David Wishart - Foreign Bodies

‘Me again, lads,’ I said to the two squaddies on the door: they were the same guys who’d been on duty before and had pointed me towards the cookshop where I’d talked to Titus. ‘Another question for you. You happen to know where I can find a Julius Vindus?’

‘Out of town today, sir, I’m afraid,’ one of them said. ‘On an assignment. He should be back this evening.’

Damn! Still, it couldn’t be helped; he wasn’t going to disappear altogether, and tomorrow would do just as well. ‘Thanks a lot,’ I said, and carried on inside.

The lobby was impressive: large, with a coloured-marble floor, decorated walls and a statue of Claudius – idealized again, but what would you expect? – taking pride of place. The sculptor had shown him in the usual pose, dressed in a mantle, left arm gathering up the folds, right hand stretched out in front of him, palm up. Personally, I’ve often wondered whether the guys who commission those things, or who are responsible for putting them in place, have any concept of irony: for anyone coming into a public building the main purpose of whose occupants is to screw money out of the local population in taxes to be greeted by a representation of the head of the Roman state with his hand out seems pretty ironic to me. Still, we Romans have always been insensitive pragmatists, so maybe it was deliberate.

‘Valerius Corvinus! What brings you here?’

I looked to my right: the procurator himself, Laco, in conversation with a couple of clerks next to a very nice bronze of the goddess Artemis. He came over.

‘Good morning, Procurator,’ I said. ‘Just checking up on a technicality.’

‘How is the investigation going?’

‘Not bad. It’s still early days yet.’

‘I hope you’re not working too hard. After all, it is your first visit to Lugdunum, and you owe it to yourself to relax a little bit, see the sights.’

‘No, that’s OK,’ I said. ‘I’m not much one for sightseeing. Perilla’s doing the rounds, though. Getting Nerva’s wife Caninia to take her in hand was a good move on the governor’s part.’

‘Yes, well, I’d at least have liked to have you round to dinner, for a real Gaulish meal. But I’m afraid that, like the governor, I’ll be away on tour very shortly; it’s that time of year, you understand. Up north, into Belgica; my remit covers both provinces. A great pity. I enjoyed our conversation, and of course meeting your lady wife.’

‘Maybe another time,’ I said diplomatically. A real Gaulish meal, eh? Now that was something I wasn’t in any hurry to try. The day Gallic cuisine hits the dinner tables of the empire the sky will be full of flying pigs. Rumour had it that the bastards even used butter to cook their snails in. Meton would have a fit.

‘So,’ Laco said. ‘What’s this technicality you’re checking up on?’

I couldn’t very well not tell him, though I’d’ve preferred not to. ‘Just an entry in the duty roster. For Titus Cabirus.’

That got me a very sharp look. ‘ Titus ?’

‘Yeah. Like I say, it’s just a routine check.’

‘You surely don’t suspect Titus of killing his own father, do you?’ He was frowning. ‘Besides, I told you at the governor’s dinner, the lad’s one of my most promising young officers. If I’m any judge – which I am – he has a brilliant career ahead of him.’

‘No, not at all,’ I lied. ‘Just being thorough. Dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s.’

‘Hmm. You know your business best, of course, but I think one can be too painstaking.’ He turned towards the two clerks he’d been talking to when I came in and raised his voice. ‘Largus! Over here a moment, please.’ One of the clerks came over. ‘This is Valerius Corvinus, the emperor’s personal representative from Rome. He wants to see one of the past duty rosters. Take care of it, will you?’

‘Certainly, Procurator.’ The man looked at me curiously. ‘If you’d care to follow me, sir?’

‘If I don’t see you again before I go, Corvinus, good luck with the enquiry. A pleasure to have met you, and do give my best regards to the emperor when next you see him.’ He held out his hand, and we shook. ‘Off you go, Largus.’

‘Yes, sir.’

The guy took me along one of the corridors at the back of the lobby, stopped at an office door, opened it and stood aside for me to pass. The place was lined with wall-to-wall document-cubbies.

‘Now, sir,’ he said, following me in. ‘What exactly was the date you were interested in?’

‘The twenty-eighth of March this year,’ I said. ‘I’m looking for a particular officer. A Titus Cabirus.’

That got me a sideways glance as sharp as Laco’s had been – yeah, well, there couldn’t be many people in Lugdunum who didn’t know about the murder, or when it had happened – but the clerk didn’t comment. He ran his finger along the line of tags below one set of cubbies, stopped, reached in, pulled out a sheaf of beechwood flimsies and leafed through them.

‘March the twenty-eighth, wasn’t it, sir?’ he said.

‘Yeah. Was Titus Cabirus on duty that day?’

The clerk ran his finger down the page. The finger stopped.

‘Yes, sir,’ he said. ‘He was.’ Bugger! ‘Only he reported sick and went home at noon.’

‘ What? ’

‘See for yourself, sir.’ He handed the flimsy over. Sure enough, against his name and rank someone had written aegr. h. VI .

Shit. Titus Cabirus had been lying through his teeth.

I passed the flimsy back to the clerk. ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘You’ve been really, really helpful.’

‘My pleasure, sir. Was there anything else you needed?’

‘No, that’ll just about do it.’ By the gods it would!

‘Then I’ll see you out.’

OK; so I had another talk with Titus Cabirus coming up. But that I’d postpone for the present.

First I had to talk to his girlfriend.

The Volentus house, when I found it, was practically next door to the Cabirus place. Same sort of arrangement: walled garden leading up to the house itself, two storeys and a porch. I went through the gate.

There was an old guy in a rough woollen tunic and wide-brimmed sun hat busy lashing the stray tendrils of a vine to the trellis of an arbour.

‘Morning, Gramps,’ I said. ‘You got a girl working here by the name of Aia, by any chance?’

He tied a slow double knot before answering. I waited patiently.

‘Might have,’ he said at last. ‘Who wants to know?’

‘Name’s Valerius Corvinus. I’m looking into the death of one of your neighbours. Claudius Cabirus.’

He grunted and shot me a quick sideways look, then reached for another tendril and began tying it slowly and methodically into place.

‘So you’re that Roman?’ he said. ‘Yes, Aia’s one of ours. Kitchen maid.’

‘Do you think I could talk to her, if she’s around? Not for long, and with your mistress’s permission, of course.’

‘I reckon you could, at that. You’ll find her in by; kitchen’s round the back.’ He finished tying the knot and tugged it tight. ‘And you won’t need any other permission than mine. I’m master in my own house. Julius Volentus.’

Bugger; I still hadn’t got used to the differences in staffing arrangements between Gaul and back home. Or the different social standards. ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ I said. ‘I thought you were the gardener.’

‘No bones broken. Easy mistake to make. What does Aia have to do with Tiberius Cabirus?’

‘Nothing, as far as I know,’ I said cautiously. ‘I just wanted a quick word with her to clear something up, is all.’

‘Well, you’ll know your own business best.’ He stooped and picked up another scrap of leather lacing from the ground at his feet. ‘Aia’s a good girl, and a good worker, that’s all I can say and all that interests me. Past the pear tree there and round the corner of the house. Don’t be long, because she’s the lunch vegetables to do. We eat early.’