone in the garden, trying to shape my thoughts into some sort of order, when Marmarides coughed.
"Something is not right with the carriage, Falco."
"That seems fairly typical of Baetica! Do you need a part fixed?" My heart sank. As I remembered his employer, the ex-legionary Stertius, his invention and prowess with machinery had far excelled mine.
"There is a difficulty with the hodometer," Marmarides confessed.
Well that was no more than I expected. Overelaborate gadgets always go wrong. In fact if I come anywhere near them, even simple ones, their rivets snap. "Do you want me to have a look at it?"
"Later, perhaps."
To my surprise Marmarides deposited his slight figure on my bench then produced a bundle of note-tablets from a pouch at his belt. He opened one or two; they were covered with slanting figures in a big, careful hand. Every line began with the name of a place. Some were dates.
"What's this, your travel diary?"
"No; it's yours, Falco."
"Are you writing my memoirs for me, or auditing my expense claims?"
Marmarides laughed his jovial laugh. Apparently I was a crack wit. Then he laid his tablets open on his knee and showed me how every time we took a trip in the carriage he listed it, with the date and the new mileage. When we came to make a final reckoning of how much I owed Stertius, the driver would be able to demonstrate our usage of the vehicle exactly, should I venture to disagree with his reckoning. Plainly his master Stertius thought of everything. Stertius must have dealt with argumentative types before.
"So what's up?"
"Today you went over to the Rufius house, stopped on the way where we all talked about the young man being killed, then I drove you home. Now it is evening. I feed the mules, clean the carriage, and sit down with my little stylus to make up the record."
"And?"
"The miles don't fit, Falco."
My first reaction was bored incomprehension. "Well, if you're slightly out I won't have a seizure. I can trust you on one or two discrepancies- Mind you, Helena Justina keeps my accounts and she's more precise."
"Falco, how far do you think it is to the Rufius house?"
"Four or five miles?"
"So don't you see, Falco?"
"I'm very tired still from my trip to Hispalis-"
"This line here," Marmarides explained stubbornly, pointing to his last written note, "is my count for your last trip that I know about-when Helena and you went into Corduba and you interviewed Cyzacus and Gorax. The day we all had a fight on the riverbank."
"I'll never forget. You fell in. I thought I would have to compensate Stertius for drowning his freedman… So now you have to add a new line about today?"
"I go to the hodometer and count the pebbles that remain."
"And you notate this column?" I indicated the final row, where the figures diminished with each entry.
"That's what doesn't fit. From the day you went to Corduba to now, there are twice as many miles as I expect."
"You allowed for the return journey?"
"Oh yes. The miles the carriage has traveled since Corduba," Marmarides told me with a beaming smile, "are enough for a journey to the Rufius house, there and back-then there and back a second time!"
I was impressed. It was immediately apparent what Marmarides meant. "This is your big chance to solve something for me," I said.
He beamed. "You talked about how the man with the bad back could have gone to help the young one fix the grinding wheel. He could have gone in your carriage, Falco."
I was keeping calm. "In agenting you have to work out everything, and make sure there can be no mistake. I thought Helena was out in the carriage that day? I thought she went with Aelia Annaea to her house?"
"No," he said. "Aelia Annaea came to visit in her own carriage, and Helena Justina left with her." Marmarides had really thought this through. "Marius Optatus went into Corduba, but he used an ox-wagon."
"So our carriage was in the stable?" He nodded. "The slaves were all in the fields and wouldn't see much, Marmarides. The farm is near the road, so anyone could drive off without drawing attention… Did you happen to notice whether the mules had been out? Were they sweating at all?"
Marmarides looked sheepish. "I never looked, Falco." Then he cheered up, able to exonerate himself. "I was not here. After Helena Justina left, I hitched a ride with Optatus to Corduba."
"What did you want in Corduba?"
He just grinned. There was a woman in this somewhere, and I decided not to explore it. Since neither Helena nor I had been here there could be no objection. It also gave Optatus an alibi. "All right. You observed Quinctius Quadratus with his bad back during the time that he was here. If he couldn't ride, do you think he would have been able to drive a two-mule carriage a short way?
"Probably. He would not have been much use as a partner in a heavy lifting job though, Falco."
"Whoever was partnering Constans was certainly no good, we know that."
If it was Quadratus, maybe he did not let the stone fall deliberately. Maybe his back just gave out. Maybe the boy's death was a genuine accident-one that should never have happened, caused by bungling incompetence. It was cowardly of Quadratus not to own up to his part in the stupidity, but it was not a criminal act.
So perhaps the worst that had happened that day was that Quadratus got bored-or maybe Constans, panicking about Selia, had appealed for his advice. For one reason or another Quadratus went to see his dear friend Constans. Then two young men who should have known better got together and decided to do a job for which they were poorly qualified. The work was too hard for them. Quadratus was unfit; the grinding stone fell on poor Constans. Quadratus was the elder and should have behaved more responsibly. That would make him the more reluctant to admit he had been there. Besides, he must have been badly shocked by what happened.
"We have to be sure," Marmarides decided firmly. He had picked up a few phrases from me, apparently. "You must come with me to the stables and we will recount the pebbles that are left in the hodometer. Then you will have firm evidence."
He was in charge. So we walked over to the stables, crouched down at the back of the carriage and inspected the Archimedes hodometer. Marmarides counted the pebbles that remained on the upper gear wheel. Sure enough, there were several less than there should have been according to his notes: a rough count of the missing mileage confirmed that it would equal two trips to the Rufius estate: there and back for Quinctius Quadratus, plus our own drive out and back today.
Solemnly we made a note on the tablet, explained our deductions, and both signed as witnesses.
The funeral took place next day. There were no distant relatives to summon, and Baetica is a hot locality.
The necropolis which the wealthy Cordubans used lay nearest to us on the south of the city, this side of the bridge. Naturally it presented the best aspect. The wealthy did not inter their smart relations among the middle class or paupers, least of all with the gladiators in their multiple columbarium outside the western gate. Across the river from the noise of the town each family possessed a gracious mausoleum, lining the important road that passed through to the fertile plain and the sun-drenched slopes of their rolling olive groves.
I did wonder why they didn't build their tombs in complete privacy on their own land instead of crowding into a necropolis which was passed daily by carriages and carts. Maybe people who socialize madly in life know their dead will still want friends to mingle with in the afterlife.
The Rufii had not yet become so extravagant as the family who had constructed a miniature temple complete with Ionic columns around a little portico. Grandeur would come, no doubt. For the moment theirs was a simple brick-built, tiled roof edifice with a low doorway. Within the small chamber was a series of niches containing ceramic urns. Wall plaques already commemorated the parents, son and daughter-in-law of Licinius Rufius. These were somber enough, though nothing to the new panel planned for the grandson. We were shown a maquette, though the real thing would provide half a year's work for the stonemason. The text began, "O woe! O lamentation! Whither shall we turn?" and ran on for about six grim lines: longer than I could force myself to read. Sloths like me were soon provided with assistance, for Licinius gave an oration on a similar basis which lasted so long my feet went numb.
Everyone was there. Well, everyone who owned half a million upwards, plus Marius Optatus and myself. For the rich, it was just an extra social occasion. They were arranging dinner-party dates in undertones.
Only one notable person was missing: the new quaestor Quinctius Quadratus. His sprained back must be still inconveniencing him. Absenting himself looked amiss, however, since he had been the dead young man's close friend.
The proconsul had deigned to be brought over in a litter from his praetorium. As we all stumped around trying to fill in time while the corpse heated up in the cemetery oven, his honor found time for a muttered word with me. I had been looking for someone to share a joke about whether they used the embers in the oven to warm hot pies for the mourners afterwards-but with him I confined myself to a reverent salute.
"What do you make of this, Falco?"
"Officially-a young lad who foolishly attempted a job for which he was unqualified while trying to please his grandfather." And between ourselves?"
What was the point of condemning Constans now? Oh… just a regrettable accident." The proconsul surveyed me. "I believe he tried to see me, when I had gone out to Astigi… This was not an invitation to speculate on the reason. "A statue is to be erected in the civic forum, I believe."
"It's all work for the stonemasons, sir."
We did not discuss my mission; well, I never expected to.
The women had clustered in a huddle. I was in a mood for avoiding them. I expressed my formal sympathy to Licinius in the routine handshake line. Optatus made himself more agreeable; I saw him among the Annaei at one point. Then he came back and whispered, "Aelia Annaea asked me to tell you that Claudia wishes to speak to you privately. Licinius must not know."
"Maybe her friend can arrange something-"
I might have given more precise instructions but just at that moment a hurried messenger came from Helena, asking me to return to her at once.
It was a false alarm.
I sat with Helena, holding her hand, and we both said nothing. The pains which had frightened her seemed to be coming to nothing, but the next occasion could well be different. We were safe today, but seriously alarmed. We had run out of time.
A couple of hours passed. As we began to relax again, we pretended we were both sitting silent in the garden purely in order to enjoy each other's company.
Marcus, nothing is happening. You can leave me if you want."
I stayed where I was. "This could be my last chance for the next twenty years to enjoy an afternoon in the sun completely alone with you. Savor it, my love. Children make it their sole ambition to interrupt."
Helena sighed gently. The earlier excitement had left her subdued and shocked.
After a while she murmured, "Don't pretend to be dozing under the fig tree. You're planning things in your head."
I was in fact mentally packing bags, consulting maps, debating the virtues of sea against land travel-and trying to reconcile myself to absconding from Baetica with my task only half done. "You know what I think. There's no time to waste. I want to go home now."
"You think it's too late already! It's my fault," she shrugged. "It was my idea to come to Baetica." "Everything will be all right."
"You know how to lie!"
"And you know how to joke- It's time to leave. Good time, I hope. Anyway, I'm coming with you."
"You're wonderful!" Helena said. Sometimes she almost sounded as though she trusted me. "I love you, Didius Falco. One of the reasons is that you pursue a cause relentlessly."
"Well! And I thought it was because I had momentous brown eyes and a body you want to grab… So you really think I'm looking for a chance to bunk off after some villain and let you down."
"No," she retorted, with her old spirit. "I think you're lusting after a set-to with some half-naked female spy!"
"Oh discovery! No; let's be honest. You're bound to be annoyed to find I've ended up tangling with devious female agents-but you can count the peas in a pod. You know it's not my fault there seem to be women everywhere-but you think I'm spinning out the job in Hispania purely because I want an excuse to avoid being with you when you start producing the child. I'm famous for breaking promises. I know that."
"No," said Helena patiently. "You're famous for finishing what you start."
"Thanks! Now I've started on fatherhood- So we are going home?"
The fight seemed to go out of her. "I'll do what you decide, Marcus."
That settled it. If Helena Justina was being meek, the poor girl must be terrified. I took a manly decision: I was not up to reassuring a woman in the last stage of her pregnancy. I needed my mother; I needed Helena's mother too. We were going home.
Marius Optatus came riding back shortly, and I told him of my decision. He had the grace to look sad at losing us. Immediately afterwards a carriage appeared, bearing Aelia Annaea and young Claudia. There were some sturdy outriders who made themselves at home in our kitchen; Licinius Rufius must have heeded my advice about protecting the girl.
"Marius told us Helena might be having the baby. We said we were coming to help-"
"Just a twinge," said Helena. "I'm sorry to be such trouble-"
They looked disappointed. My feelings were more mixed. I wished it was all over, though I was dreading the event. Helena's eyes met mine, full of tolerance. The requirement to be sociable with our visitors would be good for both of us. But our afternoon together had brought us very close. Those moments of deep, private affection stayed with us as powerfully as if we had spent the time making love in bed. In fact our mood may have communicated itself, for both Marius and Aelia Annaea looked at us rather quizzically.
Since the others had just come from a funeral they needed space to settle their own emotions. They had the customary mixture of anticlimax and revival. The dead young man had been sent to his ancestors; the living could pursue daily routines again. They were tired after the ceremony, but the immediate pressure of grief had been eased, even for Claudia.
Helena ordered mint tea. That's always good for covering any awkwardness. No one has time for anything but finding space to put the strainer and making sure they don't slurp from their beaker or drop crumbs from their almond cake.
I was still sitting close to Helena; Claudia was placed at my other hand so she could tell me whatever she had come about. Marius Optatus seated himself with Aelia, all set to pretend to admire the lily tubs if anything too scandalous was being discussed.
We progressed through the necessary ritual. I apologized for rushing off. Fuss was made of Helena. There was a swift review of the funeral, including the size of the turnout, the quantity of the garlands, the affecting style of the eulogy, and the comfort of knowing that the departed was in peace. I thought Constans had left behind a little too much unfinished business for that, but in the hope that his sister might be intending to right some of it, I was prepared to extend some charity to the lad.
Claudia reached the point where she felt she could talk to me. She squirmed. She blushed. I tried to look encouraging. "Marcus Didius, I have something to tell you," she finally blurted out. "I have to confess that I have not been telling the truth!"
I was leaning forwards, trying to look happy drinking from a dainty terracotta bowl. I stirred my mint tea with a tiny bronze spoon, flipping out a leaf onto the ground.
"Claudia Rufina, since I became an informer I have talked to many people who have told me one thing-only to realize they should have been saying something else." Sometimes, in wild moments I longed for a witness who would break the pattern and surprise me by croaking-under pressure of conscience or perhaps my own fingers squeezing their neck a little too tightly- that they were sorry to cause me extra work but they had mistakenly given me accurate answers. No doubt adding that it was quite unlike them, a moment of sheer madness, and they didn't know what came over them…
"You are not the first person who ever changed their mind," said Helena softly.
The girl was still hesitating. "It is better to have the truth in the end," I stated pontifically, "than never to learn it at all."
"Thank you, Marcus Didius."
There was no point being cruel to her. I could have said, sometimes truth that emerges so late in the day is too late to help. But I'm not that kind of dog.
"This is very difficult."
"Don't worry. Take your time."
"My grandfather has forbidden me to talk about it."
"Then we won't mention this conversation to him."
"Constans told me something-though he made me promise never to reveal it to anyone."
"You must believe it's important, or you wouldn't be here now."
"It's horrible."
"I thought it might be. Let me help you: has it to do with some violent events in Rome?"
"You know!" I needed her to tell me. Finally she forced herself to come out with it: "When my brother was in Rome he was involved in killing somebody."
That was more than I expected. All the others were keeping silent and still. I too handled the situation as calmly as possible. "My dear, you cannot change what Constans did. It's best to tell me exactly what you know. What I most need to hear is who else was involved? And what exactly happened?"
"It was to do with the plan to regulate olive oil." Regulate was a nice new word.
"Did your brother give you details of the plan?"
"Tiberius and his father were in charge. My grandfather and some other people had gone to Rome to discuss it, though they all decided not to become involved."
"Yes, I know that. So be assured your grandfather is safe; he retains his position as an honorable citizen. Now I want to talk about what happened in Rome, Claudia. Your brother was there; he was of course a very close friend of the younger Quinctius? Quadratus was older; they were like patron and client. I already know that your brother, at the request of Quadratus, had arranged a special dancer to appear at a dinner where the olive oil plan was being discussed."
"Yes."
"Your brother and Quadratus did not attend that dinner. Is this what you want to tell me? Did Constans tell you where they were instead?"
"They stayed away from the dinner-because of what was going to happen." Claudia's voice was now barely a whisper. "There had been a discussion at the Quinctius house about certain officials who were aware of the plan and taking too close an interest. The father-"
"Quinctius Attractus."
"He said those people had to be stopped. I think he meant just pay them some money to go away, but Tiberius thought it wouldn't work. His plan was to hire someone to attack them instead."
"Just to frighten them, perhaps?" I suggested.
Claudia, who had been staring into her lap, now looked up at me. She was a straightforward girl. "Marcus Didius, I don't believe we should pretend. They were meant to be killed."
"Who carried out the attacks?"
"The dancer, and some men who helped her."
"Were your brother and his friend there?"
"How did you know?" I just raised a rueful eyebrow; Claudia steeled herself and finished her story: "Quadratus persuaded my brother to be present-first when he hired the people to do it. Then-this is the gruesome part-they both hid in the shadows that night and watched as the first man was killed. My brother was horrified and ran away. Quadratus went with him. They got drunk somewhere, and later went home and pretended they had been to the theater."
I replaced my cup on the table in front of us. The tray wobbled; Helena reached out quietly and adjusted it.
"So Quinctius Quadratus and Rufius Constans were present during one of the attacks. Do you know which one?"
"No."
"Did either of the young men strike the victim at all?"
"Not as far as I know. Not Constans, I am sure of it."
I linked my fingers, still trying to sound calm. "Thank you for telling me, Claudia. Is that everything?"
"That is all my brother told me. He was hysterical about it. I helped persuade him to go with Grandfather to admit everything to the proconsul-but they weren't able to have an interview. What should I do now?"
"Nothing," I said. One step at a time. I might later want to ask her to consider becoming a court witness, but there were difficulties about calling a woman, especially one of refined birth. Somebody male had to speak for her; it always weakened the case.
Helena glanced at me. She had realized that her plan to invite Claudia to Rome might be doubly useful now. We could get the girl there without antagonizing her grandfather, then maybe ask Claudia to make a statement for the investigating judge, even if she was never called into court.
"Have I done the right thing?"
"Yes. Go home now, Claudia. I shall have to interview Quadratus, but I won't tell him where I learned my information. You need not even tell your grandfather you talked to me, unless you feel you want to."
"So everything is all right!"
Nothing was all right. But we called for her carriage and her armed guards, then we sent her home.
Dawn is the classic time to surprise a villain, though I never knew why. You run a great risk that his doors are locked. While you are kicking them in he wakes up in a sweat, realizes what is happening, and gets his sword out ready to run you through.
It was still early evening. I decided to tackle Quadratus at once.
Aelia Annaea stayed behind with Helena. Marius Optatus came with me. We took his strongest male slaves, plus Marmarides. I strapped on my sword. The others were armed with whatever came to hand, mostly rakes and sticks.
The Quinctius estate was much like others I had visited, though it bore signs of the absentee landlord at his most astute: abundant flocks, tended by the fewest possible shepherds, and secondary cereal crops growing below the olive trees. Everything looked in respectable condition. Moneymakers don't neglect their land. Believe me, there was a great deal of land.
The house had charm and character. Thick walls to keep it cool in summer and cozy in winter. Vine-clad pergolas leading to statues of coy maidens. A separate bathhouse. A terrace for airy exercise. It spoke of wealth, yet wealth possessed by an honest country family. Long harvest lunches taken with the tenantry. Girls with pink cheeks and boys who were keen on horseflesh. Life lived with a constant supply of fresh fodder and an old earthenware jug of home-produced wine always ready to hand.
Amazing. Even their damned house lied.
We told the escort to wait quietly but to rush in like ravening wolves if we signaled them. In the event even bringing them proved unnecessary. Quadratus was not there. He had listened when I advised him to take up his job as quaestor. The same day he came home from staying with us he had packed some note-tablets, taken a litter and a pack mule, a personal bodyslave, clean tunics and a mapskin of the area, then he had told his servants he was going on a surprise tour of the Corduba mines. The procurator whose job was to look after them, and who was probably perfectly competent since he had been appointed by Vespasian, would not be too happy at an unannounced official visit. Nor was I, come to that.
Our trip to the estate was not entirely fruitless. I sensed that the staff there had almost been expecting me. They were surly and clearly nervous, and eventually one of them told me they had just been about to send over to fetch me from the Camillus farm when I turned up anyway. Somebody had left a message on the Quinctius premises, a message personally addressed to me. I could tell from the slaves' expressions I was not going to like it, even before they led me and Marius to the stable where this mysterious missive had been scrawled on a hitching post.
All it said was For Falco, followed by a neat pictogram of a human eye.
Lying on the straw below the drawing was the dancing girl called Selia. She was dressed in outdoor clothes, including a wide-brimmed traveling hat tied on over her own loosely knotted brown hair. She was dead. Her skin felt cold, though her limbs were still limp. She had been killed quickly and neatly by pressure to the neck. It was clearly carried out from behind before she realized what was happening. She had been lying here for a few hours. Unless Quadratus had sneaked back unobserved, the killing certainly happened after he had left for the mines. I could not believe he did it. The method was too professional.
If somebody was killing agents who had worked for Laeta, that could well mean they would now try to kill me.
Even before I explained what had just happened at the Quinctius estate, Helena Justina had lost the idyllic tenderness she displayed towards me earlier. She was cool. I did not blame her but I could have coped better with solicitude. We were in the garden again. I had hardly even started to discuss what I planned to do next, but we were close to quarreling. "Not the mines, Falco!"
"Just think of it as a tour of the local industry."
"That's what you were going to say, I suppose-had Marius Optatus not told me the whole truth before you could stop him!" "I don't lie to you."
"You hold things back-if you believe you can get away with it!"
"I'm a man, Helena. I have to try. I tell myself I'm protecting you."
"You're annoying me," she snarled.
I said nothing. Pleasing honesty had failed: time to keep quiet. "Marcus, I'm in an impossible position now! I don't want you to go-but I don't want you to stay with me unwillingly, just because of my condition; I won't be made an excuse. You'd never forgive me afterwards-maybe I wouldn't forgive myself! Besides, I know just how badly you feel about the mines. You suffered all the torments of Hades once in a silver mine; it's too much for you to volunteer again."
"I won't be digging for ore again. All I need to do is to apprehend Quadratus and haul him back to face a trial. But you're right. I'm not irreplaceable. Someone else can go."
Helena frowned. "You think anyone else will bungle it."
"I don't care."
"Of course you care. And I care too!"
Helena's passionate belief in justice was one of the reasons I first fell for her. Single-minded girls are always dangerous. A man can float along for years being cynical and flippant, then some fierce tyrant (who happens to have the advantages of a sweet mind, a delicious expression and a body that is crying out to be entwined with his) sneaks under his defenses; next thing he finds himself taking a stand on some issue he would once have crept away from, simply to impress the girl.
"I am about to be a father. That is my sole priority."
"Oh Didius Falco, you have so many priorities you need an abacus to count them. You always did. You always will."
"Wrong. You're going home, Helena-and I'm staying with you.
"Wrong yourself. You have to finish your work." She had made up her mind now. "I hate it, but that's the only way. You know I can't bear to see you nobly pretending not to fidget, while all the time you're in agony because the bastard has got away."
"I will not break my promise to you."
"I release you from it-temporarily. Marcus, I don't complain. You never pretended to be other than you are, and I never dreamed of reforming you. I love your persistence, though you know how hard it is for me just now… Go and find him, and arrest him. Then dear gods, Marcus-" There were tears she could not resist. "Please promise that as fast as you can you will come back to me."
Tomorrow was the Nones of May. I could still remember clearly that hot night last August in Palmyra which was probably when our baby was conceived. May was only six days old. The child might not be born until the end of the month. I told myself there was still just time to do it all. I told Helena, and hugged her. While she tried not to cry so much that I wouldn't endure it, I in turn kept her close against me so she would not see the gaunt expression on my own face.
I was starting to hate this garden. Helena must have stayed here when we went over to the Quinctius place, as if she was worried that just moving indoors might start the pains again and cause the birth to begin. Her anxiety only increased mine.
While I had been absent Aelia Annaea had kindly kept Helena company. She was still here. When Marius Optatus foolishly created a crisis by confessing that he thought I was now intending to ride after Quadratus, Aelia had quickly drawn him off the scene for a walk in the orchard while Helena tore me to shreds. Aelia seemed to be waiting around to give us the support of a friend when we reached our decision.
Now she walked back to us, leaving Marius. He mooned in the background, as if he had been given definite orders to wait. Aelia Annaea was quiet, but brisk. Owning a gold mine gives a woman distinct confidence. I liked her, perhaps almost as much as Helena did.
She drew up a folding chair, left from our polite afternoon with Claudia. Smiling, she surveyed our present mood. "So everything is settled."
I scowled unhappily. "Are you asking us, or telling us?"
Helena dried her eyes. "Careful, Aelia. Marcus hates bossy women."
"That must be why he lives with one!" Rich widows can be very provocative. I had suffered clients like this-before I learned to turn them down. She grinned at me. "Well I have come to offer suggestions, that is all."
Helena and I both gazed at Aelia; we must have looked pretty wan-faced.
"Marcus Didius has to find Tiberius." Even now from habit Aelia retained the informal use of his name. "Helena, if you intend returning to Rome, I think you should start out gently straightaway. I have been discussing this with Marius, and I'm going to talk to Claudia. Claudia is very unhappy at home. I think she would like to accept your kind invitation to visit Rome."
"I haven't actually asked her-"
"No, but I will! It will be hard to leave her grandparents so soon after her brother's death, but if she waits she'll never go. The excuse will be that she is accompanying you, Helena; you will obviously need help on the journey. So!" Aelia Annaea was direct and well organized. "While Falco goes after the fugitive, you can travel very slowly by road. I'm going to come with you myself as far as the Tarraconensis coast. Claudia will be with us too. We shall take my carriage, which is spacious and comfortable, and I will return in it afterwards. This fellow-" She indicated me- "can ride after us as soon as he is ready, then take you home by sea.
Helena looked troubled. "Marcus may have to attend a court case."
"No," I said. "If there's a court case it will be in Rome."
There were special arrangements for senators-elect. Quadratus would have to be taken back home. There were probably even more interesting arrangements when two different branches of government service had concerned themselves with the crimes. Those arrangements probably featured provisions for silencing me.
"So!" Aelia Annaea exclaimed again brightly. "What do you think?"
I took and kissed her hand. "We think you're wonderful."
"Thank you," said Helena, clearly very relieved. "Aelia, would you enjoy a visit to Rome yourself?"
Aelia Annaea looked a little mysterious. "No, I don't think so at the moment, Helena. I may be busy doing something here in Corduba." She proudly accepted credit for her solution to our own problem, then stood up again, presumably ready to take her leave of us. Since she had originally come with Claudia I asked, "Is Marius Optatus intending to arrange some transport for you?"
"I expect so."
"Would you like me to speak to him?"
"No, don't worry. Marius and I are on good terms."
She smiled. Even without the jewels which normally weighed her down, she was a fine young woman, the more so when she felt cheerful and pleased with herself. Her veil fell back; her hair was loose for the funeral and the softened effect made her look even more appealing. She turned away and walked back to Marius, a slim figure with a firm step.
I was intending to find Marmarides, to tell him that our ways must finally part, thank him, and settle up for the carriage. First, I finally persuaded Helena to go indoors. She rose, a little stiff from sitting so long, her shape thoroughly awkward nowadays. I walked with her, taking her slowly to her room. Then, while she was washing her face in a basin, I went to the shutter and quietly opened it. I whistled under my breath; Helena came to look out with me.
Marius Optatus and Aelia Annaea were standing together under an almond tree. They were fairly close, talking quietly. Aelia was probably explaining her scheme for taking Helena to the coast. She had removed her veil and was twirling it casually from one wrist. Marius held onto a bough above his head; he looked even more relaxed. From his attitude, I suspected Marius was harboring masculine plans.
He spoke. Aelia responded, perhaps rather pertly for she tilted up her chin. Then Marius slipped his free arm right around her waist and drew her to him while they kissed. It seemed a popular move with Aelia. And when Marius slowly let go of the almond bough to embrace her even more closely, it seemed that his love for the lady's gold mine might actually be slightly less important than the love he felt for her.