David Wishart - Foreign Bodies

Perilla smiled. ‘By the way, you’re doing very well on the wine front, dear. Keep it up.’

‘Yeah, right,’ I said sourly.

Mind you, if I was to solve this case there’d have to be a bit of judicious back-sliding at some stage, and the lady would just have to lump it. Gathering evidence was one thing, but when it came to the theorizing, wine was an essential.

I started out next day with Julius Biracus. He wasn’t at home, but his housekeeper told me I’d find him in the council chambers back on the Hinge, near the market square, and I managed to nail him coming out of a meeting. I explained what I wanted.

‘Delighted to help in any way I can, Valerius Corvinus,’ he said. Wheezed: he was a big man, Biracus, and most of it was gut. ‘Tiberius was a tragic loss to the city. Tragic. Would you like to go to my office, or should we go elsewhere?’

‘Up to you, sir,’ I said. ‘I don’t mind.’

‘We’ll make it Celer’s, then. I find I need something to sustain me mid-morning after a council meeting, and that’s where I usually go. He has a back room which is very private, so we won’t be disturbed.’

‘Fine by me,’ I said.

I followed him down an alleyway off the Hinge to a small cookshop at the end, and we went inside. The place wasn’t full, but there were two or three punters perched on high stools at the counter. They turned, and one of them gave Biracus a nod. Their eyes had gone straight to my purple stripe, but I was getting used to that by this time.

‘Morning, Celer,’ Biracus said to the guy behind the counter. ‘All right to use your back room? Valerius Corvinus and I have business to discuss.’

‘Of course.’ Celer raised the wooden flap that barred the way between us and him. ‘The usual, is it, sir?’

‘Indeed, if you would.’ He turned to me. ‘Corvinus? Something to eat?’

‘No thanks,’ I said. ‘I had breakfast.’

‘So did I. What has that to do with anything? Some wine, then?’

Bugger. ‘No. No, I’m OK.’

‘Fair enough.’ He squeezed through the gap – there wasn’t much clearance – and I followed. ‘I’m a bit of a traditionalist myself, mind, I prefer beer. Have you tried our Gaulish beer?’

‘Uh … no.’ And I wouldn’t be doing it, either: I still had nasty memories of having a quart of the German variety forced on me years back, and I’d no wish to repeat the experience.

‘Like some? Celer brews it himself, and it’s the best in Lugdunum.’

‘No, thanks. I’ll pass.’

‘Suit yourself.’ He pulled back the curtain. Behind it was a small room with a table and three or four stools. ‘Have a seat.’ I sat. He perched. Overflowed. Whatever. ‘Now. Ask away.’

‘Licinius Nerva tells me you’ve known the Cabiri – the family as a whole, I mean – ever since they came here, yes?’

‘That’s right. They moved down from Treveran Augusta twenty years back, just after that bad business with Florus.’

‘You say that as if there was a connection.’

Biracus frowned. ‘Do I?’ he said. ‘Then it wasn’t intentional. Even so, it isn’t important. You’re not a Gaul, Corvinus; you wouldn’t understand these things.’

‘What things?’

‘It was a bad business, like I say, and water under the bridge. Oh, not here, we kept our heads down like most of the Gallic tribes. But the Treveri – they were Florus’s own folk, of course – well, some of them supported him, some didn’t, and that was that. After the revolt was put down and the main ringleaders were dealt with, the authorities drew a line. Very wisely, in my opinion, because taking things too far would just have led to more trouble. What was done was done, and there was an end of it.’ The curtain parted, and the cookshop owner came in with a laden tray. ‘Ah, good. Thank you, Celer. Most welcome.’

I waited while the contents of the tray were unloaded: a large bowl of bean stew, the best part of a loaf, a plate of sliced sausage and a wooden mug of beer the size of a small keg. No wonder the guy was the size he was, if this was a mid-morning snack.

‘You’re sure you won’t join me, Corvinus?’ he said.

‘No. No, that’s OK.’ Celer went out again. ‘So. Are you saying the Cabiri supported the revolt?’

‘Oh, now, that I can’t tell you. It wasn’t the sort of thing you asked, at the time, and besides, it doesn’t matter now. Water under the bridge and best forgotten, like I said.’ He took a long swallow of the beer. ‘Ah, that’s better. Mind you, Diligenta’s brother was certainly involved on the Florus side.’

‘Her brother?’

‘That’s right. Licnus. I don’t know what happened to him, don’t know much about the man barring his name.’ He tore off a bit of bread and scooped up some of the beans. ‘Except that he and Diligenta were very close. Titus idolized him.’

‘Titus? The son? He wasn’t even born then.’

‘No. But she was always talking about him. And Titus picked up on that. He’s a strange boy, Titus. Both the sons are, in their different ways.’

Gods! ‘I got the impression that he wasn’t too enamoured of his Uncle Quintus,’ I said. ‘Speaking currently, at least. You any idea why that should be?’

‘Really?’ He scooped up some more of the beans, followed them with a couple of slices of sausage, and then took another long pull at the beer keg. ‘No, none at all, or for no reason that I know of, certainly. But he has his moods, young Titus Cabirus, and he’s a secretive cove. Take that girlfriend of his, now. Aia.’ He chuckled. ‘I don’t know if Tiberius knew about her, but I’m damned sure he wouldn’t have approved if he did. And I wasn’t going to be the one to tell him, that was for sure. It was none of my business.’

Interesting; I was certain that, when I’d talked to Titus and brought the subject up, he’d told me categorically that he didn’t have a steady girlfriend.

‘Why would that be, now?’ I said. ‘That Cabirus wouldn’t have approved, that is?’

‘Oh, the girl’s family. Father’s a man called Doirus. Local farmer, has a place out beyond the Western Gate. He got into a bit of trouble a couple of years back, when Tiberius had my job and sat on the local bench. Tiberius had him flogged, quite rightly so, he thoroughly deserved it. But you try telling him that.’

Jupiter Best and Greatest! ‘How come Nerva didn’t know any of this?’ I said.

‘Why should he? As far as the earlier part goes, the revolt side of things, it’s ancient history. Young Nerva’s only been here five minutes. Governor Gabinius, too.’ Biracus finished off the beans and wiped the bowl with the last hunk of bread. ‘Where the rest’s concerned, Aia and her father – well, no offence, but Nerva’s a Roman, isn’t he? Romans go around blinkered half the time, can’t see their nose before their face.’

Yeah, well, I’d agree with him there. Gods!

‘You know anything about a dead wolf that was left in Market Square two or three months back, by the way?’ I said.

‘No, can’t help you there at all, I’m afraid.’ Biracus chewed on the bread and reached for the last of the sausage. ‘Oh, I know what you’re talking about, but that’s as far as it goes. The governor asked me the same question at the time, and I’ll give you the same answer I gave him: it was just a prank, no more. Some of the local youngsters messing around.’ He gave me a direct look. ‘Listen, Corvinus. We Lugdunans – Segusiavi, whatever – we’ve always supported Rome, through thick and thin. We aren’t troublemakers, any of us. It was just a bit of thoughtless silliness, with nothing serious behind it, you can take that from me.’

Yeah, well, I wasn’t altogether sure that he was being completely open on that score, at least as far as knowing nothing about the matter went – Julius Biracus struck me as a pretty smart and switched-on guy, despite his resemblance to a pregnant hippo – but I was willing to take him at his word. Besides, I reckoned I’d got my sesterce’s-worth for this particular meeting. More than. I stood up.