Bodies Politic

by David Wishart

  The three drunks unpeeled themselves from their respective wall and pillar and wove their unsteady way towards me, cutting me off. The guy with the wine jug brandished it.

  ‘Hey, Roman!’ he yelled. ‘Have a drink on us! Celebrate King Cabbage Day!’

  Hell. Still, they looked harmless enough. Certainly cheerful.

  ‘Sorry, lads,’ I said; they were only about a dozen yards off now. ‘Places to go and things to do. Maybe another time. ’

  ‘Oh, come on, you poncy Roman bastard! It’s King Cabbage Day, and one drink won’t kill you!’ The drunk with the wine jug spread his arms. Wine spilled...

  And then he’d dropped the jug, which smashed on the flagstones, and he and his pals were rushing forward, not stumbling-drunk, not drunk at all. I caught the gleam of a knife in the lead-man’s hand as his arm went back...

  Oh, shit.

  I’d no time to defend myself as the knife drove at my gut, but I managed to twist sideways and grab him round the shoulders, hugging him close. I felt the knife tear through the loose part of my tunic and brought my knee up hard. He grunted and doubled over.

  The other two came in either side, pinning my arms as he pulled himself free.

  ‘Hold him steady!’ he snapped. I struggled, but they had a good grip and there wasn’t much I could do. He straightened, drew back his knife arm again and...

  There was a dull thud. The guy jerked forwards like someone had shoved him smartly from behind. His mouth and eyes opened, and he was suddenly toppling towards me, the knife slipping from his fingers to clatter on the stone paving.

  Which was when I saw the javelin in his back.

  The others saw it too. They glanced up. One of them said, softly, ‘Fuck.’

  Then they turned and ran. For about three yards, before the other two javelins got them.

  I’d twisted round to watch them go. There was the sound of running hobnail sandals behind me and I looked back.

  Yeah, well, maybe Rome was there when you needed her after all. I took a deep breath, held it and let it out. Gods, that’d been close!

  ‘You all right, sir?’ The officer commanding the batch of squaddies was hurrying over as the three legionaries went to recover their weapons and check the bodies for signs of life. Not from the looks of things that there was much chance of that.

  ‘Yeah.’ I examined my tunic. A tear as long as my hand, but I hadn’t been so much as scratched. ‘Yeah, I’m fine.’ I registered his insignia. ‘No permanent damage, tribune. Thanks.’

  ‘Then you’re bloody lucky. If we’d come out of that side street a heartbeat later you’d’ve been dead.’

  I grinned. ‘You don’t have to tell me that, pal. And thanks especially to you three buggers.’ I gave the three returning squaddies my best sloppy military salute. ‘Nice throws.’

  The nearest guy chuckled and spat on the roadway. ‘Our pleasure, sir. Keeps us in practice.’

  ‘Care to tell me what happened?’ the tribune said.

  ‘I saw them up ahead, started crossing the road to avoid them and they came after me. Then they went for me and you and the lads turned up. That’s all I know.’

  He shook his head. ‘Then it makes no sense. It’s broad daylight, a public place, you’re obviously a Roman. No knifeman in the city would dare. They didn’t even threaten you first? Ask for your purse?’

  ‘No. They were drunk, mind.’ They hadn’t been, of course, but I wasn’t telling him that, however grateful I was. I wanted to think about it first.

  ‘It’s still crazy. That sort of thing just doesn’t happen in Alexandria.’ I said nothing. ‘Your name, sir? Just for the record.’

  ‘Marcus Valerius Corvinus.’

  He held out a hand. ‘Marcus Gallius, tribune with the twenty-second. Pleased to meet you.’

  ‘Likewise. Obviously.’ We shook. ‘Uh, you have time for a cup of wine somewhere, pal, or are you seriously on duty? I owe you that, at least. I owe you the jar. Oh, and speaking of which’ - I reached into my purse and brought out the three gold pieces that were among the silver and copper - ‘perhaps your lads will accept a small contribution to the Javelin-Hefters’ Benevolent Fund. With my gratitude and congratulations.’

  Gallius took them and sucked on a tooth. ‘Well, now,’ he said. ‘Regarding the wine, I’m not actually on duty at all as such. And interviewing the victim of an attempted murder, especially if he’s from one of the oldest families in Rome, would be a reasonable cause for coming off it if I was. So you’re on.’ He turned to the squaddies, who were taking a lounging break. ‘Hey, Quintus!’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ The first javelin man came over and saluted.

  ‘Take over. See that this mess is cleared up.’

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘Oh, and these are compliments of Valerius Corvinus here.’ He handed over the three gold pieces. ‘I’ve given him my word that you and your mates won’t spend them on loose women and drink.’

  The man grinned, revealing a set of random teeth. ‘Sir!’ He saluted both of us and went back to his troop, dispatching half a dozen of them to lug the corpses back towards the portico.

  ‘You care to recommend a wineshop?’ I said. ‘We only arrived yesterday and I don’t know the place yet.’

  ‘Jupiter!’ Gallius chuckled. ‘You’ve only been here two days and someone tries to knife you?’

  ‘So it would appear. Maybe I’m just unlucky.’ Yeah; sure I was. But that aspect of things wanted mature consideration, and I hadn’t got the time at present. Besides, this fresh-faced kid didn’t need the complication.

  ‘We’ll go to Hagnon’s. It’s not far, and he serves good Mareotis. Not the best in the city, but close.’

  ‘Fine by me, pal,’ I said. ‘Lead on.’

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  It wasn’t far; back a bit the way I’d come and down one of the side streets. Yeah; this’d do: a wineshop with a courtyard garden at the rear, tables and wickerwork chairs under a spreading vine cover. We settled down, the waiter came over and I ordered half a jug of the Mareotis.

  ‘So,’ Gallius said, ‘what’re you doing in Alex, Corvinus? Business or pleasure?’

  ‘Bit of both.’ I told him about Perilla and the bridesmaids’ dress material.

  He shook his head. ‘You came all this way just to buy cloth?’

  ‘So it seems.’

  ‘Jupiter, how the other half live!’

  ‘Yeah, well. How about you? You been here long?’

  ‘Long enough. Just short of a year now. My uncle - my mother’s brother - got me the posting. You know him? Crispus Passienus?’

  ‘Uh-uh. I don’t get out much.’ I knew the name, though. The lad - he couldn’t’ve been any older than early twenties, twenty-five absolute max - had impressive connections: Sallustius Crispus Passienus, I remembered, had held the consulship about ten years back, and he was still well up on the military side. ‘You enjoying it?’

  ‘It’s okay.’ He took a sip of the wine. It was good stuff: not great, in comparison with Stratocles’s, but more than passible, like he’d said. The guy knew his wine. ‘Quiet. Saving occasional visiting purple-stripers from knife attacks aside.’

  ‘Yeah. Right.’

  ‘I still can’t get over that, Corvinus. It really does make no sense at all. Maybe it’s just something in the air just now.’

  ‘Like the King Cabbage procession.’

  ‘You get caught up in that?’

  ‘I saw it, sure.’ I took a careful swallow of wine. ‘Not that I could miss it if I was in the area. Where were the troops, incidentally? Or did it take the authorities that much by surprise?’

  ‘Oh, we knew it was going to happen. Only we’d orders from the governor not to interfere.’

  I kept my voice neutral. ‘Is that so, now?’

  ‘Strictly hands off.’ Gallius was bitter, and it showed; still, he wouldn’t bad-mouth his commanding officer to a civilian, especially one he’d just met. That was standard army etiquette.

 
‘So what were you and the lads doing on the street? Besides saving my skin for me?’

  That got me a weak smile. ‘I told you. I wasn’t on duty. I thought I’d just ask for a few volunteers and take a stroll through the city.’ Yeah; right. I’d been wondering what a tribune was doing out on patrol with a scant dozen squaddies. That was a centurion’s job, if it rated even that highly. We’d got a man who took his responsibilities seriously here, even in the face of orders. ‘And the gratitude needn’t go all the one way. For what it was worth that was the first action I’ve seen since I arrived. So far it’s been the highlight of the posting.’

  ‘Quiet as that, eh?’ Me, I’d settle for the easy life any day, but it wasn’t an unfamiliar complaint, especially coming from youngsters like Gallius: I’d heard it a dozen times in the past from friends of mine who’d done their compulsory stint with the Eagles before getting their foot on the first rung of the political ladder. They expected battle and excitement on the frontiers, and what they got, nine times out of ten, was boring routine and mind-numbing admin. Mind you, the tenth time could leave them dead or scarred for life, but they didn’t think of that. Nor would it’ve stopped them if they had.

  Gallius took another swallow of wine. ‘Oh, I’m not complaining,’ he said. ‘I was lucky to get my tribuneship at all, the twenty-second’s a good bunch, and there’re far worse places to be than Alex.’

  ‘Like the Rhine,’ I said. ‘I’ve never been there myself, but I’ve a good friend in Rome who was with Varus in the Teutoburg. He said it still gives him nightmares, even thirty years on.’

  Gallius set his cup down slowly and stared at me. ‘You know someone who was with Varus?’

  ‘Sure. He was his orderly, in fact.’

  ‘I thought they were all killed. Massacred. All three legions.’

  ‘He was lucky. He escaped.’

  ‘Gods!’ He took a swallow of wine. ‘Did he ever meet Germanicus?’

  ‘Uh-uh. That was after his time.’ It never fails: mention the Rhine in Augustus’s day to anyone who’s army and that bastard’s name comes up like a twitch. And with that same starry-eyed look and reverent tone of voice. It makes me want to throw up. ‘You’re better off here, pal. Believe me.’

  ‘Corvinus, I’d trade places with any guy in one of the Rhine legions like a shot, and hand him six months’ pay into the bargain. Especially now.’

  ‘Yeah?’ He meant it, too. Jupiter! ‘And what’s so special about now?’

  That got me another stare, right across the army/civilian divide. ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘Uh-uh. Why should I?’

  ‘There’s going to be another push to the north, a big one, chances are a crossing-over into Britain. Next year, so my uncle says.’

  Shit. I’d’ve thought Gaius would’ve had more sense: pushing the empire’s boundaries beyond the Rhine has always proved a mistake in the long run, a costly mistake too. That’s why, after he learned better, Augustus didn’t do it, nor - more significantly - did the Wart: Tiberius had been a hands-on soldier himself. And Germany was bad enough, but Britain! That was opening a whole new can of worms.

  ‘So the Rhine’s the place to be, or will be soon,’ Gallius was saying. ‘Only me, unless I can persuade my uncle somehow to get me a transfer, I’ll be stuck here in bloody Alex.’ He took another swallow of wine and grinned. ‘Never mind. Like I say, it isn’t a bad place to be, all round.’

  I topped up our cups. ‘You think there’ll be more trouble? Between the Jews and Greeks?’

  ‘Could be. Feelings’re running pretty high, especially on the Greek side. If Governor Flaccus doesn’t -’ He stopped and drank; yeah, we’d got onto sensitive ground again there. ‘I might get my bit of excitement after all, not that I’d be glad to have it at that price. Herod bloody Agrippa being here isn’t helping matters much, either. The most constructive thing that interfering bastard can do is sail for Judea tomorrow and let things settle down a bit.’

  Yeah, right, I was with him on that. A spark to the tinder, Stratocles had said, and that just summed him up. Problem was, once tinder has caught alight it’s difficult to put out. ‘Has he, uh, seen the governor at all?’

  ‘Sure. He went straight to the Palace from his ship, didn’t even wait for an invite. Not just him; his entire fucking bodyguard as well, like he was some sort of visiting royalty. Which he is, of course, but you know what I mean. Like he was the one calling the shots. That was another thing that put the Greeks’ backs up.’ He drank again. ‘Have you arranged to see Flaccus yet yourself, by the way?’

  I felt my pulse quicken. ‘Uh-uh. No reason to. I said: we’re just holidaymakers, more or less.’

  ‘You’ve got a reason now. Roman purple-stripers don’t get attacked in the street without the governor wanting to know about it. I’ll be putting in a report, naturally, but you might like to give him the circumstances first hand, if you can spare the time.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Jupiter! ‘Yeah, I can do that. Sure.’

  ‘No problem, then. I’ll set up an appointment with his aide and let you know. Where’re you staying?’

  ‘With Fabius Stratocles. You know him?’

  ‘The paper merchant? Sure. He’s a big man here in business circles. You connected in any way?’

  ‘Not me, not directly. He’s a freedman of my wife’s late uncle.’

  Gallius chuckled. ‘Then he’s done pretty well for himself. Better than I’ll ever do, certainly. Fine. I’ll make the arrangements and send to let you know. It should be within the next couple of days.’

  ‘Great!’ I indicated the wine jug. ‘You want the second half?’

  ‘No, I’d best be getting back. I’m on duty at sunset.’ He drank what was left in his cup and stood up. ‘A pleasure to meet you, Corvinus. Despite the circumstances. Enjoy your stay in Alex.’

  We shook. ‘Look, pal,’ I said. ‘It’s not our house, but I’m sure Stratocles wouldn’t mind. You fancy coming round to dinner some evening?’

  He smiled. ‘Yeah. Yeah, thanks, I’d like that. I’m tied up most of the time but we could arrange something, I’m sure.’

  ‘You like to suggest a date?’

  ‘When the messenger arrives with a time for your interview with the governor you can give him three or four possible ones and we’ll take it from there.’

  ‘Sounds okay to me. Oh, and one big favour. As far as my wife’s concerned we met here in the wineshop, right?’ I wouldn’t be telling Perilla about the attempted knifing: no way would I be telling Perilla! A casual wineshop crony she’d believe. ‘The interview with Flaccus is just a courtesy call.’

  ‘Understood. I won’t forget. I’ll see you later.’

  He left.

  ***

  There was another cupful in the jug, so I poured it and settled back to think. The whole knife attack thing was odd; crazy, to use Gallius’s word. If it had been a coincidence, that was. But it couldn’t’ve been coincidence, not in a million years, not the way it happened: I’d been deliberately targeted. Someone in Alex wanted me not just discouraged but dead.

  Only that made no sense either. We’d just arrived, literally. I hadn’t even begun poking around. So if the attack was connected with the case - and it was - then how the hell had whoever had set it up known who I was and why I was here? That quick, it just couldn’t happen.

  Shit, it was a mystery. And turning it over and over in my head wouldn’t get me anywhere in any case. Leave it for now. The fact remained that I was blown before I’d started, and from here on in I’d better go careful.

  Gallius had been a lucky break, though, and in more senses than one: I might have sharked up an interview with Flaccus, sure, but like I’d said I had no real reason to. Now I was having the job done for me. And it would be interesting to see how the guy reacted. If he had, somehow, been behind the attempted stabbing there might be some mileage there. Also, dinner with a tribune on the inside of things might be informative: he might be a little less close-mouthed in the fa
mily setting. Not that that was my only reason for the invite: he was a very nice guy, Gallius.

  Well, I couldn’t complain that my first proper day hadn’t been eventful, or that I hadn’t made full use of it. And I could chalk up the location of a good wineshop, too, which was an added bonus. I finished the Mareotis, stood up and nodded to the waiter. Time to resume the walk. Only now I’d be sure to stop off at a decent cutler’s somewhere and buy myself a knife of my own.

  If the buggers tried again then I’d need it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The shopping binge had been a great success: Perilla hadn’t found her perfect material yet, sure - after only one day trying and maybe only a dozen or so shops that would’ve taken a stroke of luck on the scale of being hit by a bag of emeralds dropped from a flying pig - but she’d come pretty close at times, and in the process her wedding-supplies hit list otherwise had got a lot smaller than it was when we’d arrived. So the pressure in that direction was definitely off. Now she meant to combine business with pleasure by fitting in some sightseeing.

  Which under normal circumstances would’ve been bad, bad news: wedding fever’s temporary, but artwork, temples and monuments are her ongoing obsessions. Perilla’s approach to them is ruthlessly efficient. The lady ticks boxes. And as far as thoroughness goes, the nearest parallel would be old Africanus’s reduction of Carthage to an empty field ploughed with salt. She doesn’t like doing the rounds alone, either, and that’s the point. Usually if I want to miss out on even so much as a footnote in her most detailed guidebook I have to dicker like hell.

  Not this time. Bringing Clarus and Marilla had been a stroke of genius. If the choice was between practically having to haul me round the city on a rope and doing the tourist thing sans grizzling with the kids then for once she was happy to let me wallow in philistine sloth. It got the youngsters out of my hair, too, because they’d only’ve wanted to get involved with the case. Me, I don’t mind risking being knifed or having my head beaten in in a good cause, but putting anyone else in the way of trouble’s different, especially family: Clarus’d given me enough of a fright in Brindisi.