Lindsey Davis - A dying light in Corduba

'I had thought of that,' I admitted. 'I didn't want to worry you.'

'I was worried.'

'Well, don't brood on it. This must be the first recorded incidence of a man having his life saved by an amphora of fish-pickle.'

Helena was not laughing. 'Marcus, you're involved whether you want to be or not.'

We were silent for a while. Anacrites seemed to be fading right before my eyes. I felt a surge of anger again. 'I'd like to get whoever murdered Valentinus.'

'Of course you would, Marcus.'

'Fellow feeling.'

'I know.'

Helena Justina always spoke her mind and let me know exactly where I stood. If there was any chance of an argument she set about it briskly. Sounding meek was worrying. It meant she might be planning some big surprise.

'Helena, I'm not going to let these killers get away with it. If they are still in Rome -'

'They won't be,' said Helena.

She was right. I had to swallow it. 'Then I'll be wasting my time as usual.'

Laeta will ask you to be the man who goes to Baetica.' Laeta can go red in the face and burst a blood vessel.' Laeta will make the Emperor or Titus order it.' 'They'll be ordering trouble then.'

She gazed at me sombrely. 'I think you ought to be prepared to go to Spain.'

Helena's offer seemed out of the question – and yet straight away I began to wonder if it might be feasible.

We believed we had nearly two months before the baby would be born. I did a rapid calculation: a week lost on the journey out, plus several days to travel inland to Corduba. Ten more days for returning home. In between, another week should be ample to identify and assess the personnel involved and tackle a solution… Oh yes. Easy to go, do the job, and come home just in time to put down my luggage on the doormat and receive the newborn baby into my arms from a smiling midwife who had just finished tidying its proud and happy mama…

A fool could convince himself that it would work, provided nothing went wrong. But I knew better. Travelling always takes longer than you hope. And things always go wrong.

It was far too tight. And what if the baby came early anyway? Apart from outfacing the oil cartel conspirators – something which hardly interested me, though that was what would make the state provide my fare – where in this ludicrous timetable was there any allowance for tracing Diana and her murderous musicians?

'Helena, thanks for the offer, but be sensible. Just because everyone else assumes I'm planning to bunk off and abandon you doesn't mean they are right!'

'I'm coming with you,' she told me. I knew that tone of voice. This was no mere suggestion. Being bossed and bullied by relatives was irritating her too much. Helena had decided to abscond from Rome.

It was at that moment that Anacrites opened his eyes and stared at me vaguely. By the looks of him his body was giving up and his black soul was on the ferryboat to Hades. His mind was just about still here, however.

I told him bitterly, 'I've just been informed I have to sail to Baetica on this dead-end job of yours!'

'Falco…' he croaked. What a compliment. He might not have known who he was, but he recognised me. I still refused to spoon-feed the bastard with broth. 'Dangerous woman!' he moaned. Maybe it was apropos of nothing, though it sounded like fair comment on my chosen partner in life.

He faded out again. Well, enigmas are what you expect from spies.

Helena Justina ignored him. 'Don't mention to your mother that we're going,' she instructed me 'And don't you tell yours either!' I retorted nervously.

'You pay me by the mile,' said the carriage-hire man.

I didn't believe it. That would mean at the end of our hiring period I just had to lie to him about how far I had driven. He was an ex-legionary. How could he be so innocent?

'What's the catch?' I asked.

He grinned, appreciating that I had at least had the courtesy to query the system, instead of jumping in with intent to cheat. 'No catch.'

The hireman was a wide-shouldered former footslogger whose name was Stertius. I was unsure what to make of him; my mission was making me distrust everyone. This man owned a commercial transport business in the southern Baetican port of Malaca – mainly ox-wagons collecting amphorae of fish-pickle from all along the coast to bring them to port, but also gigs, carts and carriages for travellers. It would be an ideal cover if he engaged in espionage; he would see everyone who came and went. He had been in the Roman army; he could easily have been recruited by the legions to work for Anacrites; even Laeta could have coerced him somewhere along the line. Equally, local loyalty could put him firmly in league with the men I had come to investigate – or the dancing girl.

Helena sat down on our mound of baggage in the quiet, unobtrusive manner of a woman who was making a point. We had been sailing for a week, then landed in the wrong place so we now had a lengthy trip by road ahead of us. She was very tired. She was sitting in the hot sun. She did not need me dragging out what ought to have been a straightforward commercial transaction. She stroked Nux as if the dog were her only friend.

I still felt queasy from the ocean. It was possible to travel the entire way from Rome to Gades overland if you had the time to spare. Someone like Julius Caesar who wanted to show up well in his memoirs took pride in reaching Hispania without crossing water. Most people with interesting lives to lead preferred the quicker sea trip, and Helena and I were not in a good state for forced marches anyway. So I had agreed to take a boat. Getting this far was torture for anyone like me who could be seasick just looking at a sail. I had been groaning all the way, and my stomach was still not sure it had returned to land. 'I'm dazed. Explain your system.'

'You pay me what I freely admit is a hefty deposit.' Stertius had the typical sardonic air of an old soldier. He had retired from the army after decades in north Africa, then crossed the Straits to Spain to start his business. Up to a point I trusted him commercially, though I was beginning to fear he was the type who enjoys himself inflicting arcane mysteries on helpless customers. 'If you don't use up your allocation, I'll give you a rebate. If you overrun, of course, I'll have to charge you more.'

'I'm taking the equipage to Corduba.'

'As you wish. I'll be giving you Marmarides as your driver -'

'Is that optional?' I was facing enough unknowns. The last thing I wanted was to be saddled with someone else's employee.

'It's voluntary,' grinned the hireman. In the legionary sense!' It was compulsory. 'You'll get on with him fine. He's one of my freedmen. I've trained him well, he's a natural with horseflesh and he has a good temperament.' In my experience that meant he would be a maniacal driver who let the mules get the staggers and tried to knife his customers. 'Marmarides will bring the carriage home when you've finished. He'll tell you the mileage price at the end.'

'He'll just tell us? Excuse me!' Baetican commercial practice seemed to have its extraordinary side. 'I'm sure the amiable Marmarides has your absolute trust, but I like the right to query costs.'

I was not the first suspicious Roman to land in Malaca. Stertius had a well-worked-out routine for technical quibbles: he crooked one finger knowingly, then led me to the rear of the sturdy two-wheeled, two-mule carriage which I was attempting to lease. Its iron-bound wheels would bounce painfully on the track to Corduba, but the passenger compartment had a leather cover which would protect Helena from rough weather, including hot sun. Nux would enjoy trying to bite the wheels.