David Wishart - Foreign Bodies

‘So what’s Gabinius-?’

‘Hello, Marcus. Did you have a successful morning?’

I turned: Perilla was back, with Caninia in tow. ‘Oh, hi, lady,’ I said. ‘Not too bad, thanks. How was yours?’

‘Very enjoyable. We didn’t do much, just pottered around the shops in the centre. Caninia took me to a little jeweller’s on the Hinge, and they had some lovely silver brooches. I got one for myself and another for Marilla, beautiful workmanship, and so cheap. Plus a few other bits and pieces.’

Yeah, I’d bet: we’d probably need an extra luggage cart when the time came to go back home; when Perilla shops, she doesn’t pull any punches. Ah, well; at least I wasn’t directly involved.

‘That’s nice,’ I said. ‘How about Crinas? I understand he tagged on as well.’

She coloured. ‘Not for the whole time. But yes, he did join us in the early stages.’

Bathyllus was hovering, doing his perfect butler act. Perilla pulled up a chair.

‘Hello, Nerva,’ she said. ‘Bathyllus, a barley water and honey, if you would. Caninia, the same for you?’

‘Lovely.’ Caninia sat down in the chair next to Nerva’s while Bathyllus shimmered out. ‘So how is the murder investigation going, Valerius Corvinus?’ she said. ‘Do tell.’

‘Caninia, I thought we agreed-’ Nerva murmured.

‘No, that’s OK,’ I said. ‘Anyway, like I told you it’s very early days yet. I’ve seen Julius Oppianus and the family, just to talk to, but that’s about it.’

‘Oppianus is a real old snob, isn’t he?’ Caninia said. ‘Not to mention a complete crashing bore. I met him at one of those formal drinks-and-nibbles do’s just after Publius and I arrived, and all he wanted to talk about was how important his family had been before the Romans came, and how things have gone downhill in the district ever since. Not exactly Lugdunum’s most prepossessing citizen, is he, and he didn’t like poor Claudius Cabirus at all. Do you think he did it?’

‘ Caninia! ’ That was Nerva again, of course.

‘It’s a simple question, dear.’ She gave him a dazzling smile. ‘He is the most obvious suspect, after all.’

‘I’m sure Valerius Corvinus doesn’t need your opinion.’

‘I wasn’t giving an opinion. I was only asking.’

‘Even so, I hardly think-’

Time for a little tact. ‘Actually, pal,’ I said, ‘I wanted to ask you about the elder son. Titus.’

Nerva frowned. ‘Titus? Why on earth should you be asking about Titus?’

‘No reason. Or not much of one, anyway, just a niggle. He didn’t seem to have much time for his uncle. You know why that could be?’

‘I’ve absolutely no idea. Certainly, it comes as a surprise; Quintus seems a perfectly decent sort, he’s been a good uncle to the boy, from what I’m told, and they’ve always got on perfectly well together. Probably some temporary family spat that’s put the lad’s nose out of joint. You know youngsters of his age; they can take the smallest thing so seriously and let it rankle.’

I had to hide a smile: Nerva wasn’t that much older than young Cabirus himself, early to mid-twenties as opposed to Titus’s nineteen. Hardly enough of a gap to justify this indulgent elder-man-of-the-world attitude. But then he was a political, and a potential high-flyer at that. ‘Fair enough,’ I said. ‘But I noticed another odd thing. You told me at dinner yesterday evening that he and his brother got on well with their father, too.’

‘Yes, I did. And they do, again as far as I know. The Cabiri are a very close family. They always have been.’

‘Then that’s not the impression I got when I talked to him. Oh, there was nothing obvious, certainly not anything I could put my finger on, but I had the distinct impression that young Titus had issues where his father was concerned.’

‘Issues?’ Nerva’s eyebrows lifted. ‘Really? Again, I’m surprised. They certainly wouldn’t be connected with his choice of career; Cabirus might have been disappointed that he didn’t choose to go into the family business, but he accepted the decision without a murmur. In fact, he was quite proud in a way. If you’re right then it’s due to something that I know nothing about. You’re certain you weren’t mistaken?’

‘Maybe I was, at that,’ I said. ‘In any case, it’s not all that important. Forget it.’ Uh-huh. Interesting; and I wasn’t wrong, that I was sure of. Even so, we’d let it ride for the present.

Bathyllus came back in with the drinks.

‘You really should try this, Marcus,’ Perilla said, picking up her barley water concoction. ‘You might like it.’

I winced. ‘No thanks, lady,’ I said. ‘I’ll stick to seriously watered wine.’

‘Actually, sir, I took the liberty of mixing you up some specially myself.’ Bathyllus offered the tray to me. I lifted the cup and took a cautious sip. Watered, sure, but no more than half and half, twice as strong as it should’ve been. Nectar; comparatively speaking. I glanced at Bathyllus, and got the ghost of a wink. Not a bad lad, at base, our major-domo. And Perilla couldn’t claim I’d put him up to it, either. I took a hefty swallow. Beautiful!

‘So,’ I said to Perilla as he went out with the empty tray. ‘What’s next on the agenda?’

‘Caninia suggested going across the river to Condate tomorrow.’ Perilla set her cup on the table beside her. ‘The complex around the Altar itself is very impressive, seemingly. Historically interesting, too: it’s been a sanctuary of Lug – he’s the Gallic Mercury, seemingly – time out of mind. There was a sacred grove there where the druids used to meet before they were eradicated, but of course that’s disappeared – been dug up – long since. You should come, Marcus. I’m sure you can spare a few hours.’

‘No, I’ll pass. You two go ahead. Enjoy. Will, ah, Crinas be joining you for that?’

‘He might, if he has the time.’

I was damned sure he would. Bugger.

‘Actually, “eradicated” is too strong a term, Lady Rufia,’ Nerva said. ‘The druids haven’t been rooted out of Gaul altogether, certainly not. Unfortunate, but true; we’ve been trying ever since the Divine Augustus’s day, but they’re persistent beggars, and they still crop up on occasion. Particularly among the central and western tribes and in the country districts, where civilization’s spread thin. And, of course, any hint of trouble and they’re straight in, egging things on. That’s another reason for welcoming the upcoming British campaign.’

‘I’ve always thought that they were rather maligned as a sect,’ Perilla said. ‘Caesar spoke well of them, didn’t he? And didn’t one spend some time in Rome later on as a guest of Tullius Cicero?’

Nerva laughed. ‘Oh, don’t get me wrong,’ he said. ‘We’d have no quarrel with them at all if they stuck to religion and philosophy. Barring the human sacrifice side of things, naturally. But they’re political animals by nature, always have been, that’s their role, and we can’t have that. Particularly if their politics takes an anti-Roman turn, which it always does. They’re rife all over in Britain, so I’m told. If the emperor really wants to dig them out root and branch, he needs to do it from the British end.’

‘I’d’ve thought-’ I said, and looked up: Bathyllus had just oiled back in. ‘Yeah, little guy? What is it?’

‘A message from the front gate, sir,’ Bathyllus said. ‘There’s someone to see you. A Gaul by the name of Silus.’

I frowned; who the hell was Silus? Then I remembered: the clerk in Quintus’s office, who’d looked like he wanted a word with me as I was leaving. ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Show him in.’

Bathyllus hesitated. ‘The man said he’d prefer to talk to you in private, sir.’