A Dying Light in Corduba

by Lindsey Davis

  'Anacrites has been attacked - and by thugs who killed one of his agents the same night. He's been taken to a place of safety, but he's likely to die. I need to find out very quickly what is going on.' I remembered how long it had been since I dumped the spy on my mother. It was time to make dutiful enquiries - or to relieve her of the corpse.

  The senator leaned towards me anxiously. 'Are you saying Aulus may have been in danger that night?' Aulus must be his elder son's personal name. One which the young chap was unlikely to invite me to use.

  Unless Aelianus had been dabbling in something far

  bigger than I gave him credit for, I could not believe professional killers would bother with him. 'Don't worry, senator. Presumably your son is an innocent bystander.' I thought the bystanding innocent looked leery, in fact. 'Aelianus, did you realise your dinner host was the Emperor's Chief Spy?'

  The young man seemed chastened. 'I understood something of the sort.'

  'What was your connection with him?'

  'Nothing really.'

  'Then how did you come to meet him?'

  He did not want to tell me, but admitted, 'I had been sent to him with a letter when I returned from Corduba.'

  His father looked surprised. Forestalling his interruption, I asked, 'Who wrote the letter?'

  'It's confidential, Falco.'

  'Not any more!' his father snapped briskly. He wanted to know about this as much as I did. Though he appeared so easygoing, Camillus had old-fashioned views on a father's rights. The fact that none of his children agreed with him was just a father's usual hard luck.

  'It was from the quaestor,' Aelianus replied irritably. Quinctius Quadratus?'

  He looked surprised at my knowledge. 'No, his outgoing predecessor. Cornelius had just heard that his father is sending him on a trip to Greece before he has to come back to Rome. Since I was coming back, he gave tne thing to me.'

  We were talking about the young finance officer in charge of collecting taxes for Rome. 'A provincial quaestor would normally correspond with the Chief Secretary, Claudius Laeta.' His letters would travel via the cursus publicus, the imperial post service. It was quick, secure, and reliable. 'So why send something to Anacrites, and why entrust it to you? You were friendly with this Cornelius?'

  'Yes.'

  'If he wanted it entrusted to safe hands, was this letter very sensitive?'

  'Presumably. Don't ask me what was in it,' Aelianus continued triumphantly, 'because it was heavily sealed and I had strict instructions to deliver it unopened straight to the Palatine.' Very convenient.

  'Were you present when Anacrites read it?'

  'He asked me to wait in another office.'

  'And then what was his reaction?'

  'He came in and invited me to the Baetican dinner as if to thank me for its safe delivery.'

  I changed the subject: 'If you knew the outgoing quaestor, do you know Quinctius Quadratus too?' 'What's that got to do with anything?'

  'He had been meant to attend the dinner as well. His father had booked him a place - but he went to the theatre instead.'

  'I leave the theatre to my brother!' Aelianus sneered self- righteously.

  'Do you know Quadratus?' I repeated.

  'Slightly,' he then admitted. 'He was in Corduba last autumn - preparing himself to bid for the Baetican quaestorship I imagine, though he never came clean at the time. I had a disagreement with him about some work his people did on my father's estate. Now we don't particularly get on.'

  'And besides, you had cornered yourself an invitation from a mighty official? Being noticed by Anacrites would be something to brag about!'

  Aelianus gave me a nasty look. 'Have you finished, Falco?'

  'No,' I snapped back. 'We need to discuss your time in Corduba. Your father sent you out there to gain experience, and you were working informally in the proconsul's office -'

  'I was never privy to policy meetings,' Aelianus took pleasure in telling me.

  'No. It would be an unusual office if the governor's young staff actually noticed what was going on.' While he was here, and under parental supervision, I determined to pick his brains. 'There were some top Baeticans dining with Quinctius Attractus at the dinner. I presume you knew most of them?'

  'Provincials?' Aelianus sounded hurt at being associated with foreigners.

  'Given that men of Hispanic origin fill a third of the Senate that you yourself are trying to join, snobbery is short-sighted. I assume you know who they were! I'm interested in this group: Annaeus Maximus, Licinius Rufius, someone called Norbanus and another called Cyzacus.'

  'Annaeus and Rufius are leading citizens of Corduba.' 'Big in olive oil production?'

  'Annaeus has the largest estate. Licinius isn't far behind.' 'Is there rivalry between the landowners?' his father put in.

  'Only mild jostling.' This was better. When he cooperated, Aelianus was a useful witness. The best kind: he liked showing off. He lacked the dry wit of other members of his family, but had grown up with their analytical attitude. He was, moreover, a great deal more intelligent than he wanted to allow himself to be. 'The producers all compete to obtain the highest yield and quality, and to demand the best prices, but in general there is a good community spirit. Their main obsessions are getting rich, then demonstrating their wealth by way of luxurious houses, benefactions in the community, and holding local magistracies and priesthoods. Long-term, they all want to buy positions in Rome if possible. They take pride in anyone from Corduba being successful, because that increases the status of all.'

  'Thanks,' I said, rather surprised at his sudden fluency.

  'What about the other two names Falco mentioned?' enquired the senator, who was taking a keen interest.

  'Cyzacus is from Hispalis. He runs a fleet of barges; upriver at Corduba the Baetis is too narrow for big vessels, so bargees take the amphorae downstream. I knew him by sight, but that's all.'

  'Not a producer himself?'

  'No, he just collects. And Norbanus is a negotiator.' 'Negotiating what?' I asked.

  Aelianus gave me a pitying look. 'Negotiating anything, but mostly space on the ocean-going ships that pick up the amphorae of oil once they are assembled at Hispalis. He's a Gaul.' The young man was dismissive.

  'So everybody hates him!'

  'Well, even provincials need someone else to despise, Marcus.' The senator joked, while his son merely looked superior.

  'I'm getting a picture of a happy flock of middlemen,' I commented. The estate owners produce the oil, then the bargemen take it downstream to an entrep that's Hispalis - after which negotiators find it space in ships to take it abroad. So producers, bargemen, negotiators, and ship-owners are all expecting their cut. This is before any retailers in the Emporium and the Roman markets get their sticky fingers on the amphorae. If all these chancers are creaming off profits, no wonder we pay nice prices.'

  'It's no worse than any other commodity.' Camillus Verus was a fair man.

  'Except that oil carries the highest premium. It's a commodity everybody needs, from the Emperor down.' I turned back to Aelianus. 'So what is your evaluation of the commercial situation?'

  He shrugged. 'Olive oil is increasingly important. Production in Baetica is rising steeply. It's rapidly overtaking the traditional sources in Greece or Italy. That's partly because from Spain it's easy to send it north to meet the huge demand in Gaul, Britain and Germany, as well as dispatching it direct to Rome. It's fine quality for emollient usages - and the taste is reckoned to be special too. The producers in Baetica are lucky men. There are fortunes to be made.'

  'A star product.' I looked him in the eye. 'And what's the scope for funny business?'

  'I don't know what you mean, Falco.'

  'Price-fixing, for example,' I specified crisply. Once I started considering how many amphorae of olive oil were being shipped around the Empire, I realised that millions of sesterces were involved. 'Cornering the market and withholding supplies - The usual pretty tricks of commerce a
re what I mean!'

  'I wouldn't know.' Now he had shown us that his time in the governor's office had at least taught him to give a sensible briefing, I reckoned he was being disingenuous.

  I had no more to ask. His father let Aelianus go. The young man said he was off out again; Decimus told him to stay indoors, though he did not make too much of giving the order, in case Aelianus disobeyed.

  Just as he reached the doorway I called out, 'One more thing!' He made the mistake of stopping. 'You carried the mysterious letter to Anacrites with you. How did you travel to Rome? By sea or land?'

  'By sea.'

  'That's a week's journey?' He nodded, and I gave him a pleasant grin. 'So tell me, Aulus -' He finally noticed I was not being friendly. 'What exactly did you read in the letter when your curiosity broke and you picked the seal?'

  To his credit, Aulus Camillus Aelianus managed not to blush. He knew when he was rumbled. He sighed, thought about it, then slowly admitted the truth: 'It was a reply to a request from Anacrites to the proconsul for a report on the stability of the oil market. The quaestor had assessed the situation, and answered on the lines of what I told you earlier: that olive oil is going to be very big business.' Aelianus braced himself then added honestly, 'He also confirmed what you suggested, Falco - that there might be some scheming locally in Corduba. A possible cartel to rig and control the price of oil. He felt it was at an early stage, and could be contained.'

  'Did he name names?'

  'No,' said the noble Aelianus, rather quietly. 'But he said

  that the proconsul had asked him to mention that enquiries had not been welcome. He felt the situation could become dangerous for everyone involved.'

  XV

  Without speaking, the senator and I walked slowly through the house in search of our womenfolk. It was dusk, on one of the first fine nights of the year. Passing through a folding door that gave access to the garden we dabbled our fingers in a hiccuppy fountain then joined Julia Justa who was reclining under a portico, eating grapes. She regarded us in silence. She could certainly pluck fruit from its stem m a telling manner: she was a woman with burdens, and we two men were contributors to her grief.

  The senator had learned how to live with reproach; he surveyed the roses on his sagging trelliswork, apparently oblivious. I stayed on my feet, close to a pillar, with my arms folded. On the other side of the colonnade, which was dimly lit by oil lamps, I could see Helena Justina. She had separated from her mother for some reason (one I could guess) and was picking dead leaves from a huge urn of neglected agapanthus. I watched, waiting for her to look across and notice me.

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

  Helena still told me her private thoughts. I knew she wanted the baby to be a girl (and I knew why). I also knew that if one more person asked if she was hoping for a boy, she was likely to knock them down and jump on their heads. She was heartily sick of being nagged. And the main

  reason she was starting to lose her temper was that she was afraid. I had promised to stay near and share everything with her, but she reckoned when it came to it I would find an excuse to escape. Everyone we knew believed I would let her down.

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

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

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

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

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

  'Be disbanded?'

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

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

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

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

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

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

  'Who's the bureaucrat?'

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

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

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

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

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

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

  'I'm only surprised you don't suggest taking her with you!' her mother sniffed.

  .This was unfair when I had already taken the decent line. Helena Justina's smile was dangerously quiet. 'Oh, taking me away to Baetica is out of the question!' she said.

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

  XVI

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