David Wishart - Foreign Bodies

Perilla murmured what sounded very like ‘Fuck Lenus Mars’ under her breath, but I must’ve misheard, because the lady most definitely does not do the f-word, and the phrase ‘famous sanctuary’ pushes her culture-button every time. Even so, she was clearly far from a happy bunny. Crinas having beaten her the last three games running at Robbers didn’t help, either: she’s not the world’s most gracious loser, is Perilla.

Ah, well, like I said, she’d only herself to blame; she’d insisted on coming. And we weren’t here for fun, after all.

‘Perhaps it’ll get better when we reach the centre,’ Crinas said diplomatically.

It didn’t. By the time we came in sight of the residence – which, to be fair, although small was reassuringly substantial, and stone-built – you could’ve used her expression to pickle radishes.

We’d gradually lost the unofficial members of the company along the way, so it was only us and Laco’s team. When we finally rolled to a stop in the residence’s courtyard, there was the usual reception committee waiting, headed by a smart-looking young guy in a tribune’s uniform.

Laco disembarked from his own carriage.

‘Quintus,’ he said. ‘Delighted to see you again.’

‘And I you, Procurator.’ The guy smiled. ‘Did you have a pleasant journey?’

‘Not too bad, not too bad.’ I’d got down myself. Laco turned. ‘Corvinus, this is Governor Hister’s aide, Saenius Balbinus, who will be liaising with you. You had word that Valerius Corvinus would be coming, Quintus?’

‘Of course.’ Balbinus held out his hand, and we shook. ‘A pleasure to meet you, sir. And you, madam.’ Perilla had got down behind me, with Smarmer in attendance. ‘Everything’s arranged. It’s not exactly the Palatine, as I’m sure the procurator would be the first to admit, but I hope you’ll be comfortable.’

‘I’m sure we will, Saenius Balbinus.’ Perilla smiled sweetly: the lady can be diplomatic, too, when she likes, and at least it appeared we wouldn’t be dossing down on Laco’s floor. ‘This is Domitius Crinas, by the way.’

‘Ah, doctor!’ Balbinus positively beamed. ‘A real pleasure! I happened on a copy of your treatise on the saline baths in Alexandria a while back. Excellent, simply excellent!’

‘You’re interested in medicine?’ Crinas sounded surprised, as well he might: Balbinus, being the governor’s aide, would come from a broad-striper family, and an upper-class Roman who read medical treatises for fun was as rare as a goat with feathers. Unless, of course – which was more likely – he was just buttering Smarmer up and had boned up on him in advance, but if so then he was doing a first-class job. Crinas beamed back.

‘Only as a layman. And only certain aspects of it. But I fully endorse the emperor’s wish to develop the northern spas for the use of the Rhine garrisons. We must have a long talk about that while you’re here.’ Well, I was all in favour of that; anything that kept the bastard away from Perilla had my full approval. Political animal or not, I was beginning to like Saenius Balbinus. ‘Now. You’ll want to freshen up after your journey. The town baths are quite adequate, but the residence does have a small suite of its own which I’m sure the procurator would be happy for you to use.’ He glanced at Laco.

‘Of course,’ Laco said.

‘I gave the order two hours ago, so they should be hot. Meanwhile, I’ll have you shown to your rooms, and if everything is satisfactory we’ll meet again at dinner.’

‘That sounds great,’ I said. ‘Thanks, pal.’

Maybe Augusta wouldn’t be so bad after all. And I noticed that Perilla was looking happier.

Score one for the politicians.

I got down to business first thing the next morning, while Perilla and Crinas investigated what the town had to offer in the way of shrines and temples: it seemed that we would be having the pleasure of Smarmer’s company for a few days yet while arrangements were made for his onward trip, although fortunately it transpired that the local medical network had come up trumps again re accommodation and we wouldn’t have the pleasure of watching him munching his groats at mealtimes.

Balbinus had got Diligenta’s sister Quadrunia and her husband’s address for me before we arrived, although he hadn’t, he told me, made any preliminary contact. As a matter of fact, they lived practically next door, in the north-east quarter between the residence complex and the Moguntiacum Gate.

Top of the local property market – which it was, seemingly – or not, the place was no great shakes: wooden-built, like most of the town, two-storeyed, in a plot of land of its own front, sides and back, surrounded by a waist-high wall. Most of the plot was taken up by practical stuff – an orchard plus a vegetable patch with cabbages, beans, carrots, leeks and salad leaves – but the bit at the front, facing the road, boasted a well-kept lawn, a small statue of the Goddess Diana, and a topiary cockerel: evidently, the family had some pretensions and wanted passers-by to take note of the fact.

I unlatched the gate and went up the garden path. The door was open, but I knocked, and a few moments later a young girl appeared, drying her hands on a towel.

‘Yes?’ she said, her eyes straying to the purple stripe on my tunic. ‘Can I help you?’

‘Hi,’ I said. ‘My name’s Valerius Corvinus. I was wondering if I could talk to the mistress; Quadrunia, isn’t it? She in at present?’

‘She is, sir. What was it about?’

‘It’s a bit complicated. And personal. You mind just asking her if she’ll see me?’

‘All right. If you’ll just wait there.’ She disappeared back inside.

Well, so far so good: there had always been the chance, after twenty years, that the family had moved away, or even that Quadrunia was dead; Diligenta, of course, by her own showing had had no contact with her in all that time, and although Quintus had been back and forward there wasn’t any reason for him to get in touch off his own bat; quite the contrary, from all indications. At least the journey was proving not to be a washout from the start.

The girl came back. ‘The mistress will see you, sir,’ she said. ‘This way.’

We went inside. Nothing grand here, either: a simple lobby, with the wooden beams and rafters showing through the white-painted plasterwork, and a wooden floor. Clean and neat as a pin, mind: the floorboards were oak, and polished to show the grain, as was the staircase leading up to the second storey. No decoration except for a small table with a vase of flowers on it.

‘In here.’ The girl opened a door and stepped back.

It was a largish sitting room, obviously the main room of the house: low-ceilinged, and like the lobby with the beams and rafters showing. There was a woman about Diligenta’s age sitting in one of the wickerwork chairs. I could see the family resemblance at once.

‘Quadrunia, yes?’ I said.

‘Indeed. And you’re Valerius Corvinus, Escena tells me. We don’t have many Roman visitors, especially ones with a purple stripe on their tunics. Also, Escena said your business was personal, which is mystifying in itself. Have a seat, please.’

I pulled up another chair facing her and sat. ‘I’ve just come from Lugdunum,’ I said. ‘From your sister.’

She looked blank. ‘My sister ?’ she said.

‘Ah … Diligenta?’

‘Yes, of course.’ The blank look disappeared, but now her lips formed a hard line. ‘I’m sorry; I didn’t-’ She stopped. ‘You may not be aware of this yourself, Valerius Corvinus, but I haven’t seen Diligenta or heard from her in years, half a lifetime, in fact. Which’ – and there was ice in her tone – ‘neither surprises nor concerns me. Why on earth should she want to get in touch now?’