Lindsey Davis - A dying light in Corduba

'Thank you; that's clear, sir. From all I've heard, you'll be missing Cornelius. He sounds a useful deputy. And now you've had an unknown quantity wished on you, I hear – Will the new quaestor now be taking over the oil cartel issue, sir?'

I had kept my expression neutral, but I let the proconsul see me watching him. Since the new lad in charge of financial matters was the son of a man who appeared to be piping the tune for the oil producers, this could become delicate.

'My new officer is unfamiliar with the subject,' stated the proconsul. It sounded as if he was warning me not to alert young Quinctius. I felt reassured.

'I believe he's in Corduba already?'

'He came in and had a look around the office.' Something sounded peculiar. The proconsul looked me straight in the eye. 'He's not here at the moment. I gave him some hunting leave. Best to let them get it out of their system,' he told me drily, like a man who had had to train a long procession of administrative illiterates.

I thought his real meaning was different. The proconsul would have had little choice about his new officer. The appointment of Quinctius Quadratus would have been lobbied by his influential father and fixed up by the Senate. The Emperor had the right of veto but to use it would be a mark of disfavour, one which the Quinctius family had not openly deserved. 'I met his father in Rome,' I said.

'Then you will know Quinctius Quadratus comes to us with fine recommendations.' There was not a flicker of irony.

'Certainly his father carries weight, sir.'

I was hardly expecting a proconsul to damn a fellow senator. It didn't happen either. 'Tipped for a consulship,' he commented gravely. 'Would probably have got it by now if there hadn't been a long queue for rewards.' After coming to power Vespasian had been obliged to offer honours to his own friends who had supported him; he had also two sons to be ritually made magistrates every few years. That meant men who had thought they were certainties for honours were now having to wait.

If Attractus does get his consulship he'll be in line for a province afterwards,' I griimed. 'He could yet take over from you, sir!' The great man did not find it a joke. 'Meanwhile the son is expected to go far?'

'At least as far as hunting leave,' the proconsul agreed more jovially. I felt he quite enjoyed having kicked out the young Quinctius, even though it could only be temporary. 'Luckily, the office runs itself.'

I had seen offices that allegedly ran themselves. Usually that meant they were kept steady by one wizened Thracian slave who knew everything that had happened for the past fifty years. Fine – until the day he had his fatal heart attack.

Hunting leave is an ambiguous concept. Young officers in the provinces expect a certain amount of free time for slaying wild animals. This is normally granted as a reward for hard work. But it is also a well-known method for a pernickety governor to rid himself of a dud until such time as Rome sends out some other dewy-eyed hopeful – or until he himself is recalled.

'Where can we contact you?' asked the great man. He was already shedding his toga again.

'I'm staying on the Camillus Verus estate. I expect you remember his son Aelianus?' The proconsul signalled assent, while avoiding comment. 'The senator's daughter is here at present too.'

'With her husband?'

'Helena Justina is divorced – widowed too.' I could see him noting that he would have to meet her socially, so to avoid the agony I added, 'The noble Helena is expecting a child shortly.'

He gave me a sharp look; I made no response. Sometimes I tell them the situation and stare them out. Sometimes I say nothing and let someone else gossip.

I knew, since I had picked it open and read it, that my letter of introduction from Laeta – as yet unopened on the proconsul's side table – gave a succinct description of our relationship. He described the senator's daughter as a quiet, unassuming girl (a lie which diplomatically acknowledged that her papa was a friend of the Emperor). I won't say what he called me, but had I not been an informer it would have been libellous.

The flock of scribes scattered like sparrows as I emerged. I winked. They blushed. I screwed out of them directions to the quaestor's office, noting that my request seemed to cause a slight atmosphere.

I was greeted by the inevitable ancient slave who organised documents in the quaestor's den. He was a black scribe from Hadrumetum. His will to subvert was as determined as that of the smoothest oriental secretary in Rome. He looked hostile when I asked to see the report Cornelius sent to Anacrites.

'You'll remember inscribing it.' I made it clear I understood how delicate the subject matter had been. 'There will have been a lot of fuss and redrafting; it was going to Rome, and also the material was sensitive locally.'

The inscrutable look on the African's face faded slightly. 'I can't release documents without asking the quaestor.'

'Well, I know Cornelius was the authority on this. I expect the new fellow has had a handover, but the governor told me he hasn't been granted his full authority yet.' The scribe said nothing. 'He came in to meet the proconsul, didn't he? How do you find him?' I risked.

'Very pleasant.'

'You're lucky then! A baby-faced brand-new senator, working abroad, and virtually unsupervised? You could easily get one who was arrogant and boorish -'

The slave still did not take the bait. 'You must ask the quaestor.'

'But he's not available, is he? The proconsul explained about your new policy in Baetica of screwing poll tax out of wild boars! His honour said if you had taken a copy of the letter you should show me that.'

'Oh, I took a copy! I always do.'

Relieved of responsibility by the proconsul's authority (invented by me, as he may well have guessed), the quaestor's scribe at once started to hunt for the right scroll.

'Tell me, what's the word locally on why Anacrites first took an interest?' The scribe paused in his search. 'He's the Chief Spy,' I acknowledged frankly. 'I work with him from time to time.' I did not reveal that he was now lying insensible in the Praetorian Camp. Or already ashes in a cinerary urn.

My dour companion accepted that he was talking to a fellow professional. 'Anacrites had had a tip from somebody in the province. He did not tell us who. It could have been malicious.'

'It was anonymous?' He inclined his head slightly. 'While you're finding the report Cornelius wrote I'd be grateful for sight of the original enquiry from Anacrites too.'

'I was getting it. They should be linked together…' Now the scribe was sounding abstracted. He was already looking worried, and I felt apprehensive. I watched him once more search the round containers of scrolls. I believed he knew his way around the documents. And when he found that the correspondence was missing, his distress seemed genuine.

I was starting to worry. When documents go missing there can be three causes: simple inefficiency; security measures taken without a secretariat's knowledge; or theft. Inefficiency is rife, but rarer when the document is highly confidential. Security measures are never as good as anyone pretends; any secretary worth his position will tell you where the scroll is really stowed. Theft meant that somebody with access to officialdom knew that I was coming out here, knew why, and was removing evidence.

I could not believe it was the new quaestor. That seemed too obvious. 'When Quinctius Quadratus was here, did you leave him alone in the office?'

'He just looked around from the doorway then rushed off to be introduced to the governor.'

'Does anyone else have access?'

'There's a guard. When I go out I lock the door.' A determined thief could find a way in. It might not even take a professional; palaces are always rife with people who look as if they have the right of entry, whether they do or not.