David Wishart - Foreign Bodies

‘How long have you been collecting?’ I said.

‘Most of my life. And my father started the collection before me, in a small way.’ He picked up a cloak-brooch that lay beside the drinking horn and handed it to me. ‘This was the first piece he ever bought, a gift for my mother when they were betrothed. Look at the intricacy of the patternwork! Absolutely flawless! Whoever produced that was not only a consummate artist but a first-class draughtsman.’

Yeah, I’d have to agree. The guy had had first-class eyesight, too, because the amount of detail – pinpoint-accurate detail – he’d managed to squeeze in to a space the length and width of two of my fingers was incredible. It knocked any equivalent bit of jewellery I’d ever seen back home into a cocked hat.

Well, if Secundus was a bit obsessive at least there were worse things to get obsessive about. I was impressed. More than impressed. I laid it back down.

‘What about the big one over there?’ I said. ‘The wine-mixing bowl.’

‘Ah. I was saving that for last, because it’s the gem of the collection. Still, now that you’ve asked …’ He went over to it, and we followed. ‘It’s not a wine bowl; the old Celts didn’t drink wine. It was probably used for holding beer or mead at a religious ceremony. Isn’t it magnificent?’ It certainly was: a good two feet wide by eighteen inches deep, silver picked out in gold and decorated all over, inside and out. ‘I’ve no idea of age; I think more or less contemporary with the drinking horn, although that’s only a guess because the designs may be Celtic but the actual silver-working technique is much more advanced, possibly Thracian. As to the designs themselves, Optima will be able to tell you more about them than I could.’

‘That’s Cernunnos again, isn’t it?’ Perilla pointed to the seated figure on the bowl’s inside face, crowned with antlers, surrounded by animals and holding a snake.

‘Yes, it is,’ Optima said. ‘The serpent is wisdom. The thing in his other hand is a torque, the sign of a chief’s power to rule. So the god is wisdom combined with power, or power to rule through wisdom. At least, that’s what I think the meaning is.’

‘What about the scene on the other side? A human sacrifice?’

Yeah, I’d noticed that already myself. The scene was made up of a line of armed men led by three guys blowing what I assumed were war horns, and next to them a larger figure holding a smaller one by the ankles and lowering him head-down into a king-size stew-pot. Nice.

‘It’s the most likely explanation, yes; the old Celts certainly practised ritual drowning. But there might be another explanation, a kinder one. You’ve heard of the Cauldron of Rebirth?’

‘No.’

‘It’s one of the Three Magical Treasures that the druids talk about. Talked about. Dead men – those killed in battle, especially – who were put into the Cauldron came alive again, to fight another day. That may be what’s shown here.’ Optima smiled. ‘But that’s just a guess, I’m afraid. Wishful thinking.’

‘Useful if you could make it work,’ I said.

‘Yes, it would be, Valerius Corvinus. Very useful. And rebirth – whether literal or metaphorical – is an important concept to a Gaul.’

‘Well, have you seen enough?’ Secundus said. ‘I wouldn’t want to bore you. And I could, very easily, believe me.’

I grinned. ‘Yeah, I think that’ll do me,’ I said. ‘Even so, it’s been fascinating. Right, Perilla?’

‘Indeed it has,’ the lady said. ‘Thank you, Julius Secundus. And of course you too, Optima.’

We went back out.

‘So it’s an ongoing process, is it?’ I said to Secundus as he closed the study door behind us. ‘The collecting, I mean?’

‘Oh, very much so. Not a cheap hobby, I know, but we live quite simply otherwise, and suitable pieces don’t come up for sale all that often.’ Secundus led the way back along the corridor towards the dining room. ‘Of course, I have my network of suppliers who keep their eyes peeled for anything I might find interesting, particularly if it fills a gap somewhere or other. You met Sulinus, didn’t you? The man I was with in the market square when we first talked?’

‘Yeah, I did.’

‘He is especially useful, coming as he does from Caesarodunum. That’s more or less the geographical centre of-’ He stared at me. ‘Are you all right, Corvinus? You look unwell.’

‘Uh … no. No, I’m fine, thanks. Maybe just your good wine catching up on me all at once,’ I said.

Jupiter! Sweet Jupiter and all the gods!

‘Perhaps a breath of fresh air?’ Optima said. ‘If you’d like to have a turn round the garden the back door’s this way.’

She turned.

‘Uh-uh. Honestly. Even so, perhaps we should be getting back. Thank you for a splendid meal.’

‘Indeed.’ Perilla was giving me a very suspicious look. ‘I’m sure Procurator Laco would be happy to allow us to reciprocate in a few days’ time. Isn’t that so, Marcus?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, definitely.’ I managed a weak grin. ‘The ladies can arrange it between them, Secundus, if that’s all right with you.’

‘Certainly it is.’ He took my empty wine-cup from me. ‘We’ll look forward to it.’

‘Good night, then. And thanks again.’

‘Now, Marcus,’ Perilla said when we were settled in the carriage and trundling our way back to the residence. ‘Will you please explain the meaning of that little farce? We couldn’t have left any faster if we’d been greased. I was totally embarrassed.’

‘Secundus’s merchant pal Sulinus is our perp,’ I said.

‘ What? How on earth do you know that?’

‘Because he’s from Caesarodunum. Or claims he is, rather, which is just the point. According to Nerva, the dead merchant – Tarbeisus – came from there too.’

‘So?’

‘Gods, lady! It explains everything! One of them must’ve been lying, and it can’t’ve been Tarbeisus, because he was the one who got stiffed. So it must be Sulinus. And if he’s the liar then ipso facto he’s also the man we want.’

‘I’m sorry, dear, you’ve lost me. Why should either of them be lying in the first place?’

‘Because Anda caught one of them out.’

‘And when would that have been?’

Oh, yeah; we’d left in such a hurry for the impromptu dinner appointment that I hadn’t had time to bring the lady up to date on the case. I did now.

‘So one of the punters standing at the bar with Tarbeisus – the crucial punter – must’ve been Sulinus,’ I finished. ‘Whatever was said, it showed Anda – who had been to Caesarodunum – that he didn’t know the place at all. Oh, sure, it was pure bad luck on Sulinus’s part. Doubly bad luck, in fact: he’d chosen a town that it was most unlikely any of the merchants frequenting Augusta would know, because it was well off the beaten track where they were concerned, only to find himself talking to someone who actually came from there. Plus his gaffe had been noticed by one of the only two men in town who’d know what it meant. You see? It explains all of the murders together: Drutus and Anda had to die, because they could’ve fingered him to the authorities, and Tarbeisus had to go as well in case he blew the guy’s cover, innocently or otherwise, later on.’

‘Yes.’ She was twisting her lock of hair. ‘Yes, that makes sense. Of course it does. But why should Sulinus need to invent a bogus background for himself in the first place? After all, there are plenty of places in Gaul that he might have been to that he could’ve used instead. Why choose somewhere he’d never been before? It was simply asking for trouble.’

‘Gods, Perilla, use your brain, please.’