David Wishart - Foreign Bodies

‘Nah, you’re wrong, I wasn’t in at all that day. I’d the stocktaking to finish.’

Hell! I could have wept! So near, and yet so far: the odds were that whoever Tarbeisus had been talking to, Anda had noticed something screwy going on in the conversation. Screwy enough for him to cut things short and make a bee-line for his master to give him the news. I could ask my friend the barman, of course – at least he’d’ve been behind the counter, serving the drinks – and I would, before I left, but I’d bet now I’d be on a hiding to nothing in that direction.

‘You can’t give me any names?’ I said to Frontus. ‘None at all?’

‘One of them could’ve been Verus. He came in late that day, and he was round looking for a seat. I’m only guessing, mind.’

Hey! Great! ‘Who’s Verus? He here at present?’

Frontus looked round. ‘No. But he’s a regular; you shouldn’t have any problems checking with him yourself.’

‘Local man?’

‘No again; he’s based in Divodurum. Footwear.’

‘You wouldn’t know where he lodges?’

‘I’m sorry, that I can’t tell you. But as I say, he’ll be around. Is it that urgent?’

‘Pretty much so.’ Damn! We were on to something here, I was certain of that. ‘Could you give him a message for me, do you think? Next time you see him?’

‘Of course.’

‘Just ask him to call in at the residence as soon as he can. I’ll either be there myself, or he can arrange a time and a place to meet. OK?’

‘Perfectly.’

‘Thanks.’ I stood up. ‘Much obliged for the help.’

‘You’re very welcome.’

I checked with our Argus-eyed owner/barman on the way out, but sure enough he hadn’t any thoughts on the matter.

Ah, well, we were a little further forward, anyway. And maybe this Verus, when I finally got to see him, would come up trumps.

Perilla was waiting for me in the atrium when I got back. Impatiently, and dressed to the nines.

‘Marcus,’ she said. ‘You need to get changed. Now.’

‘Ah … run that past me again?’

‘We’re going out for dinner. To Optima and Secundus’s.’

‘ What? Gods, lady …!’

‘Yes, well, I know it’s short notice, but she asked, and I said we weren’t doing anything particular this evening. It’s nothing formal, not a full-scale dinner party, just a family meal. Only the four of us.’

‘Right. Which is why you’re wearing your best mantle, gold-piece-a-bottle scent, and the family jewels. Why the hell couldn’t she make the invite for two or three days down the line like a proper civilized person? Or is this some kind of weird Gallic custom? Disconcert the Roman?’

‘I suspect it’s just her, dear. You’ve met her yourself. She is rather impulsive.’

Well, that was one word for her. Not the one I would’ve chosen, mind, but at least it was polite. I sighed.

‘OK, party mantle and slippers it is,’ I said. ‘I just hope the woman’s impulsiveness doesn’t extend to serving up any local delicacies. An evening of Julia Optima I can stand, but not if it involves roast bear in a cream-cheese sauce washed down with a pot of Gaulish beer.’

‘Don’t be tiresome, Marcus.’

‘Just watch your mantle when old Secundus gets excited and starts splashing the gravy around, that’s all.’

‘Hah!’

I made for the stairs.

Actually, I needn’t have worried; the meal was perfectly normal and absolutely delicious. The wine wasn’t bad, either – Massilian, and top of the range. By the time we’d got to the fruit and nuts stage, I was relaxed and pretty mellow.

I’d obviously done Julius Secundus an injustice, too, in comparing him with my stepfather Priscus. Oh, sure, a certain amount of Priscan geekery crept into the conversation now and again, but it was clear he was keeping his hobby-horse on a tight rein, and unlike Priscus he had other interests that didn’t teeter on the spinning edge of monomania. Like how the racing teams in Rome were shaping at present. Me, I don’t follow the cars all that closely, but you can’t go down to the Square for a morning shave without picking up a certain amount of current gossip, and at least it made a pleasant change from a rundown of the uses of the dative in Ancient Oscan. There was no shop talk, either: I’d been expecting to be grilled on how the case was going but it wasn’t even mentioned, which came as another pleasant surprise.

Perilla was enjoying herself as well. She’d been right when she’d said that Optima was interested in – and knew a lot about – local traditions, customs and history; despite the fact that the lady was looking a complete and total stunner in a mantle that did for her figure what any self-respecting sculptor given a commission for Venus Clothed would’ve hocked his chisel for, she was absolutely no bimbo. Far from it. Yeah, well, to each his own; having been thoroughly Perilla’d over the years myself, I had more than a little sympathy for old Secundus. Mind you, being married to a honey like Julia Optima would make up for a hell of a lot.

So all in all when the lads came in to clear away we were having a very unexpectedly pleasant evening.

‘Now, Corvinus,’ Secundus said, picking up his wine-cup. ‘I promised to show you my silverware collection, or some of it, anyway. Only if you’re agreeable, of course.’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘That’d be great.’

‘Then we’ll go through to the study. Optima? Perilla? You’ll join us?’

‘Certainly,’ Perilla said.

‘This way, then.’

‘Study’ was the wrong word; oh, sure, there was a reading-couch and table, plus a book cubby on one of the walls, but most of the room was given over to the silverware, everything from what looked like a big mixing-bowl for wine that stood apart on a low plinth to a set of spoons in an angled wooden display frame. I reckoned there was getting on for a hundredweight of the stuff, all in prime condition and gleaming like it’d been freshly polished. Which, probably, it had been: whoever on Secundus’s staff had landed that particular job, slave or free, I didn’t envy the poor bugger. Even Bathyllus would’ve blanched, and the little bald-head is never happier than when he’s buffing away at the bronzes.

‘Oh, my!’ Perilla breathed.

‘Yes, I’m quite proud of it,’ Secundus said. ‘All Gaulish made, or Celtic, rather, because I’m not sure myself about the provenance of some of the pieces. This drinking horn, for example.’ He picked it up from the table beside him. ‘I bought that from a merchant who said he’d had it from a seller in Rhaetia. It may have been made there, or it may simply have travelled; I don’t know. In any case, it’s a beautiful piece of work.’

‘It certainly is,’ Perilla said. ‘May I see, please?’

‘Of course.’ He handed it over.

‘How old would it be?’ I said.

‘Again, I’m not sure. Certainly more than three hundred years, possibly older.’ He smiled. ‘Say about the time we Gauls were sacking Rome.’

I winced. Oh, ha; they couldn’t resist a dig, could they? Not even the most Romanized of them.

‘This part of the decoration,’ Perilla said. ‘A … ram with a serpent’s tail, isn’t it?’

‘The god Cernunnos,’ Optima said. ‘Protector of animals. The ram is especially sacred to him, and he’s sometimes shown that way.’

‘Oh, yes. I remember you mentioning that.’ She set the horn down again. ‘He’s the Gaulish equivalent of Apollo, isn’t he?’

‘In a way. But our gods are rather more generalized than yours. They don’t specialize nearly so much, so it’s difficult to put them into compartments.’

Secundus chuckled. ‘Optima knows far more about that side of things than I do,’ he said. ‘For me, these are simply beautiful pieces of craftsmanship. I’m not so interested in the symbolism, or the underlying story.’