Lindsey Davis - A dying light in Corduba

'That may be so. There were spare couches. I had intended to take my son and a friend of his, but that kind of occasion can be too stiff for the young so they were excused.'

'One guest was Camillus Aelianus, the son of Vespasian's friend Verus.'

'Oh yes. Back from Corduba. Straightforward lad; knows what he's doing.' Quinctius was just the sort to approve of that pompous young bigot.

'Perhaps you remember one other man. I need to identify what he was doing there – reclining on the right- hand end couch, opposite Anacrites – quiet fellow; hardly spoke. Did you know him?'

'Never even noticed him.' Thirty years in politics made it impossible for me to tell whether Quinctius Attractus was honest. (After thirty years in politics, almost certainly he was not.) 'What's his significance?'

'Nothing any more: the man is dead.' If he had anything to do with killing Valentinus, he was good; he showed complete indifference. 'And finally, may I ask if you knew the entertainers, sir? There was a girl who danced, with a pair of Libyan-style accompanists – I believe you paid tneir fee. Did you know them personally?'

'Certainly not! I don't mingle with tarts and lyre- players.'

I smiled. 'I meant, did you book them for the dinner specially, sir?'

'No,' he said, still contemptuous. 'There are people to do that. I pay for the musicians; I don't need to know where they come from.'

'Or know their names?'

He growled. I thanked him for his patience. Still playing the big man in Baetica, he asked me to report any developments. I promised to keep him informed, though I had no intention of it. Then, since he had mentioned that I might, I went to see his secretary.

Correspondence and record-keeping at the house of Quinctius Attractus was conducted by a typical Greek scribe in a tunic almost as neat as his master's. In a clean little office, he catalogued the senator's life in curious detail. A cynic might wonder whether this implied that the senator feared he might one day be called to account. If so, he must be very worried indeed. Any tribunal investigating Quinctius was going to expire under the weight of written evidence.

'The name's Falco.' The scribe made no move to note me down but he looked as if he would later list me under 'Visitors: Uninvited, Canegory: Dubious'. 'I'm enquiring about the senator's guests at the last dinner for the oily Baeticans?'

'You mean the Society of Olive Oil Producers?' he corrected humourlessly. 'I have details, certainly.'

'His honour says you will tell me.'

'I shall have to confirm that.'

'You do so then.'

I sat on a stool among racks of locked scroll boxes while the slave disappeared to check. Don't ask me how I know that the boxes were locked.

When he came back his manner was even more pedantic, as if he had been told I was trouble. He unlocked a silver box and removed a document. I was not allowed to crane over his shoulder, but I could see the script. It was a perfect, neutral cursive hand that could not have changed since he first learned to copy by rote.

He read out five names: 'Annuals Maximus, Licinius Rufius, Rufius Constans, Norbanus, Cyzacus.' Then he corrected himself: NoRufius Constans was not at the dinner. He is the grandson of Licinius. He had gone to the theatre, I understand, with my master's son.' That almost sounded as if he were reciting something somebody had drummed into him.

'How old are these two lads?'

Quinctius Quadratus is twenty-five. The Baetican boy looks younger.' Hardly adolescents then. The younger Quinctius would have just been elected to the Senate if he was to be a provincial quaestor as his father had boasted.

'Is the senator a stern father? Was he annoyed by them bunking off to a play?'

'Not at all. He encourages their friendship, and their independence. They are both promising young men.'

I grinned. 'That fine phrase can mean they are promising to cause trouble!' The secretary gazed at me coldly. He had never been trained to gossip. I felt like a slug spotted taking a stroll across a particularly elegant dish of dressed salad. 'The Baetican visitors make an interesting list. We have an Annaeus – presumably from the same Corduban family as the famous Senecas?' I had picked that up from Laeta at the dinner. 'And who else? A couple of men from the provincial merchant class? What can you tell me?'

'I cannot give personal information!' he cried.

'I don't need to know who slept with a flute girl or the state of their impetigo! Why were they welcome guests of a Roman senator?'

Looking distasteful the slave squeezed out: 'My muter is a very important figure in Baetica. The first of those I mentioned, Annaeus and Licinius, are large landholders in Corduba.' Those would be the favoured pair who had been dining either side of Attractus at the dinner. 'The last two are businessmen from further south, involved with transportation, I believe.'

Norbanus and Cyzacus?' The two who kept their heads down, conversing among themselves. Lower-class – perhaps even ex-slaves. 'They are shippers?'

'So I understand,' agreed the secretary, as if I was making him swear an oath to undertake physical torments and huge financial expense on behalf of an extremely bad- tempered god.

'Thank you,' I answered heavily.

'Is that all?'

'I need to interview these men. Are they staying here?' 'No.'

'Can you give me the address of their lodging in Rome?' 'They were staying here,' admitted the cautious Greek reluctantly. 'All of them left Rome very early today.'

I raised an eyebrow gently. 'Really? How long had they been with you?'

'Just a few days.' The secretary made an effort not to look uncomfortable.

'How many is a few?'

'About a week.'

'Only a week? Isn't their decision rather sudden?'

'I could not say.' I would have to ask the house steward if I wanted precise details of the Baeticans' original booking – but private informers are not given access to the domestic staff in a senator's house.

'Is it possible to interview the senator's son?' 'Quinctius Quadratus left for Corduba as well.' Was that planned?'

'Of course. He is taking up his new provincial post.'

I could not fault the newly fledged quaestor – but how many provincials, especially men of status, would make a long sea trip to Rome then skip for home almost immediately, without fully enjoying the sights, exploring the possibilities for social advancement, and making sure they stayed away long enough to make those at home believe they had conquered Roman society?

As tourists their behaviour was highly suspicious. They might as well have left behind a wall plaque telling me these gadfly Corduban businessmen were up to no good.

That night I took Helena to the refined Capena Gate district to dine at the large, slightly faded villa which had been her family home. It was time her mother had another chance to rage at her about the poor arrangements we were making for the baby's birth and upbringing. (Julia Justa had a well-rehearsed script on this subject.) And I wanted to see her father. I like to keep my senators in sets.

As usual, before my official meeting I made sure that Helena's papa and I had conspired so our stories would match. I found Decimus Camillus Verus at the baths we both frequented. He was a tall, stooping figure with thinning, spiked hair, who already looked hunted even before I invited myself to dinner and explained that I now required him to play the heavy father to one of his rebellious sons.

'This is imperial business. I need to interview Aelianus. I'm telling you in advance so you can make sure he'll be there!'

'You overestimate my paternal authority, Marcus.'

'You're a Stoic!' I grinned and explained the situation. Then I gave Camillus a stiff bout of swordplay to make him feel even more despondent, and we parted friends.