A Dying Light In Corduba Part 26

'You're in my way,' Selia responded offhandedly.

'Only because I don't know what's going on!' I was stalling. This group had killed. In no circ.u.mstances were they on the same side as me. 'Anyway, you take too many risks!'

'If you say so.'

'The Parilia!' I reminded her. 'You should have been lying low, not showing your face.'

'Oh yes?'

'And I went to a daft lads' party afterwards where everyone knew you had gone home to Hispalis. You leave too many tracks. I found you - and so can anyone.'

The heavies again started dragging me out, but Selia halted them with a raised hand. 'Who's looking?' she demanded.

At least I was collecting my strength. The longer I could hold off any final battering, the more hope of escape. I ignored Selia's question. 'If you really are a home-doving Hispalis girl, however did Laeta discover you?'

'I went to Rome, for someone else. I'm a dancer. I went to Rome to dance.'

'So it wasn't Laeta who sent you to that dinner in your little Diana costume, then?'

'Find out, Falco!'

Did Laeta order you to attack Anacrites and his man?' Laeta gives me a free hand.' I noticed it wasn't an answer.

'You're in trouble,' I warned her. 'Don't trust Laeta to support you if the water heats up too much in his own pot.'

'I trust no one, Falco.' She had pulled down her dress and was calmly applying new paint to her face. She stroked it on with a spatula, swiftly and thickly. Before my eyes she was turning back into the archetypal Spanish castanet girl (the one who only exists in men's dreams); the blue-black hair she wore for dancing for Romans had been combed out on a stand. When she bent forwards and pulled it on the effect was as dramatic as when I saw her on the Palatine.

'I hope Laeta paid you. You won't see a sestertius if you're living out here.'

'I've been paid,' she said, perhaps glancing at the heaviesto rea.s.sure them she would look after them too.

'So what in the name of Olympus is Laeta trying to do?' 'You tell me.'

'Discredit Anacrites? Take over the spy's work?' 'Looks like it.'

'Why does he need two of us?'

'One wasn't good enough.'

'Or wasn't ever meant to be! You mean Laeta's used me as a noodle - and he's using you to hamper me!'

'An easy game, Falco!'

'Easier than playing around with palace politics. But you're lying anyway. Laeta knows Anacrites is a cheap buffoon who could be put out of action with a bit of simple intrigue. Cracking heads wasn't necessary. Laeta's not vicious. He's not crude. He's quite clever enough to outwit Anacrites, and depraved enough as a bureaucrat to enjoy finessing him. Laeta wants a cla.s.sic power struggle. He wants Anacrites alive, so he knows he has lost the game. Where's the art, otherwise?'

'You're just delaying,' Selia said. 'Get him out of here!' I shrugged and made no attempt to cause trouble. The two musicians walked me on to the balcony. Just outside Iglanced behind and said calmly to the older one on my left, 'She's calling you.'

He turned back. I threw myself forwards and spun my shoulder hard. The man on my right was pitched straight over the balcony.

The other yelled. I kneed him impolitely. He folded up; I chopped down on his neck with a double fist. He crumpled to the ground and I kicked him in the ribs until he lay still.

Below in the courtyard I had heard the crash and a cry as the first man landed. It was only one floor down, so he might still be mobile. There were confused sounds which I could not interpret, but by then Selia had rushed out.

First she flung a tambourine, edge on. I parried with my arm, but it cut my wrist. I hauled up the man at my feet and held him as a human s.h.i.+eld while she then threw a knife - mine. He flung himself aside, dragging me. The blade clattered on the boarding, then with me cursing it tumbled over the edge.

The girl came at us; I barged the man into her. She dropped another weapon, then suddenly muttered something and ran towards the stairs. Her groaning bodyguard came back to life enough to grab the new weapon. It was the kind of cleaver girls who live alone keep in their rooms to shorten flower stems, hack up pig carca.s.ses and discourage lovers from leaving early. I'd be afraid to have one in the house.

He set about me again, keeping himself between me and the girl. It was her I wanted; we all knew that.

I managed to dodge the swooping blade. Then I let off a high kick, flummoxed him, and shoved him backwards. I set off around the balcony, sprinting lightly on my toes. I was going the long way, the way I had first come to Selia's room.

The elderly fellow was tougher than he looked. I could hear him chasing after me. At the pa.s.sageway bridge I slowed my steps. He was gaining, which made him pound harder to catch me. Once across, I turned back just in timeto see the bridge give way. With a crack of splitting timber, the musician fell through. The wood was not rotten, just too flimsy for its intended purpose. He was left daugling, trapped between the broken planking. Blood dripped from his wounds where he was impaled on huge splinters of wood. When he tried to move he screamed.

To save time, I flipped over the balcony, clung to the nil, lowered myself as far as possible then dropped. I had just missed the well. (I had forgotten about that.) Neat work, Falco.

In the courtyard to my astonishment I found Placidus, fighting the other bodyguard, who was limping and nursing a broken arm from his fall. Placidus was keeping him under control, though only just. The procurator himself had a long gash in his side. My dagger, which had fallen from the balcony, lay near them, still b.l.o.o.d.y.

'The girl -' Placidus gasped, as I took over and stopped his opponent with a well-aimed kick. I got one arm around Placidus and leaned him on the well. 'I could have handled this one -' If he was a freedman now, he had been a slave once. Even in the imperial palace that meant a sordid early life. He knew how to take care of himself. 'I just didn't expect her. The girl slashed me before I could square up to her -'

'She got away?' I asked, retrieving my knife. He nodded disconsolately. I was peeling back his tunic gently to reveal the wound. 'Save your strength. Don't talk. We've caught these two gruesome characters anyway.' I was annoyed about losing Selia, but I did not let it show.

Placidus had put himself out for me. He looked pleased with his success, but he had paid a dangerous penalty. His wound was deep and nasty. 'What's the damage, Falco?'

'You'll live - though once the pain sets in you're going to know all about this.'

'Ah well, the scar should be interesting.'

'I can think of easier ways to excite rumours!' 'I'll be all right. You go after the girl.'

If we had been anywhere respectable I would have done.

I could not abandon Placidus in this seedy area where the dancer might have friends. A crowd was gathering. They were silent and still; I would not trust them. No one offered a.s.sistance but at least n.o.body tried to interfere.

I made the man with the limp stand up and walk ahead of me with my knife against his back. Supporting the procurator with my free arm, I slowly set off on a difficult trip to find the nearest guardpost of the local watch.

Fortunately it was not too far. Rather than have placidus faint at their feet, folk did give us directions. The glare I gave them persuaded them to tell us right.

We limped there safely. My prisoner was locked in the cell. Officers went off to bring in his companion. Placidus was carefully stretched out, bathed and bandaged; at first he protested volubly, then he suddenly pa.s.sed out and made no more fuss. I led a search that lasted the rest of the day, but Selia had slipped away somewhere. I am a realist. She could have gone in any direction, and would be miles from Hispalis by now.

At least I knew something about her. She had lied about most of it, but sinister patterns were emerging. Events had moved on. Suspects had laughed at me and beaten me up, but I had sized up the opposition - including the man who had commissioned me.

If her claim to be working for Laeta was right, Selia and I took our wages from the same soiled hands. I had no real job; I could not rely on being paid. On these terms I was not even sure I wanted to be.

It was time to return to Corduba. I badly needed to discuss all this with Helena. And if she agreed, I could ditch the whole filthy business and go home to Rome.

LI LI.

I rode back to Corduba even faster than I had come. I was glad I was not journeying in July or August, but even so the weather was uncomfortable enough to remind me this was the hottest part of Spain. Around me, covering the alluvial plain to the south of the River Baetis, lay the finest olive groves in Baetica. For oil rather than fruit, maybe the best olives in the world. Beyond the river even in the baking sun all the hills were green. Trees and shrubs flourished. I was crossing a bowl of abundant fertility, yet my mood remained grim.

For one thing, I was worried about Helena. There was nothing I could do about that. At least I was on my way back to her.

And I now had a new problem. I had not told poor Placidus, who was in enough misery with his wound, but what I had learned from the dancer filled me with dread If Selia really had been working for Laeta, the attacks in Rome made one kind of sense: I was involved in a power struggle - as I had all along suspected - between two arms of palace offrcialdom. It looked darker and more b.l.o.o.d.y than I would have expected, but it was internal.

Whatever was going on here in Baetica might not matter to anybody back in Rome. The oil cartel could merely be the excuse Laeta and Anacrites used to perpetuate their rivalry. Or Laeta had used it on his own. Much as I loathed Anacrites, he was beginning to look like an innocent victim. He might have been just doing his job, decently attempting to protect a valuable commodity. Perhaps he was unaware of the threat from Laeta. When I saw them together at the dinner they had sparred verbally, but there was no sense that the spy suspected Laeta might actually be preparing topick him off. Him and his best agent - a man I reckoned I would have liked.

I could walk away from the palace intrigue - but the dead Valentinus would continue to haunt me.

The scenario stank. I was furious that I had ever become involved. Helena's father had warned me that whatever was happening among the Palatine magnates would be something to avoid. I should have known all along how I was being used. Well, of course I did know, but I let it happen anyway. My mission was a bluff - if Laeta hired Selia to attack Anacrites, he must have brought me in merely to cover his own tracks. He could pretend publicly that he was searching for culprits, though all he wanted was power. He must have believed I would fail to find Selia. Maybe he even supposed I would be so entranced with the importance of investigating a provincial cartel, I would forget to look for her at all. Did he hope I would be killed off in the attempt? Well, thanks, Laeta! Anacrites at least would have shown greater faith in my tenacity.

Perhaps instead Laeta wanted me to kill Selia, because she would know how he came to power.

As for the quaestor and his b.u.mptious senator father, they looked like mere adjuncts to this story. I could only warn the Emperor that Quinctius Attractus was a.s.suming too much power in Baetica. The proconsul would have to deal with Quadratus. I was treading on sliding scree, and I could risk nothing more. No informer accuses a senator of anything unless he is sure of support. I was sure of nothing.

I decided I did not want Claudius Laeta to acquire more power. If Anacrites died, Laeta could take over his empire; once in charge, whether he was bothered about the price of olive oil looked doubtful to me. I had heard for myself how Laeta was obsessed with the trappings of success with which Anacrites had surrounded himself: the suite in the Palace of the Caesars, the villa at Baiae. Laeta's personal ambition looked clear enough. And it relied on undetected manoeuvring. He certainly would not want me popping upin Rome to say he had paid Selia to eliminate Anacrites. Vespasian would never stand for it.

Maybe I would have to use this knowledge to protect myself. I was perfectly prepared to do so, to secure my own position - yet dear G.o.ds, the last thing I really wanted at this point in my life was a powerful politician nervous about what I might know.

I would have to fight him ruthlessly. It was his own fault. He was leaving me no choice.

I spent two days riding hard with muscles that had already ached and a brain that swam. I was so tired when I reached the mansio at Corduba I nearly fell on to a pallet and stayed there overnight. But I needed to see Helena. That kept me on my feet. I recovered the horse Optatus had lent me to come into town, and forced myself to stay upright on it all the way home to the Camillus estate.

Everything looked normal. It was dark, so the watchdogs set up a hectic yammering at my approach. When I led the horse to the stable a slave appeared to look after him, so I was spared that. The slave looked at me s.h.i.+ftily, as most villa rustica staff do. Without a word, I left my baggage roll and limped slowly to the house.

n.o.body was about. A few dim lamps lit the corridor. I was too weary to call out. I went to the kitchen, which was where I expected to find everyone. Only the cook and other house-slaves were there. They all froze when I appeared. Then Marius Optatus broke in through another door opposite.

He was holding a leash; he must have been to investigate what had disturbed the dogs. His face was grey, his manner agitated even before he saw me.

'Falco, you're back!'

'What's wrong?'

He made a vague, helpless gesture with the hand that held the dog-leash. 'There has been a tragic accident -'

I was already on my way, running like a madman to the room I shared with Helena.

LII LII.

'Marcus!'

She was there. Alive. Larger than ever; still pregnant. Whole. Sound.

I fell to my knees beside the chair as she struggled to rise and took her in my arms. 'Oh dear G.o.ds ...' My breath rasped in huge painful gulps.

Helena was crying. She had been crying before I crashed into the room. Now instead she was calming me, holding my face between her hands, her light rapid kisses on my eyes both soothing and greeting me.

'Optatus said there had been an accident -'

'Oh my darling! It's neither of us.' She laid my hand upon the unborn child, either to comfort me or herself, or to give the baby notice that I was home again. It seemed a formal, archaic gesture. I tickled the child and then kissed her, both with deliberate informality.

'I should bathe. I stink and I'm filthy -'

'And half dead on your feet. I had a feeling - I've ordered hot water to be kept for you. Shall I come and sc.r.a.pe you down?'

'That's more pleasure than I can cope with ...' I rose from my kneeling position beside her wicker chair. 'Stay and rest. But you'd better tell me about this accident.'

'Later.'

I drew a finger across her tear-stained cheek. 'No, now.'

Helena said nothing. I knew why she was being stubborn. I had left her. Something terrible had happened, which she had had to cope with on her own, so now I had lost my rights.

We gazed at one another quietly. Helena looked pale, and she had her hair completely loose, which was rare for her. Whatever had happened, part of her unhappiness wasbecause she had been alone here without me. Well, I was home now.

In the dim light of a single oil lamp, Helena's eyes were nearly black. They searched my face for my own news, and for whatever I was feeling towards her. Whenever we had been apart there was this moment of readjustment; the old challenge was reissued, the new peace had to be reaffirmed.

'You can tell me I shouldn't have gone away - but do it after you explain what's been happening.'

She sighed. 'You being here wouldn't have changed anything. There has just been a terrible accident. It's young Rufius,' she told me. Rufius Constans. He was working on an oil press on his grandfather's estate when one of the quernstones slipped and crushed him. He was alone when it must have happened. By the time somebody found him he was dead.'

'Yes, that's a dreadful thing to have happened ...' Constans had been young and full of promise; I felt bitterly depressed. Helena was expecting my next reaction. I tipped my head on one side. 'He was alone? n.o.body else was with him?'

'No Marcus,' she replied softly. I knew that, trained by me to be sceptical in every situation, they had already spent time wondering, just as I was doing now. 'No; I can see what you are thinking. But there is no possibility of mischief.'

'No special crony lending Constans a hand with the oil press?'

'No. Quinctius Quadratus was out of action; I can vouch for that myself.'

I took her word. I was too tired to concern myself with how she knew.

I held out my hand and now she let herself take it. 'Have you been fighting?' Helena could always spot the damage. 'Just a few knocks. Did you miss me?'

'Badly. Was your trip useful?'

'Yes.'