David Wishart - Bodies Politic

Yeah, I’d bet. ‘He tell you when he’d be back?’

‘No, sir. Only that he might be some time.’

Well, that was that. Hamster-face, very sensibly, had sniffed the air and headed for the tall timber. Maybe it was the best, because at least he was still alive and no doubt Etruscus or Gaius or whoever the hell I was doing this for could lay their hands on him at some future date if they wanted him. Even so, it was another avenue closed. Alexandria was just about played out as far as the case was concerned.

I left, and went home.

There’d been a message from Marcus Gallius in my absence. If it was okay with me and Stratocles he’d come round to dinner the next day.

He arrived promptly an hour before sundown. Stratocles had had a slight attack of chest palpitations that morning – he was prone to them, seemingly, now and again – and preferred to eat in his room, but he’d turned the main dining-room over to us and made sure before he left that everything would go smoothly. As I was sure it would, because although his chef wasn’t quite in Meton’s league he was well above the average hash-slinger. We were having poached snapper in a date sauce, quails with an almond-ginger stuffing and a puree of leeks and other assorted greens in a pastry mould, plus the usual sundries front and back. I’d reckoned we might make an appreciable hole in Stratocles’s wine stocks over the evening, so I dropped in at the supplier’s his head slave recommended and bought a jar of top-range Mareotis, plus a smaller jar that I’d give to Mika’s Nicos when we left.

‘Hey, pal!’ I said when the slave led Gallius through to the dining-room. ‘Nice to see you. Put on your slippers and park yourself on the vacant couch.’ He did, and one of the dining-room skivvies offered him the hand-washing bowl. I made the introductions.

‘Pleased to meet you, Tribune,’ Perilla said.

‘Thank you for the invitation, Lady.’ Delivered dead-pan and super-polite, but with a smile: a well-brought-up youngster, Gallius. He dipped his hands in the basin, then dried them on the skivvy’s towel while another slave poured him a cup of wine. I saw that he’d noticed Clarus’s bruised face – the shiner had come up beautifully now – but he didn’t comment. ‘You’re enjoying your visit to Alexandria?’

‘Oh, very much. We all are. It’s a lovely city.’

He turned to Marilla. ‘So when is the wedding?’

‘The end of October,’ Marilla said. ‘Not in Rome; we’re having it in Castrimoenium, in the Alban hills.’

‘Near Bovillae? I’ve an uncle with a villa outside Bovillae. Sallustius Calvinus. You know him?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Marilla smiled. ‘At least, we’ve met. He was a friend of my Aunt Marcia’s.’

‘ Fabius Maximus’s widow? Well, well. He talks about her often. So you’re that Marilla, the one who likes animals? It’s a small world.’

I grinned. Yeah, it was, although the fact that they had an acquaintance in common wasn’t surprising. The upper-class Roman network is pretty limited, and finding a connection somewhere in the course of the introductory small-talk isn’t difficult. Which, of course, is how the empire’s run, at base. Still, now we knew how we all fitted in, as it were, it made for a nice relaxed atmosphere. I signalled the slaves to wheel in the starters while Gallius, Marilla and Clarus chatted and compared notes about people and places they knew in common: Gallius was a few years older, sure, but they were the same generation and I was glad they’d struck it off together. When Clarus told him his father was the local doctor he didn’t bat an eyelid. A nice guy, the tribune, like I said.

The starters came: raw vegetables, quails’ eggs with a fish-pickle dip and an endive salad with a honey and wine-vinegar dressing.

‘Did you find your bridesmaids’ material, Lady Perilla?’ Gallius said.

‘Oh, yes. Actually, yes we did, at that merchant’s warehouse you recommended. Absolutely marvellous. Thank you.’

‘Cineas has some good stuff.’ Gallius shelled an egg and dipped it in the pickle. ‘We were lucky to spot him at the governor’s. And if Corvinus here hadn’t got himself involved in that fracas originally he’d never have -’ He stopped and coloured. ‘Uh, I mean -’

I was laughing. ‘It’s okay, pal. She knows. She had the whole thing out of me in practically five minutes flat.’

‘Don’t exaggerate, dear.’ Perilla sniffed.

‘Well, more or less.’

‘I still don’t understand it.’ Gallius redipped the poised egg. ‘For a Roman citizen to be attacked in the open street doesn’t make any sense. It just can’t happen.’ I looked a warning at Clarus, but he didn’t need it. He helped himself to endive salad and said nothing. ‘Mind you, the city’s in a strange mood these days, not itself. There’ve been a few muggings in broad daylight. People being beaten up for no reason at all.’

‘Yeah?’ I said, reaching for a stick of celery. ‘People like who?’

‘Jews, mostly. The occasional Greek, but mostly Jews.’ He hesitated. ‘One or two suspicious fires, too. Jewish property again, not in the Delta district where most of them live, up by the harbour.’

I set the celery down. ‘You think there’s going to be trouble?’ I said quietly. ‘Real trouble?’

He glanced at Perilla. ‘Well…nothing major yet, but it isn’t looking good. Hasn’t done since that King Cabbage business. It’d help if the governor -’ He stopped and looked uncomfortable.

‘If Flaccus’d clamp down on it,’ I said.

‘Yeah. More or less.’ A shrug. ‘That’s not just my opinion, far from it, and I’m not criticising. But we’ve been told to soft-pedal, ignore things. Agrippa still being here isn’t helping matters, either.’

‘He’s shown no signs of leaving?’

‘No. Not yet, nor of pulling his horns in supporting the Jews. And the Greeks don’t like it. Particularly with Isidorus whipping them up.’ He gave me a direct look. ‘Corvinus, if I were you I’d leave yourself. As soon as you can. Maybe I shouldn’t say that because the official line is that everything’s under control and it’ll all blow over, but there you are.’

I sat back. Shit. If Gallius felt strongly enough about it to give me the warning in front of Perilla and the kids then the situation was serious right enough. And I’d got my own inside information to confirm it. ‘We talking riots here?’ I said.

‘We could be. Potentially.’ It came out unwillingly, sure, but it came out all the same.

‘Oh, Marcus!’ Perilla set down her spoon.

‘What do you reckon the time scale is?’

‘A month. Maybe less, if things go on the way they are at present. We’re getting more incidents every day, and the circumstances’re worse every time. No actual deaths yet, but that’s more by good luck than design.’

Gods! Maybe we’d better make enquiries about ships asap after all. Not that I’d be sorry to go, as far as the case was concerned: I suspected I’d got about as much out of Alexandria as I was going to, and the Roman end was showing signs of developing nicely again. Perilla’d be happy enough too, because she’d got her material and if things were going to spill over into outright violence she wouldn’t want the kids anywhere near it, obvious Roman citizens or not. We’d have to have a serious talk later.

‘So it seems you can forget the Rhine transfer,’ I said. ‘It looks as if you’ll have your excitement after all.’

‘I told you, Corvinus. I don’t want excitement at that price. And action in Germany would be cleaner.’

‘You’re being transferred to a Rhine legion?’ Clarus said.

‘Uh-uh. Just a private joke. I wish it wasn’t, mind.’