Lindsey Davis - A dying light in Corduba

'Forget it. I'm just a loafer on holiday.'

Marmarides burst out laughing again. Well, I like a man who is happy in his work. That's more than I was.

Some of the mansio landlords seemed to believe we were carrying out a trick accommodation survey on behalf of the provincial quaestor. I let them think it, hoping to improve the quality of supper. Hoping in vain.

The landlords' fears derived from their resentment of bureaucracy. Maybe this meant they thought the quaestor made an efficient job of checking their returns. I could not tell whether it implied that Roman financial management worked well here generally, or whether it was a specific comment on Cornelius, the young friend of Aelianus who had just left his post. Presumably Quinctius Quadratus, the new boy, had yet to make his mark.

'Helena, tell me about your father's estate.' I had seized the advantage of a smooth patch of road on one of the occasions when I was riding inside the carriage with her.

'It's quite small, just a farm he bought when he thought of sending Aelianus to Baetica.' Camillus senior owned the statutory million's worth of land in Italy which was his qualification for the Senate, but with two sons to equip for the high life he was trying to create a bigger investment portfolio. Like most wealthy men he aimed to distribute his spare holdings among the provinces in order to avoid suffering too much in times of drought or tribal revolt.

'Aelianus lived on the estate?'

'Yes, though I expect he enjoyed the high life in Corduba whenever possible. There's a villa rustica where he was supposed to spend his spare time quietly – if you believe that.' Helena had of course been brought up to respect her male relatives – a fine Roman tradition which all Roman women ignored. 'Aelianus found a tenant who now occupies part of the house, but there will be room for us. The farm is a little way inland of the river, in olive-growing country, though I'm afraid it's typical of my dear papa, that he bought through an agent who palmed him off with very few olive trees.'

'It's a dud?'

'Well, there are almonds and grain.' Nuts and feed were not going to turn the Camilli into tycoons.

I tried not to let any insult to her noble father's acumen show; Helena was deeply fond of him. 'Well, Spanish grain is the best in the Empire apart from African or Italian. And what else is wrong with this agricultural gem your father acquired? He said you would tell me about some problems he wants me to look into.'

'Papa was being cheated over the olive oil pressing. That was why Aelianus took on a tenant. Using an overseer of our own wasn't working. This way Papa receives a fixed rent, while the man with the lease is responsible for whether he makes a profit or not.'

'I hope we're not having to share accommodation with one of your brother's friends!'

'No, no. The man had fallen on hard times somehow and needed a new farm. Aelianus decided he was honest. I don't suppose he knew him personally; can you imagine my brother sharing a drink with a farrner?'

'He may have had to lower his snooty standards in the provinces.'

Helena looked sceptical about that. 'Well, what I do know is that this man – whose name is Marius Optatus – volunteered to point out that Papa was being cheated in some way. It sounds as if Aelianus brushed his advice aside – but then had the sense to check, and found it was right. Remember my father had entrusted him with seeing that the estate was running properly. It was the first time Aelianus had such a responsibility, and whatever you think of him he did want to do well.'

'I'm still surprised he listened.'

'Maybe he surprised himself.'

An honest tenant sounded unlikely, but I wanted to believe it. If I could report back to Camillus Verus that his son had at least put in a good man to work the estate, that suited me. Whereas if the tenant proved a bad one, I had agreed to sort things out – one more claim on my hard- pressed time.

I'm no expert on big villa economy, though I had been partly brought up on a market garden so I should be able to spot gross bad practice. That was all Helena's father required. Absentee landlords don't expect to make vast profits from remote holdings. It is their estates on the Italian mainland, which they can tour in person every year, that keep the rich in luxury.

Something was on Helena's mind. 'Marcus, do you trust what Aelianus told you?'

'About the farm?'

'No. About the letter he brought home.'

'It looked as though he was coming clean. When I told him what had happened to the Chief Spy and his agent your brother seemed to realise he was in deep trouble.' Bad in Rome I had tried to find the letter, but Anacrites' papers were in too much disarray. Sight of it would have reassured me, and even if Aelianus had told me the truth I might have learned further details. Laeta had had his own staff search for it, without success. That could just mean Anacrites had devised a complicated filing system – though whenever I had visited his office his scheme seemed to consist of merely throwing scrolls all over the floor.

The road had become rough again. Helena said nothing while the carriage lurched over the uneven pavings. The northward cross-country road to Corduba was not exactly a marvel of engineering, precision-built by the legions in some mighty politician's name, and intended to last for millennia. The regional council must have charge of this one. Public slaves occasionally patched it up well enough to last through the current season. We seemed to be travelling when the work gang were overdue.

'Aelianus must also have realised,' I added when the carriage stopped jolting, 'the first thing I would do – whether I had to correspond from Rome or whether I came here myself – was to ask the proconsul's office for their side of the correspondence. In fact I'm hoping to discuss the whole business with the proconsul himself.'

'I had a go at him,' Helena said. She still meant Aelianus. I felt sorry for her brother. Helena Justina could have been a cracking investigator had it not been impossible for respectable women to converse freely with people outside their family, or to knock on strangers' doors with nosy requests. But I always felt a mild pang of resentment when she took the initiative. She knew that, of course. 'Don't fret. I was careful. He's my brother; he wasn't surprised I cornered him.'

If he had told her anything worthwhile I would have heard about it before now. So I just grinned at her; Helena grabbed at the carriage frame as we were flung forward by a violent bounce. I braced my arm across in front of her for protection.

Just because Aelianus was her brother did not mean I intended to trust him.

Helena squeezed my hand. 'Justinus is going to keep prodding him.'

That cheered me up. I had shared time abroad with her younger brother. Justinus looked immature, but when he stopped mooning after unsuitable women he was shrewd and tenacious. I had great faith in his judgement too (except of women). In fact there was only one problem: if Justinus discovered anything, sending correspondence to Spain was highly unreliable. Helena and I would probably be home again before any letter could arrive. I was out here on my own. Not even Laeta would be able to contact me.

Changing the subject Helena Justina joked, 'I hope this won't be like our trip to the East. It's bad enough finding corpses face down in water cisterns; I don't care for the idea of plucking a preserved one from a vat of olive oil.'

'Messy!' I grinned.

'And slippery too.'

'Don't worry; it won't happen.'

'You were always over-confident!'

'I know what I'm talking about. It's the wrong time of year. Harvest starts in September with the green olives, and is over in January with the black. In April and May the presses stand still and everyone is chipping away at weeds with hoes, spreading manure made from last year's squelched olive pulp, and pruning. All we'll see will be pretty trees with jolly spring flowers hiding tiny fruit buds.'