‘You feel all the better for it, don’t you? Admit it.’
Yeah, well, I supposed she had a point; maybe I should cut down a little in future. I got up, went over to the wine flask, poured myself a whopper, and carried it back to the couch, stopping to kiss her on the way.
‘That’s more like it,’ she said. ‘Now. Tell me about your day.’
I told her.
‘So the Cabirus side of things is definitely hanging fire for the present,’ I finished. ‘Although there may be some mileage in what Balbinus was just telling me when you arrived, about Florus planning to massacre Augusta’s mercantile community. At least, the Roman part of it plus the obvious sympathizers.’
‘How so?’ Perilla said. ‘I could see that there might be if the family had got wind of the revolt in advance and fled to Lugdunum beforehand for safety, but that’s not right; at least from what you’ve already told me I don’t think it can be. They left Augusta after the revolt, not before, and, unless I’ve misunderstood completely there wasn’t anything particularly fly-by-night about the move. While if everything was forgive-and-forget after the crisis was over it wouldn’t have mattered which side they were on. If any.’
‘Yeah.’ I frowned; she was right, of course, but there was something there that was important. ‘Don’t forget, though, that Diligenta’s – and Quadrunia’s – brother supported the rebels.’
‘The same argument applies, surely. He may have done, but that was water under the bridge.’
‘Agreed. Still, I’d like to know what happened to the guy. At present all we have is that he disappeared into the sunset and none of the family know where to. Or say they don’t, rather, which is a different thing entirely.’ I took a morose swallow of wine. ‘Hell. Leave it. It’ll come, with luck, if it’s important.’
‘How about the other thing? Balbinus’s two murders?’
‘Yeah; that’s a real poser. Drutus had to be crooked in some way for the whole assignation scenario to fit, only from all accounts – and accounts by people who knew him well, including his lady friend – he wasn’t. He didn’t seem to have any enemies, either; he was just an ordinary merchant. So why the hell should he end up with his throat slit at an ungodly hour in the middle of nowhere? And presumably have arranged to go there off his own bat? It just doesn’t make sense.’
‘What about the coin?’
‘Perilla, I don’t know, right? Balbinus was pretty definite about it not being Gaulish. He did think it might be British, sure, but that doesn’t mean much: Drutus was a merchant, and gold’s gold, whatever the markings. It travels, changes hands. He could’ve got it as part of a payment, from anyone, at any time.’
‘So why should he give it to his woman friend for safe keeping?’ She was twisting her lock of hair. ‘Of course, it could have had some significance apart from its monetary value.’
‘I thought of that.’ I took another sip of the wine: gods, but that was good! ‘Of course I did. Still, what sort of significance could it have?’
‘A token? Like the half coins that are passed down families as proof of inherited guest-friendship?’
I could see what she was getting at: splitting a coin is a good old Roman custom whereby someone on a journey can turn up at a stranger’s door, show his half of the coin as proof of his bona fides, and claim a night’s board and lodging: useful if you don’t want to pick up a cargo of fleas or a dose of gut-rot by spending the night at a roadside inn. And there isn’t any time limit on the deal either: some of those coins are passed down the generations, and the deal is still valid even if neither party has claimed their right in living memory.
‘It’s a possibility,’ I said. ‘But you hit the same problem: the guy was no one special, a merchant from Durocortorum, less than two hundred miles from here. Say for the sake of argument the coin was British, and by extension, if it was a token, there was a British connection. If we’d been on the other side of the country, near the Gallic Strait, and Drutus had trading interests with the tribes on the British side, then I could understand it. But as far as I know his trade was all with the legionary bases on the Rhine. He was a local, more or less. He didn’t go anywhere near Britain.’
‘That’s only as far as you know, dear. It’s something to check, certainly. Balbinus will be able to tell you.’
‘Yeah. Even so, I can be pretty certain what his answer will be. If that were the case he would’ve mentioned it straight off when I showed him the coin in the first place. No, the whole thing’s a dog’s breakfast.’
‘So what do you do now?’
I shrugged. ‘The priority’s the Cabirus side of things. If Balbinus can’t help with that, at least at present, then I’ll just have to do what I always do, muddle along and hope something turns up.’
‘Never mind, Marcus. No doubt it’ll all make sense eventually.’
‘You think so?’ I said sourly. ‘Read my lips: we are definitely floundering here.’
‘It can’t be that bad, surely.’
‘Believe it.’
Hell.
SIXTEEN
The situation wasn’t completely black, mind. Stymied we might be, but when a case hits the buffers I’ve always gone for two courses of action to get things moving again: a) rattle the cages of whatever bastards you think are in the running and see whether they jump, and b) find a wineshop with a barman or bar fly who’s more than delighted to dig the dirt and keep your ears open. The first, unfortunately, wasn’t an option this time because our list of possible perps was zilch. That – now that I was officially if not off the wagon at least perched on the tail-gate, and thank the gods for small mercies – left the second …
Or at least it would’ve done anywhere other than bloody Augusta Treverorum. Tight-mouthed and clannish was right: after four days of trying and a dozen cups of wine – I’d conscientiously limited my intake to a single cupful per establishment – all I’d got was a succession of stony silences and looks that were the equivalent of the straight finger.
Let’s hear it for Gaulish solidarity. Everyone hates the Roman.
So there I was, late morning four days down the road, trying my luck in the thirteenth wineshop and getting nowhere fast, when Vercingetorix walks in, does a double-take, hesitates, then comes on over to join me at the bar.
‘Valerius Corvinus, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘We travelled up from Lugdunum together.’
‘Ah … yeah. Yeah, that’s me. And yes, we did.’ I moved my stool along so he could pull his closer to the counter. ‘You’re, uh …’
‘Segomarus. Segus, for short.’ He was looking up at the wine board. ‘What would you recommend?’
‘Pass.’ I was staring at him. ‘It’s my first time in here and I’ve only had the one. The Cabellian. From just outside Massilia, I think. It’s not that bad.’
‘Fine.’ He ignored the stare and turned to the barman. ‘Make it a cup of the Cabellian, please.’
‘Ah … excuse me, pal, and no offence,’ I said. ‘But you speak good Latin.’
‘Shouldn’t I?’
‘Not according to Titus Cabirus.’
‘Who?’
‘The young officer who was in charge of Procurator Laco’s guard on the way here.’
He laughed. ‘Oh. Yes, of course, I’m sorry. Then it’s a misunderstanding on his part. We happened to share a bench at the Lugdunum baths, he spoke to me in Celtic, and I answered in the same. Of course; you were there yourself that day, weren’t you?’
‘Yeah, I was. If I recall correctly, you gave me a look that would curdle milk and stalked off.’
‘Did I? Then it absolutely wasn’t intentional, and nothing to do with you. My stomach was playing up, and I was probably dashing off to the latrine. If I offended you then I apologize.’
‘No need. Maybe it was preoccupation rather than a scowl at that.’
‘Anyway, on the few occasions the lad and I happened to exchange words on the journey up here from Lugdunum we spoke Celtic. To tell you the trut
h, I encouraged it, which might explain things; it’s getting so as you hardly hear Celtic spoken any more outside the country districts, or not in this part of the country, particularly by the youngsters. A sign of the times, I’m afraid.’ The barman set the wine-cup down in front of him. He paid and took a cautious sip. ‘You’re right, this isn’t bad at all. A bit on the tart side for Cabellian, mind.’
Bloody hell, first the guy spoke Latin better than I did and now he turned out to be a fellow wine aficionado. It just showed you couldn’t go by appearances.
‘You’re from, ah …’ I couldn’t remember the name of the place. ‘Over in the west.’
‘Burdigala. That’s right. But I travel around a lot.’
‘On business?’
‘I don’t do it for fun, Corvinus. I’m a merchant. Of course, on business.’
‘So what kind of business?’
He held up the wine-cup. ‘Wine, as a matter of fact. A family firm. My father started it fifty years back. He’s long dead now, but my brothers and I keep it on.’
‘You produce your own wine over there?’
‘Oh, no. Not at present, but trust me that’s going to change. The climate’s perfect for vines, and the soil’s good, too. Once we have the vineyards planted and established we’ll be off and running, producing wine that’s good enough to match Massilia’s, at least. Say ten or fifteen years, at most.’
‘Is that so?’
‘That’s indeed so. It’s why I’m here, on this side of the country where the vineyards are. Studying methods, assessing the markets for the future, while my brothers keep the import–export side of things going back home.’
‘You do any trade with Britain?’
He’d been lifting the cup to his mouth. Now he set it down again.
‘Why do you ask that?’ he said.
‘No particular reason. It’s just that Britain happens to be in the front of my mind at present.’
‘No, none at all. Burdigala’s a long way from the Gallic Strait, and all the exports – imports, too – go through Itius and Gesoriacum. Our market’s mostly local, or south towards the Spanish border. Mind you, if the rumours are right and the emperor intends to add Britain to the empire then that could well change.’
‘I wouldn’t’ve thought you’d be holding your breath on that one, pal. He has to take the place first, and it’d be years before any sort of market built up.’
‘We’re thinking in terms of years. And if things work out then within a decade Burdigala will have the only stretch of quality commercial vineyard in western Gaul. That’s something to aim at, isn’t it?’
‘It is, indeed. Good luck to you.’
‘So.’ He took a swallow of wine. ‘Why are you here, yourself?’
‘You mean you don’t know?’
‘Why should I?’
‘No reason. But if you don’t then given the way news spreads over here you’re probably the only person in Augusta who doesn’t.’
He laughed. ‘Believe me, I’ve better things to occupy my time than listen to wineshop gossip. Oh, I know you’re official, you have to be, but what kind of official exactly I’ve no idea.’
I told him. He nodded.
‘Interesting,’ he said. ‘This Tiberius Claudius Cabirus. He’d be a relative of the young guards officer?’
‘Yeah. His father, as a matter of fact.’
‘There’s a Quintus Cabirus, too. Or am I wrong?’
‘That’s the brother. You know him?’
‘No, we haven’t met. But I have heard the name, here and in Lugdunum; naturally, I have, since we’re in the same business. I didn’t make the connection with our young tribune, though. That was dense of me, although to be fair he probably only gave me his name once.’ He drained the last of his wine and signalled to the barman. ‘You want another?’
‘No, I’m fine,’ I said. Bugger.
‘It still doesn’t explain why you’re here in Augusta, though, does it? I mean, if the murder happened in Lugdunum.’
‘Yeah, well, it’s complicated,’ I said. ‘Basically, I need to know more about a bit of family history. The Cabiri moved from here to Lugdunum twenty years back, immediately after the Florus revolt. Me, I think they were pushed, for some reason. Or maybe they thought themselves that a move south would be healthier. It’s all guesswork, sure, and the whole thing may be a mare’s nest to begin with, but even so. It’s important, I can feel that in my gut.’
He’d raised his eyebrows. ‘Can’t you just ask around?’ he said. ‘I’m assuming, naturally, that the family won’t tell you themselves. Someone must know the details.’
‘You’re not Roman, pal. One look at the nose and the purple stripe and the locals zip up. I’ve met more talkative clams.’
‘Yes, I can appreciate the problem. Tricky.’
‘Bet your sandal straps it is. Only from where I’m standing the right word’s “impossible”.’ I finished off the last of my own wine at a gulp and stood up. ‘Anyway, it was nice talking to you. I’ll see you around.’
I was turning to go when he said: ‘Do you want any help?’
I stopped, and turned back.
‘How do you mean?’ I said.
‘You said yourself. I’m not Roman. And I’m not particularly busy at present. Nothing that can’t wait a few days, certainly. Maybe I’d have better luck.’
‘You serious?’
‘Of course I am. I told you; I’m interested. I don’t come cheap, mind.’ He touched the full cup the barman had put in front of him. ‘Buy me this and it’s a deal.’
‘Fair enough.’ I grinned and reached for my belt-pouch. ‘You want the jug?’
‘No, I’m not greedy. Just that second cup will do fine, for the present. We’ll leave standing me the whole jug until the job’s done. If it ever is.’
‘Fair enough. It’s a bargain.’ I put the coins on the counter. ‘Only forget wineshops. I’ve probably queered the pitch where those are concerned over the past three days.’
‘Oh, I think I can manage. Just leave it with me. You’re staying at the residence, right?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Then if and when I find out anything, I’ll let you know.’
‘That’s great.’ It was, too. I felt happier than I had for days. ‘Thanks, friend.’
‘Don’t mention it.’
I went home.
Score one for the wineshop ploy, after all.
Not that, as it turned out, I could put my feet up quite yet. When I got back there was a message waiting from Balbinus, asking me to meet him ASAP in the provincial admin building across the road from the residence itself.
Hey! ASAP, right? Maybe things were moving after all. I went straight over.
The clerk on duty took me through to Balbinus’s office. He was sitting at his desk reading, and when the clerk showed me in he looked up.
‘Corvinus.’ He laid the wax tablet to one side, on top of two or three others. ‘Good of you to come so promptly. Pull up a stool, if you would.’ Then, to the clerk: ‘Thank you, Sextus. That’s all. Close the door behind you, please, and make sure we’re not disturbed.’
Shit; this did not look good, after all. And whatever else he was, Balbinus was currently not a happy bunny.
I sat. Balbinus waited until the door was closed.
‘There’ve been developments,’ he said.
‘Yeah?’
‘Nothing to do with you. Or at least, I hope not. But I don’t like coincidences, myself, and this is a little too coincidental for comfort, which is why I thought you’d better know about it straight away.’ He indicated the message tablets. ‘We have problems. Or at least I think we have.’
‘What kind of problems?’
‘Someone’s trying to stir up trouble among the locals.’ He glanced at me. ‘You’re not surprised?’
‘Actually, no,’ I said. ‘Or not too surprised, anyway. Licinius Nerva, the governor’s aide in Lugdunum, said something might be happening along those
lines.’
‘Really?’ Balbinus frowned. ‘Then he knew more than I did before now. Or perhaps his governor keeps him better informed than mine does, which may well be the case.’ Hmm. Well, every provincial governor had his own way of doing things, and after all Balbinus would normally be based at Durocortorum, two hundred miles away. Still, I could tell that it rankled. ‘Oh, it’s nothing definite, let alone anyone in particular we can point the finger at. In fact, I’d be happier if there was, because then at least we could nail him before he does any real harm. Just a rumour. Or rumours, rather, and strong ones, because we’re hearing them from more than one source. I might discount them myself – you always get a degree of grumbling with provincials, and the chances are it won’t come to anything – but under the present circumstances as Governor Hister’s current rep I can’t take risks, either way.’
Right; the up-and-coming British campaign. I knew enough about political and military affairs to know that mounting an invasion while leaving civil unrest at your back – even if it didn’t amount to a full-scale revolt – was a bad, bad idea. ‘You’ve told the governor?’ I said.
‘Of course I have. I sent a messenger as soon as I knew myself. Fortunately, although it’s still bad enough, the trouble seems to be fairly localized at present, which isn’t surprising.’
‘Why’s that?’
He gave a quick smile. ‘You want a history lesson, Corvinus? I told you before: this part of Gaul has always been particularly difficult; it was no coincidence that the Treveri were one of the only two tribes that rose twenty years back. And it predates us. The Treveri and the Remi – that’s the tribe around Durocortorum – had been at daggers drawn for centuries. If the Remi went one way, which they did by taking our side from the start, the Treveri automatically went the other, and that’s still the case, in principle. The reason Florus failed was that he couldn’t win over his auxiliaries; as far as the ordinary locals were concerned, he’d all the support he needed. And of course after the revolt was put down the Treveri as a tribe were severely penalized – reparations, loss of their free status, higher taxes, and just plain distrust – so that didn’t help matters any. Only twenty years back, mind, and that’s nothing to a Gaul. So the consequence is that there’s a lot of hatred under the surface, and they only reason they don’t show it much is that they can’t, not publicly. If anyone did want to stir up trouble for any reason then here’s the perfect place. Added to which, there’s something even more worrying.’
Foreign Bodies Page 20
