David Wishart - Foreign Bodies

Gabinius held his cup up to the wine slave, who was still standing behind him. Hell, that hadn’t lasted him long! Although maybe presently I was just hypersensitive to those little details. ‘Laco’s right,’ he said. ‘The thing’s a perennial problem, especially when there’s something big going on and taxes have to be increased. Like the emperor’s British campaign. Oh, we can keep the Gauls happy most of the time by pointing out that a large slice of what they pay in taxes is spent on improving things – more and better roads, amenities, services and so on – but they don’t always see it that way. Even after almost a century, a lot of them view taxes as a levy on a defeated people. And, as Laco says, the margin’s very narrow, even for what you’d call the rich. Especially for them, sometimes. If you have to find the extra cash at short notice all you can do is go to a Roman moneylender, and these bastards’ – he glanced at Perilla and Caninia – ‘forgive me, ladies, charge a fortune in interest. So you’re in an even deeper hole than before, possibly one you can’t get out of. Multiply that on a province-wide scale – three provinces, in Gaul’s case – and you’re dealing with a lot of unhappy people.’

‘You’re saying there’s a chance of rebellion?’ I said.

‘Great gods, no!’ Gabinius frowned. ‘Oh, no, I wouldn’t put it nearly as strongly as that. As far as taxes are concerned, at least, the Gauls are no different from any other provincials; they’ll moan like hell about having to pay them, but when it comes down to it all they want is to get on with their lives in peace, so fortunately for us when push comes to shove then pay them they do, however hard that is. What you have to remember is that unlike some native peoples they’ve stayed tribesmen at heart, and that affects things considerably. Which works largely in our favour. I’m correct, Laco, am I not?’

The procurator nodded. ‘Certainly you are.’

‘How do you mean, governor?’ Perilla selected a baton of celery and dipped it in the bean purée.

‘He’s no urbanite by nature, your average Gaul. Towns – never mind cities like Lugdunum, ordinary towns – are a Roman idea. For most locals the town may be their tribal centre, but that’s all it is, a market-place or somewhere to meet for festivals. Not many of them actually live there, comparatively speaking; the bulk of the tribe is scattered throughout its territory, in farms or small villages. Which is why I and the other governors have to go on regular walkabout. The tribes each have their tribal leaders, descendants of the families who held the actual power before old Julius took it from them, and they still wield a huge amount of influence. Although naturally by now most are completely Romanized and part of the establishment: local magistrates, auxiliary commanders, even top imperial officials like Laco here.’ He raised his wine-cup to the procurator, who grunted agreement. ‘Conscious policy on our part, of course: because they’re on our side, as it were, it means they make sure that their dependants – the tribe, in other words – toe the party line.’

‘So what happens when they don’t?’

‘Then, my dear lady, we have trouble. Oh, nothing we can’t handle, but sometimes it goes very close to the wire. Usually, as I say, when we have to lean rather more heavily on them financially.’ He reached forward and took an olive from the dish. ‘You’ll recall twenty or so years back in Belgica, perhaps, Corvinus? The Florus and Sacrovir affair?’

Uh-huh; I did, at that: Julius Florus and Julius Sacrovir, both upper-class Gauls serving in the Roman army, had tried to start a revolt in their respective tribes. It’d been put down pretty smartly, sure, but while it lasted it had scared the wollocks off imperial admin.

‘Indeed. And the cause was exactly that. Germanicus Caesar needed money and supplies for his German campaign, so he raised the local taxes. Then the money-lenders moved in, and the result for a lot of people was bankruptcy. It took the tribes involved years to recover.’ He took a swallow of wine. ‘Not the happiest of situations, as you can imagine. So now we’re being just a little more careful over mounting the British business. As I said, unlike Gaius the emperor can command a great deal of goodwill in Gaul, and he has a lot more sense than his brother had, thank goodness. I always thought Germanicus was overrated, myself, though it’s heresy to say so.’ Yeah, I’d agree, although ‘overrated’ was putting it mildly: if he hadn’t been a full-blown traitor in himself, the bastard had been the next thing to it. ‘Still, I expect my Belgic colleague is keeping a watching brief, as I am.’

‘To change the subject, Governor,’ Caninia said, ‘what about this murder that Valerius Corvinus is here to solve?’

‘Caninia!’ Nerva snapped.

‘Come, now, young lady,’ Laco said drily. ‘I hardly think that that’s a matter for the dinner table, is it? Now isn’t the time. You’d agree with me, governor?’

‘But please!’ Caninia said. ‘It’s the one exciting thing that’s happened ever since I got here. I’ve been looking forward to hearing the details all day, and I’m sure Valerius Corvinus would like them straight away too. After all, it’s why he’s come, isn’t it?’

I noticed that Perilla, lying next to her, had stiffened: Nerva’s wife couldn’t’ve been any older than our adopted daughter Marilla, probably not even that, and the two of them were evidently a pair. Up for the gory details every time, whatever the circumstances. Not an attitude that the lady approved of. Nor, by the look on his face, did Licinius Nerva.

I grinned to myself: young Caninia might be fun, after all. She was certainly no shrinking violet, and I suspected that, like our Clarus, Nerva had his hands full.

‘In any case,’ Laco went on, ‘surely your husband has told you all about it already?’

‘No, Publius claimed it was sub judice , or some such nonsense,’ Caninia said. ‘I only know what I’ve heard from other people, and that’s probably all wrong. Governor, please !’

Gabinius hesitated, then shrugged. ‘I’ve no particular objections,’ he said, ‘if Corvinus has none.’ I shook my head. ‘Or, of course, Rufia Perilla?’

‘Oh, that’s OK,’ I said quickly. ‘My wife’s used to discussing murders over dinner.’ That got me a glare, which I ignored.

‘Very well, then. Just this once.’ The governor smiled. ‘At least, I hope it’s just this once. Unlike in Rome, murders aren’t too common in Lugdunum. Publius, my dear fellow, I think this is your department. And if we’re all finished with the starters?’ He signalled to the hovering major-domo. ‘Trupho. The main course, if you would.’

‘As you like, sir.’ Nerva cleared his throat, and glanced at his wife: no doubt there would be Words later, in private. I knew the feeling. ‘To put you in the picture, then, Corvinus. Claudius Cabirus was one of our most prominent locals, senior magistrate twice, leading member of the city council. He was going to represent Lugdunum as officiating priest at the Condate Altar ceremony on the first of next month.’

‘So the emperor told me,’ I said. ‘That’s a big deal, is it?’

‘It certainly is.’ Gabinius dabbed at his lips with his napkin. ‘The summit of any local man’s political career, in fact. The annual Gallic Assembly is the single most important event in all three provinces’ calendars.’

‘Anyway,’ Nerva said. ‘He was stabbed to death at his home a month and a half ago, the twenty-eighth of May, to be exact, while he was taking his afternoon nap.’

‘Inside the house itself, you mean?’

‘No. It happened in the garden. There’s a small summer house that he used as a sort of private den.’