David Wishart - Foreign Bodies

‘Come on! Who’s free-wheeling here now? We don’t know that for sure. He could have-’

She ignored me. Ring finger. ‘Four. If he needed the coin to prove his credentials to the druid, then why deliberately leave it with his woman friend before he went to the meeting?’

‘Ah, now that is a problem, I admit, but maybe he-’

‘Five.’ She bent down the last finger. ‘If he and the person he was meeting were on the same side then why did he and his servant end up dead? No, dear, I’m afraid it just won’t do.’

Fuck. She was right again, though; like with Segomarus, there were too many objections.

There was something there, mind. I could feel it.

‘Fair enough,’ I said. ‘Let’s call a truce, shall we?’

‘Certainly. Although you did start it.’

‘Balbinus has found a pal for you. A female pal.’

‘Really?’ She didn’t sound exactly thrilled. ‘Who’s that?’

‘Her name’s Julia Optima. She’s the wife of one of the local senators, quite a lively lady, according to Balbinus. He’s sending her round after breakfast tomorrow.’

‘That’ll be nice.’

‘Yeah, I thought you’d be pleased.’ I smiled. ‘It’ll make a pleasant change from going around with your friend Smarmer.’

‘For your information, I haven’t seen Domitius Crinas for two days,’ she snapped. Definite points of colour high on the cheekbones.

‘Had a bust-up, have you?’

‘Don’t be childish. As a matter of fact, he’s busy in connection with his work, at the spa in the Lenus Mars sanctuary.’

I indicated the book she’d been reading when I came in and had set down on the table. ‘That why you’ve turned to literature?’ I said.

‘Certainly not! I’ve discovered a collection of works in what amounts to a small library upstairs. One of them was the part of Posidonius of Apamea’s Histories dealing with the Gauls, which I’m ashamed to say I’ve never read. Having nothing better to do, I was simply rectifying the omission.’

I grinned. ‘That so, now?’

‘That is so. Did you realize …? No, better still, I’ll read it to you.’ She picked the roll up, opened it and scanned the contents. ‘Ah. Here we are. “When the Gauls leave the battlefield, they hang the heads of the enemies they have killed from their horses’ necks. On returning home, they nail the heads to the doorposts and lintels of their houses. I have seen these grisly trophies myself, on many occasions, and although they made me shudder at first have become quite inured to the spectacle over time, and now find it quite natural.”’

‘Strong stuff.’

‘Isn’t it? Of course, Posidonius was writing about the situation a hundred years ago. No doubt things have improved since then.’

‘You can’t stop progress, lady. Still, it’s a shame those quaint old customs are dying out. You’ll have to ask Julia Optima what she does with her spare heads when you see her.’

‘Marcus, that’s not fair. You haven’t even met the woman.’

‘Yeah, well, from Balbinus’s description of her – or rather reading between the lines of it – she’s a proper character. It should be interesting.’

Bathyllus shimmered in. ‘Excuse me, sir. Madam,’ he said, ‘the chef was wondering that since you seem both to be at home now you’d like to eat early.’

We’d obviously got our Perfect Butler back, in spades. And a chef who actually consulted you about mealtimes was a welcome change from Meton. Back home, you had to be on the dining-room couches with bib tucked in and spoon in hand when the sun touched the horizon, no earlier and certainly no later, or risk some very cutting comments. Particularly when it was fish.

‘Tell him that’d be great, Bathyllus,’ I said. ‘Procurator Laco isn’t eating tonight?’

‘No, sir. He’s dining with a business colleague, and since the conversation is liable to be mainly of a financial nature he thought that you and the mistress would prefer not to be included in the invitation.’

‘Very considerate,’ I said. It was; me, I’d rather not have to sit through a couple of hours of fiscal chit-chat, thank you very much.

So, it was just us for the moment again.

We could draw a line under the case for today. We’d see what tomorrow brought.

I wasn’t in a tearing hurry to get started next day, mainly because the only item on a skeleton-thin agenda was a talk with the keeper of the tavern where Drutus’s servant Anda had put up, in the hopes that the guy had mentioned something useful before he handed in his lunch pail. Besides, after Balbinus’s rather tongue-in-cheek encomium of her I was interested in hanging around and seeing how this Julia Optima turned out.

She breezed in as promised just after breakfast. Just after breakfast, which was Disquieting Feature number one, or rather one and two combined if you count the ‘breezed’. Perilla definitely isn’t your chirpy morning person, she doesn’t usually start to wake up until halfway through her second omelette, and even then she generally likes to take things at her own pace until midday at least. Breezing is definitely out. The lady, to put it mildly, was not amused.

Disquieting Feature number three …

Yeah, well, in retrospect, if I’d been Balbinus I definitely wouldn’t’ve used the word ‘feisty’, which, translated into male terms, has overtones of jolly wizard romps in the junior officers’ mess followed by a wholesome, bracing cold plunge in the local icy torrent. Maybe ‘Amazonian’ came closest; certainly I hadn’t been all that far out with my severed heads crack, because total stunner or not – which she also was – I could just see this lady going in for that kind of DIY home improvement in a big way. Being good at it, too. She was just under six feet and built to match, with flaming red hair, and she trailed Bathyllus into the dining room behind her like an apologetic afterthought.

‘The Lady Julia Optima, sir. Madam,’ he said, and exited like he’d been greased.

‘Pleased to meet you.’ Add a voice that a senior centurion would’ve given his vine-stick for. Although he’d have to be a very unusual First Spear indeed, mind; I’d bet that, once you got down to cases, there was nothing butch about Julia Optima. ‘Saenius Balbinus told you I’d be coming?’

‘Uh, yeah. Yeah.’ I indicated one of the wicker chairs. ‘Have a seat, Julia Optima. You’ve breakfasted?’

‘Hours ago.’ She pulled the chair over and sat. It creaked. ‘Call me Optima, please. And you’re Perilla,’ she said to Perilla.

‘Evidently I am.’ I glanced at the lady: expression you could’ve used to pickle cabbage and a tone straight off the sharp end of a Riphaean blizzard. ‘Delighted.’

If Optima had noticed either the expression or the tone she didn’t show it. Which, I suspected, was par for the course, because I’d lay odds, even on this brief acquaintance, that she had an ego the size of the Capitol.

As, indeed, had Perilla; pace Balbinus, this did not look promising. Fortunately, though, it was none of my concern. Time, I thought, for a rapid strategic withdrawal before the plaster started flaking off the walls.

I stood up.

‘Well, ladies,’ I said, ‘if you’ll forgive me I’ll leave you to it. Things to do, I’m afraid.’

‘Connected with the murders of that merchant and his servant,’ Optima said. ‘Yes, I’d heard about that. A dreadful business, simply dreadful. You’ve no idea yet why it happened?’

‘Uh-uh; not at present. I’m working on it.’ I leaned down and gave Perilla a chaste kiss on the cheek. ‘See you later, lady. Have a good day.’

‘Thank you, dear. I shall at least endeavour to do so.’