A Dying Light In Corduba Part 28

'Oh, mine are just horses, wine, men's talk, and women in their boudoirs getting undressed.' Helena raised her eyebrows and I thought it best to produce a rapid, lightly censored version of my time in Hispalis. She was not best pleased with the part about Selia, I could tell. Being an informer had taught me to recognise growling and grinding of teeth.

'Bad news, Falco.'

'I won't have that! I protest I'm innocent.'

'I think you made up the whole story.' She had guessed that I had pruned it. 'What a puzzle your dancer is! Is shethe killer? Is she seeking the killer for Laeta? Will her ravishing figure distract you from your family loyalties? Will she beat you up again? Or will she just beat you at your own game?'

I tried not to wince as Helena moved to buff up certain lower regions that preferred softer treatment. 'Spare me the exotic ma.s.sage ... A procurator called Placidus has a dagger gash that proves what she wanted. Selia was not after my body, unless it was dead. I beat up her guards and captured them; they will stand trial before the proconsul on the basis of a report I've left with the vigiles about that night in Rome. I was supposed to stay - material witness - but I waved my pa.s.s from Laeta and pleaded urgent secret work.'

'Dry your own feet please,' said Helena. 'I'm too large to reach -'

'You're adorable. Better than a Syrian bodyslave -' 'When have you been cosseted by a bodyslave?'

'They fling themselves on me all the time. Beautiful girlswith terrific hands, and slinky boys with very longeyelashes ...'

Helena's chin came up. 'There's one more thing I haven't told you yet. The cook told me that while I was resting one day a woman came here looking for you.'

'Selia?' Was she pursuing me?

'It can't be,' Helena informed me coolly, drying her own hair. 'This one was here three days ago, Falco - when according to you, you were pinning the unclad Selia to a cosmetics table in Hispalis. I had not realised you were so sought-after.'

'Oh G.o.ds! You know what this means: I'm not just being beaten up by one female agent - Anacrites' special charmer wants her turn as well!'

I was so depressed that Helena relented. She kissed me, fairly gently. Then she took me by the hand again, and led me away on stumbling feet to bed.

LIV LIV.

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 ma.s.seur 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 Helena's 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 a.s.sistance - no a.s.sistance 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 att.i.tude 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, travelling 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, plainstyle that emphasised the large shape of her nose. As a wealthy heiress she ought to be enjoying herself in elaborate funeral drapes pinned together with onyx jewellery. 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 hadnoticed 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 circ.u.mstances. 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 bath-house) tapped on the door politely - in case we were discussing anything private - then as we all fell abruptly silent he strolled into the room.

LV LV.

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 forwards 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 st.u.r.dy for him to took 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 t.i.tle 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 criticises 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 a.s.sumed 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 s.n.a.t.c.hed Anacrites' position. I may as well give this one a chance to d.a.m.n 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 realised. '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 leftalone 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 cau 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 that.

LVI LVI.

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 s.p.a.ce. 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 n.o.body could pa.s.s 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. Aflock 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 quant.i.ty 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.