Lindsey Davis - A dying light in Corduba

'What's this about?' he demanded.

'One man dead and another close to Hades. A strong Baetican connection, and an unhealthy whiff of conspiracy. Your presence at the last Olive Oil Producers' dinner in close company with one of the victims now needs accounting for.'

He went pale. 'If I have to explain myself I want to see someone more senior.'

'Of course,' I agreed. 'I'll just point out that asking for special treatment makes you sound like a man in trouble. People with nothing to hide give their evidence to the regular official.'

'And that's you?' He was being careful now.

'It's me. Orders from the top.'

'You're trying to implicate me in something.' Dear gods, he was truculent. And I hadn't even started yet. 'Actually I want to clear you.'

'Just answer the questions,' his father instructed patiently.

Hoping for filial obedience, I tried greater formality: 'Camillus Aelianus, how did you come to know Anacrites, and why did he take you to that dinner as his guest?'

'Why don't you ask him?' Useless. Well, I was somebody's son. I should have known the odds on obtaining filial obedience were short.

'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 selfrighteously.

'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.'