A dying light in Corduba

XLVII

Every town and city has its unhappy quarter. Hispalis might be a thriving hub of commerce, a producer of sculptors and poets, and a regional capital, but it too had potholed lanes where thin, dark-eyed women dragged screaming toddlers to market while very few men were in evidence. I could guess that the missing masculine element were all loafers or thieves, or had died of a wasting disease. Maybe I was prejudiced. Maybe I was just nervous. And maybe I was right to be.

Where the girl lived proved hard to find. There was no point asking directions. Even if anyone knew her, they would conceal it from us. We were too smart and too well- spoken – at least I was. Placidus looked pretty down-at- heel.

'This is a bad place, Falco!'

'Surprise me. At least with two of us, we can watch our backs in two directions.'

'Are we watching for anything in particular?' 'Everything.'

It was now late afternoon. The people of Hispalis were taking a lengthy siesta, much needed in the terrific heat of midsummer. The narrow lanes were quiet. We walked in the shade and trod softly.

Eventually we identified a lodging house, slightly larger and less grim than its surroundings, which appeared to match the directions Cyzacus and Norbanus had given me. A fat, unhelpful woman on a wonky stool peeling a cabbage into a chipped bowl agreed grumpily that Selia lived there. We were allowed up to knock on her door. She was out.

We went down and sat in what passed for a foodshop opposite. There appeared to be little to eat or drink, but a waiter was gambling furiously with a friend. He managed to break off long enough to ask us to wait until they finished the next round, after which he scribbled hasty sums on a piece of board, collected the dice again ready, then dashed together two beakers of something lukewarm and cut us two chunks from a loaf, before he and his pal reabsorbed themselves in their game.

Placidus carefully wiped the rim of his cup with the hem of his sleeve. I had learned to toss down a draught without touching the container. There would not be much point in hygienic precautions if the liquor itself was contaminated.

'This is a fine way to do work, Falco!' my companion sighed, settling in.

'If you want it, the job's yours.'

'I don't know if I'm qualified.'

'Can you sit in a bar doing nothing half the day, while you wait for a girl who wants to beat your brains out?'

'I can sit and wait – but I don't know what I'm supposed to do once she arrives.'

'Keep well out of the way,' I advised.

I was beginning to regret bringing him. The neighbourhood was too dangerous. We were getting into serious trouble, and Placidus did not deserve it. Neither did I perhaps, but at least I had some idea what to expect and it was my job.

These tiny streets with cramped dwellings had neither piped water nor sewerage. Ill-defined gutters in the stony tracks between hovels served to take away waste. In bad weather they must be atrocious; even in sunlight they stank. Depression was all around. A pitifully thin goat was tethered to a stick in the foodshop yard. Flies zoomed at us in angry circles. Somewhere a baby cried mournfully.

'You're not by any chance armed, Placidus?'

'You're joking; I'm a procurator, Falco! – Are you?'

'I brought a sword to Hispalis; I didn't expect to get this close to the girl, so I left it at the mansio.'

We were badly positioned. We had come to the only place where we could stop and wait, but the alley outside was so narrow and winding we could see little of it. The few people who passed all stared at us hard. We sat tight, trying not to look as if our chins were barbered, and trying not to speak when anyone could overhear our Roman accents.

There were several battered lock-ups facing the path. One contained a man whittling at crude pieces of furniture; the rest were closed up, their doors leaning at odd angles. They looked deserted, but could just as well be in fitful use; any artisans who worked in this area were sad men with no hope.

After a while the waiter's friend left and two giggling girls arrived. They sat on a bench and did not order anything, but ogled the waiter who now had time to enjoy the attention. He had extremely long eyelashes; Helena would have said it was from batting them at women. After a short time the girls suddenly scuttled off, then a widebodied, bandy-legged man who could have been their father turned up and looked the waiter over. He left too, with nothing said. The waiter cleaned his fingernails with the knife he had used to cut our pieces of bread.

A redhead was walking past outside; she gave the waiter a faint smile. I have a strong aversion to redheads, but this one was worth looking at. We were seated below her line of sight, so we could peruse the goods unobtrusively. She was a girl who made the best of herself: a well-filled soft green tunic above thongy shoes, earrings of cascading crescents, a chalk-white face highlighted with purplish colouring, eyes lengthened and widened with charcoal, and elaborate plaits of copper-coloured hair. Her eyes were particularly fine. She walked with a confident swagger, kicking the hem of her skirt so her jingling anklets showed. She looked as though for the right reward she might show off the ankles they decorated, plus the knees and all the rest.

She also looked unlike anyone I had ever seen – though her best feature was that set of rolling brown eyes which did seem familiar. I never forget a shape either, however differently it may be trussed and decorated when I see it a second time. When the girl vanished somewhere opposite I found myself quietly finishing my drink. I said unexcitedly to Placidus, 'I'm going across to check on Selia again. You stay here and keep my seat warm.'

Then I hooked my thumbs casually in my belt and strolled over to the lodging house.