Lindsey Davis - A dying light in Corduba

'Family ties,' he replied, without pausing.

'Indeed? I gather your colleague Annaeus Maximus suddenly developed pressing family ties too! And the bargeman, I suppose – and the negotiator from Hispalis! Forgive me, but for men of affairs you all seem to have made that long journey without enough forward planning.'

I thought I saw him check, but the reaction was slight. 'We had travelled to Rome together. We travelled home in one group too. Safety, you know.' For the first time I detected a slight impatience with my questions. He was trying to make me feel like a lout who had abused his hospitality.

'I'm sorry, but your departure looks suspiciously hurried, sir.'

'None of us ever intended a long stay in Rome. We all wanted to return home for the Parilia.' Very rustic! And he had dodged a direct answer with the glibness of a politician.

'And of course this had nothing to do with Quinctius Attractus trying to promote a cartel?'

Licinius Rufius stopped answering me so smoothly.

We stared at each other for a few beats of time.

'There is no hoarding or price-fixing in Corduba!' His voice rasped so harshly it startled me. He sounded extremely angry. His protest could be genuine. He knew why I had come here though, so he had had time to prepare a convincing show of outrage. 'There is no need for it. There is plenty for everyone. The olive oil trade is now flowering in Baetica as never before -'

'So once the trees are planted you can all just sit back and watch the fortunes flowing in! Tell me this then, sir: why did that group of you really decide to visit Rome?'

I saw him regain control of himself. it was a normal business voyage. We were renewing ties with our agents in Ostia and exchanging goodwill with our contacts in Rome. This happens all the time, Falco.'

'Oh yes. Nothing unusual at all – except that the night your main contact entertained you all in the Palace of the Caesars, two men who had been in the same dining room were later brutally attacked!'

I could see he was forcing himself not to react. He chose to try and bluff it out: 'Yes, we heard about that just before we left.'

Twitching an eyebrow, I asked gently, 'Oh? And who told you this, sir?'

Rufius belatedly realised he had walked into trouble. 'Quinctius Attractus.' A neat dodge, since Quinctius had enough importance in Rome to be well informed about everything.

'Really? Did he tell you who told him?'

'He heard it at the Senate.'

'He could well have done,' I smiled, 'only the dinner for the Society of Olive Oil Producers of Baetica was held on the last night of March. The Senate goes into recess from the beginning of April to the middle of May!'

Licinius almost gave away the fact that he was struggling now: 'Well, I cannot say where he heard it. He is, after all, a senator and hears all the important news before most of Rome -'

'It was never news,' I corrected him. 'An order had been given on the highest authority that the attacks should not be made public. You people left the very day afterwards. At that time only a handful of people on the Palatine – a very small group in the intelligence service and Titus Caesar himself – knew that killers had been at work.'

'I think you underestimate the importance of Quinctius Attractus,' answered Licinius.

There was another short silence. I sensed a worrying force behind his words. Ambitious men like Attractus always do carry more weight than they deserve.

Licinius felt a gloss was necessary: 'The fact that we had dined with two men who died was, Falco, as you are suggesting, one of the other reasons my colleagues and I took our leave. The incident sounded a little too close for comfort. We decided Rome was a dangerous city, and I confess we fled.'

He struck me as a man who would not normally run away from a spot of civic disorder.

Natural curiosity about the tragedy gripped him. He leaned forwards and murmured in a confidential tone, Did you know these two men?'

'I know the one who is not dead.'

I spoke it very gently, leaving Rufius to wonder which one had survived; how well I knew him; and what he had managed to say to me before I left Rome.

I might have taken things further, though I doubt I would have been any more successful. In any case, it was my turn to be called away unexpectedly. An uproar disturbed us, then almost immediately a slave came running to tell me I had better come quick because my borrowed horse Prancer had wandered through the new entrance portico, and into the gracious peristyle garden with the beautiful topiary. Prancer's yearning for foliage was insatiable, and he had lost all discretion. By the time he was spotted many of the clipped trees had ceased to look so elegant.

The Rufii coped with this accident in a terribly good- natured manner and assured me the lions would grow again. They just scoffed when I offered to pay for the damage. We all joked merrily that it was an act of revenge from their rivals the Annaei who had lent me the horse.

They could afford to replace the boxtrees and I couldn't, so I thanked them quietly for their generous attitude – then Prancer and I left, as fast as I could make him trot.

Helena Justina had very few clothes on. Any ideas this might have given me were soon banished by the fact that she smelt like a salad.

'I see you're marinading the child!'

Calmly she continued to massage neat olive oil into her stomach. 'Apparently this will ease my stretched skin – and if there's any over I can pour it on our lunch.'

'Wonderful stuff. Want any help rubbing it in?' Helena waved a Baetican redware jug at me.

'No.'

'Well, it should do you good.'

'I'm sure! Like using oil in dough; perhaps I'll be more flexible, and with a moist crust…' Helena loved to collect interesting lore, but often had a hard time taking it seriously.

I threw myself on a couch and settled down to watch. Stricken with an odd quirk of modesty, Helena turned her back. Was there ever a more useful substance?' I mused. 'Olive oil prevents burns from blistering and it's good for your liver, it stops rust in iron pots, and preserves food; the wood makes bowls and it flames well in a fire -'

'In this country the children are weaned on a porridge made from olive oil and wheat,' Helena joined in, turning back to me. 'I've been talking to the cook. Baetican midwives smother a new mother with oil to help slide the baby out.'

I chortled. 'And then they present the happy father with a little dressed onion to name!'

'I'm giving Nux a spoonful a day to try to improve her coat.'

Hearing her name, Nux looked up from a rug where she had been sleeping and thumped her tail enthusiastically. She had fur like rough turf; around her unpleasant extremities it stuck together in impenetrable dumps. 'Nothing will improve Nux's coat,' I said regretfully. 'She really needs a complete shave. It's time you broke the news to her that she'll never be a pampered lapdog. She's a smelly street scruff, and that's it.'

'Give Marcus a nice lick for loving you so much!' Helena cooed at the dog, who immediately roused herself and jumped straight on the middle of my chest. If this was a clue to what kind of subversive mother Helena Justina intended to be, I was heading for more trouble than I'd thought. As I fended off a long, frenzied tongue, Helena disarmed me by suddenly saying, 'I like it here. It's peaceful in the countryside and nobody harangues us about our situation. I like being on my own with you, Marcus.'

'I like it here too,' I grunted. It was true. Were it not for the baby and my fixed intention to return Helena to our mothers' care in time for them both to supervise the birth, I could have stayed here for months. 'Maybe we should emigrate to some far province away from everyone.'