A dying light in Corduba

XXXVII

The room was squashed, and noisy with brash young idiots' chatter. What was more, they were about to amuse themselves playing the ancient Greek game of kottabos. Spunky, who would have made a good crony for the Athenian reprobate Alcibiades, had been given the apparatus for his birthday – an aptly chosen gift from his younger brothers. Clearly nobody had told him that kottabos explains why the Greeks no longer rule the world.

For refined readers of this memoir who will certainly never encounter it, kottabos was invented by a group of uproarious drunks. You have a tall stand, with a large bronze disc suspended horizontally halfway up. A small metal target is balanced on the top of the stand. The players drink their wine, then flick their cups to expel the dregs. They aim to make the flying lees hit the target so it falls off and hits the lower disc with a noise like a bell. All the wine they flick splatters the room and themselves.

That's it a little gem from the wise, wonderful people who invented the classic proportions of sculpture and the tenets of moral philosophy.

By mutual consent Quadratus and I took wine and cups to drink it from, then we moved out smartly to the balcony. We were the mature ones here. We were men of the world. Well, he was a Roman official, and I was a man of the world. So we drew apart to give ourselves space to spread a bit. (It's hard to fulfil your potential as a man of the world when your knees are jammed under a readmg couch and a murex-merchant's nephew has just belched in your ear.) Optatus, who was talking earnestly to young Constans, raised his winecup wryly as I stepped over him, following my smart new pal.

We were going to be pals, that was obvious. Quadratus was accustomed to being friendly with everyone, apparently. Or maybe his father had warned him I was dangerous and should be disarmed if possible.

The night air was cool and perfect, barely touched by the scent of the torches which flickered on the terraces below. Occasional shrieks reached us from crude horseplay among the adolescents. We sat on the marble balustrade, leaning against pillars, and drank Baetican white and the fresh air in equal measure.

'So, Falco – Baetica must be a change from Rome?'

'I wish I had more time to enjoy it.' There is nothing like a fake polite chat to bring on my apoplectic tic. 'My wife's expecting. I promised to take her home for the birth.'

'Your wife? She's the sister of Camillus Aelianus, isn't she? I didn't know you were actually married.'

'There's a theory that marriage consists of the decision by two people to live as man and wife.'

'Oh, is there?' His reaction was innocent. As I expected, he had been educated by the best tutors – and he knew nothing. He'd be a magistrate one day, laying down laws he had never heard of to people whose lives in the real world he would never understand. That's Rome. City of glorious tradition – including the one that if the landed elite can bugger up the little man, they will.

'Ask any barrister.' I could be pleasant too. I grinned at him. 'Helena and I are conducting an experiment to see how long it takes the rest of Rome to admit the fine theory holds good.'

'You're very courageous! So will your child be illegitimate?' He wasn't carping, just curious.

'I had assumed so – until it struck me that if we regard ourselves as married, how can it be? I'm a free citizen and I'll register it proudly.'

Quinctius Quadratus whistled quietly. After a while he said, 'Aelianus was a good lad. One of our set. The best.' 'Bit of a lively character?'

Quadratus chuckled. 'He lost his rag over you!'

'I know.'

'He'll be all right when he finds his feet.'

'Good to hear.' Young men with weak spots are always keen to assess others. The quaestor's patronising tone almost made me defend Aelianus. Lad about town?' I suggested, hoping for dirt.

'Not as much as he liked to think.'

'A bit immature?'

'Cock shy.'

'That won't last!'

We poured more wine.

'The trouble with Aelianus,' the quaestor confided dismissively, 'is he can't judge his length. The family's poor as Hades. He's aiming for the Senate with absolutely no collateral. He needs to make a rich alliance. We tried to set him up with Claudia Rufina!

'No good?' I prompted neutrally.

'He wanted more. His idea was Aelia Annaea. I ask you!' 'Too old for him, presumably?'

'Too old, too sharp, too aware of what she's got.' 'And what's that?'

'A quarter of her papa's estate when he passes on – plus the whole of her husband's property.'

'I knew she was widowed.'

'Better than that. She had the good taste to be widowed by a man with no close family. There were no children and no co-heirs. He left her everything.'

'Wonderful! How much was "everything"?'

'A whopping tract of land – and a small gold mine at Hispalis.'

'She seems a nice girl!' I commented, and we laughed.

'The Annaeus lads look like a boisterous bunch.'

'Just the job,' cackled Quadratus. He libelled his friends without a second thought: 'Thick as curd cheese, aud just as rich!'

That seemed to sum up Spunky, Dotty and Ferret well enough for my purposes.

'What's your reaction to young Rufius?' I asked, hoping that his prot at least would attract some approval. 'Oh, Jupiter, what a waste!'

'How's that?'

'Haven't you noticed? All that energy being squandered on making him something, but he's just not up to it. There's some decent cash in the family, but Constans is never going to use it properly.' He defined everything in monetary terms. It grew wearisome for a man like me, with virtually nothing in the bank.

'You don't think he will be the success his grandfather wants? Won't he make it to Rome?'

'Oh, he can be bumped into the posts, of course. Licinius Rufius can afford to get him whatever he wants. But Constans will never enjoy it. He doesn't command much attention here, and the sharks in Rome will swallow him. He can't take Grandpa along to give him authority.'

'He's young. He could grow into it.'

'He's just a raw Spanish ham that's not been smoked enough. I try,' Quadratus declared. 'I show him a thing or two when I can.'

'I expect he looks up to you.'

A sudden grin split the handsome face. I had disturbed the smooth, bland, utterly plausible exterior and the result was a shock. 'Now you're pissing yourself laughing at me!' He said it without malice. His candour in discussing his friends had had a tone I didn't care for, but he knew how and when to turn the conversation. He seemed modest now. People were right to compliment his charm.

'Someone told me, Quadratus, you were about to exchange contracts with the Rufius girl yourself?'

He gave me a level stare. 'I couldn't comment. My father will make any marriage announcement in due course.' 'Not ready yet?'

'You have to get it right.'

'Oh yes; it's an important decision for anyone.'

'There are personal issues – and I must think of my career.'

I had guessed correctly. He would never be paired off in Baetica.

'Tell me about yourself, Falco.'

'Oh, I'm nobody.'

'Bull's testicles!' he said crudely. 'That's not what I heard.'

'Why, what have you heard?'

'You're a political drain-cleaner. You do missions for the Emperor. There's some rumour about you sorting a problem in the British silver mines.' I said nothing. My work in Britain was known only to a very close circle. It was highly sensitive. Records of the mission had been burned, and however important the quaestor's father thought himself in Rome, Attractus ought not to have known about it. If he really did, that would alarm the Emperor.

My experience in the mines at Vebiodunum, disguised as a slave, was one I never talked about. Dirt, vermin, beatings, starvation, exhaustion, the filthy overseer whose kindest punishment was to strangle the culprit while his only notion of reward was an hour of enforced buggery… My face must have changed. Quadratus was unobservant, however.

My silence did not make him stop to think. It merely offered another opportunity to show off what somebody had told him. 'Don't you specialise in mineral rights, Falco? I thought you looked keen when I mentioned Aelia Annaea's legacy. You're in the right province. There's iron, silver, copper and gold in huge quantities. A lot of it's at Corduba – I have to know all this stuff for my work,' he explained.

'The an Marianum,' I answered steadily. 'That's the famous copper mine at Corduba that produces the fine ore for all Roman bronze coins. Tiberius wanted to bring it under state control. He had the millionaire who owned it, Sextus Marius, thrown off the Tarpeian Rock on the Capitol.'

'How come?'

'Accused of incest.'

'That's disgusting.'

'It was a trumped-up charge.' I smiled. I nearly added that nothing changes – but the dumb optimist in me hoped that with Vespasian's arrival it might have done.

'You amaze me, knowing all that, Falco!'

'I collect information.'

'For professional reasons?'

'I'm an informer. Stories are the material of my trade.'

'I'll have to be careful, then,' Quadratus grinned. 'My father's on the Senate committee that runs the mint mines.'

That gave me an unpleasant feeling: Quinctius Attractus trying to dabble one more sticky finger in Baetica. Fortunately there was an imperial procurator actually in charge of the aes Marianum mine. He would be an equestrian, a career official whose only concern would be doing the job right for his own sake. The other side of government: and not even the Quinctii could interfere with that.

'The Senate committee, eh?' It fitted the pattern. Attractus wanted influence in every sphere of this province. Getting a place on the committee would have been easy, given his strong local interests. 'I'm surprised your family aren't involved in mineral production.'

'Oh, we are,' laughed young Quadratus. 'There's a silver mine that's run by a society at Castulo. My father shares the franchise; he's a leading member of the Society. I'm standing in for him while I'm out here. We have our own copper mine too.'

I should have known.

'I'm surprised you have the time for personal work,' I cut in coolly. I had let him run until I felt I knew him, but his time was up. 'A quaestorship is not an easy ride.'

'I'm not really worked in yet.'

'So I gather.'

His face did not alter. He had no idea what those in the know would think of him being given hunting leave before he had even started. How could he? He was a raw egg in bureaucracy. He probably thought the proconsul had done him some kind of favour. Favours are what people like him expect. Duties don't come into it.

'Of course there's a lot of responsibility,' he declared. I put on my sympathetic face and let him talk: 'I reckon I can handle it.'

'The Senate and the Emperor must believe you can, quaestor.'

'Of course there are well-established routines.'

'And permanent employees who are used to doing the work.'

'There will still be some tricky decisions to take. They'll need me for those.'

The po-faced scribe from Hadrumetum whom I had met at the proconsular palace would be able to cope with any decisions the quaestor was supposed to put his name to.

I served Quadratus more wine. My own cup still sat brimful on the balustrade. 'What's in your remit?' He shrugged vaguely. These lads are never sent to their provinces with a proper brief; I summarised the quaestor's role for him: 'Apart from deputising for the proconsul in the lawcourts, there's collection of property taxes, provincial poll tax, port taxes, inheritance tax, and the state percentage on manumission of slaves. Hispania's huge. Baetica may not be the biggest province, but it's the richest and most populous. The sums you oversee must be significant.'

'It's not real money, though.'

I disagreed. 'It's real enough to the merchants and heads of household who have to cough up!'

'Oh, it all comes out of their budget… From my point of view it's just figures. I'm not obliged to get my hands dirty counting coins.'

I refrained from saying I was surprised he could even count. 'You may never touch the dosh, but you've been entrusted with a full range of headaches: "Me collecting, disbursing, safeguarding, managing and controlling of public funds".'

Quadratus was taking the flippant line. 'I suppose the records will come to me and I'll approve them – or I'll alter them if they don't fit,' he giggled. He showed no sense of responsibility. I was struck by the horrific possibilities for embezzlement. 'Let's face it, Falco – I have a title and a seal, but in reality I'm impotent. I can't alter the way things are run. Rome is fully aware of that.'

'You mean because your stint in the post is only a year?' He looked surprised. 'No, because that's just how things are.'

This was the rotten side of government. Enormous power was placed at the disposal of an untried, overconfident young man. His only superior here was the hard- pressed governor who had a full complement of legislative and diplomatic work himself. If the salaried officials who really ran the provinces were corrupt, or if they simply lost heart, here was an outpost of the Empire which could fall apart. With a brash and completely unprepared master placed over them, who could blame them if they did lose heart?

Something like that had happened in Britain over a decade earlier. I was there. I knew. The Icenian Revolt was brought about by a combination of indifferent politicians, overbearing armed forces and ill-judged financial control. This had alienated the local populace, with results that were sheer murder. Ironically, a major catalyst for trouble had been the sudden withdrawal of loans by Seneca – the big name from Corduba.

'I see what they mean about you,' Quadratus said suddenly. I wondered who 'they' were, who had been briefing him about me. He wanted to know how good I really was at my job – and how dangerous.

I quirked up an eyebrow, enjoying his unease as he went on, 'You sit drinking your wine just as pleasantly as anyone. But somehow I don't reckon you're thinking "This is a palatable vintage, if a little sweet." You're in another world, Falco.'

The wine has its moments. Baetica suffers from too much wind from the south; it troubles the grapes.'

'Jove, you know everything! I do admire that. I really do -' He really did. 'You're a complete professional. That's something I'd like to emulate.' He might – but not if it meant he had to work on my pay, eating gritty bread and paying too much rent for a hovel in a lousy tenement.

'You just have to be thorough.' I couldn't be bothered with his sham flattery, or his ignorance of conditions in the real world.

'So what's on your mind, Falco?'

'Nothing changes,' I said. 'Lessons are constantly put before us – and are never learned.'

Quadratus was still game, though his speech was becoming slow. I had drunk much less. I had no taste for it. I had lost my taste for philosophy too.

Below in the garden dim figures rushed about, engaged in some dubious form of hide-aud-seek. It required neither skill in the chase nor subtlety in claiming the prize. I watched for a moment, feeling my age, then turned back to the quaestor. 'So what, Tiberius Quinctius Quadratus, are you intending to do as quaestor to prevent the formation of an oil cartel in Baetica?'

'Is there one?' he asked me, suddenly as wide-eyed as the second-rate virgins who were squealing among the clipped myrtles on the terraces below.