Lindsey Davis - A dying light in Corduba

Sometimes in the country yokels let fly with missiles. Sometimes in the city idiots hurl tiles and bricks. It is a territorial gesture, an act of defiance when strangers pass. I did not believe that was what had just occurred.

I rammed my torch into soft ground at the edge of the track and moved away from it. Letting the toga slide down to my elbow, I wound the cloth around my forearm so it could act as a shield. With the torch alight I was still providing a target, but I preferred to risk that than to douse the flame and plunge myself into darkness in the middle of strange countryside. I strained my ears, shifting position continually.

Eventually, when nothing happened, I pulled up the torch again and searched around in circles. On either side of the track lay olive groves. In the dark they were full of hazards, though these were purely natural. Weeding hoes lay waiting to be stepped on, their handles all set to spring up and break my nose. Low branches were ready to crack my brow. For all I knew the groves contained courting couples who might turn nasty in a wild provincial manner if I interrupted them in mid-fumble. I was about to give up when I stumbled into a disorientated sheep.

The animal was very tired. It must belong to the lustral flock. Then I remembered the shepherdess with the interesting eyes. I had seen her before. She had looked very different in her sophisticated little gold costume as Diana, but even smothered in sheepskin I ought to have recognised the girl.

Keeping my sword out, I walked back grimly to the Annaeus house. Nobody attacked me again – which was odd. Why hadn't the dancer tried to kill me out there on the track?

Fired up by annoyance at myself as much as anything, I made a formal complaint. This time, with blood trickling down my neck, I was given a better welcome. I kept making a fuss until Annaeus Maximus reluctantly ordered a search for the girl. The chief shepherd, who was still there with most of his accomplices, was summoned to respond to my accusations.

Annaeus seemed taken aback by my story. According to him, most of the group were well known to everyone, actors from the local theatre. They routinely earned extra money by providing assistance with civic rituals. This was better than allowing real shepherds to get big ideas, I could see that. Naturally the man then claimed this particular girl was a stranger to him.

The leader of the actors turned up, still dressed as the chief shepherd and emitting a belch after his supper. He confessed he had employed a few extras to pad out the parade today. This included the shepherdess with the big brown eyes (whom he rather clearly remembered). She had presented herself when he was auditioning; he had no idea where she came from, though her name was supposed to be Selia. He said she wasn't local, though by that he merely meant she did not come from the immediate confines of Corduba; Hispalis would still be a possibility. I had just let the killer of Valentinus slip right through my fingers. And needless to say, all the slaves Annaeus had sent out to look for her came back empty-handed.

'I'm sorry.' The actor appeared pretty genuine. 'Next time I'll ask for references.'

'Why?' I scoffed bitterly. 'Do you think she'd admit she was up to no good? Anyway – are you constantly being offered the services of undulating women?'

He looked shamefaced. 'No,' he mumbled. 'Though that was the second one this week.'

'And what was the first one like?'

'Older, though she could dance better.'

'Why didn't she get the job instead of Selia, then?'

'She wasn't from around here.' Trust a local to take precedence. He looked even more ashamed, then rallied with his big excuse: 'Well, Selia was thoroughly professional; she even brought her own sheep!'

'She's abandoned it now!' I retorted. She was a professional killer – and if she could claim a whole sheep, whoever was paying her expenses must be allowing her a substantial daily rate.

I spent the night at the Annaeus house. The notables let me feed at their table (well, their tenants' table). They loaned me an empty cell in their slaves' barracks. It was near the well, so I even managed to get something to wash my wounded neck – and tnere was all I could wish for to drink. What civilised people. Next morning their steward sent me away on a very slow horse which he said I could borrow indefinitely since its useful life had run out. I said I would report my gracious treatment by the Annaei to the Emperor. The steward smiled, openly showing his contempt.

The three sons had come home at dawn. I met them thundering in as I rode away. On principle they left me in a cloud of dust again, though the initiative had gone out of them to some extent and they were all looking faintly tired. As far as I knew the daughter was still out. Women have more stamina.

The Camillus estate lay bathed in sunlight when I finally rode back. As I expected, Helena had already followed up her promise to go over to the Licinius Rufius spread and pursue the next suspect for me. Marmarides, looking annoyed at having his nose put out of joint, told me Marius Optatus had driven her.

It gave me time to bathe and change my tunic, then to hang around the kitchen until the cook found me the kind of nourishing breakfast certain old women like to lay before an honest young man who is known to have fathered an almost-born baby and who clearly needs his strength built up. As I enjoyed the food, she cleaned my cut neck with a thyme wash and stuck on some sort of salve. Needless to say, its main ingredient was olive oil.

Helena returned to find me still being pampered. She grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and inspected the damage. 'You'll live.'

'Thanks for the loving concern.'

'Who did it?' I winked; she took the point. We walked outside to the shady area of garden near the house, where a bench was placed under a fig tree on a wall. There, safe from being overheard, I told her about the shepherdess. Helena winced. 'You think this pageant queen all bundled up in smelly wool is the "dancer from Hispalis"?'

I did not want to say I had definitely recognised her, since that gave a false impression of me gawping too keenly at women. 'Striking down men from behind certainly seems to be her trademark. But Anacrites and Valentinus were then rammed against walls. Apart from the fact that there were none available last night, if it was Selia, she made no attempt to follow up.'

'Maybe she relies on her two musicians to do the dirty work, and didn't have them with her.'

'Then what was the point of the stone? It seemed random – more like a warning than anything.'

'Marcus, if the stone had hit you on the head, would you have been killed?' Sparing Helena's feelings, I said no. It certainly could have done more damage. But stone- throwing takes a good aim.

'Don't worry. What it's done is put me on my guard.' Helena frowned. 'I do worry.'

So did I. I had been struck by a recollection of Anacrites mumbling 'dangerous woman' when I said I was coming to Baetica. I now realised it was not Helena he had meant. He too must have been warning me – about his assailant.

To lighten the atmosphere I related my experience with Annaeus Maximus. 'I gained some insight into his attitude. His family is in a political trough. He is socially crippled by what happened to Seneca. Undeserved or not, the taint has lingered. Wealth alone might recapture the family's old lustre, but they've clearly lost heart too. Maximus certainly does not want a career in Rome, though he doesn't seem to mind being the big boy around here. Still, the Annaei are yesterday's heroes, and now it all depends whether running Corduba will be enough for them.'

'Will it?'

'They are not stupid.'

'What about the younger generation?' Helena asked. 'Running wild with great panache.' I described what I had seen of the sons and the jewel-clad daughter.