A dying light in Corduba

XLIII

The bargees' clubhouse was a large bare room, with tables where the layabouts I had seen that morning were still dicing. With midday more members had come from the wharves to eat. Food was brought in from a thermopolium next door. It was probably bought at special rates, and looked good value; I reckon they got their wine for free. The atmosphere of comradeship was of the quiet kind. Men entering nodded to those present, and some sat down together; others preferred to eat alone. Nobody challenged me when I started looking around.

This time I found them: Cyzacus and Norbanus, two familiar faces from a month ago at the Baetican dinner on the Palatine. Sitting at a table in a corner, looking as deep in gossip as the last time I saw both of them. It seemed like their regular venue, and they looked like customary daytime debauchers. They had already finished their lunch. From the piles of empty bowls and platters it had been substantial and I guessed the wine jug would have been replenished several times.

My arrival was timely. They had reached the point of slowing down in their heavy meal. Where diners at a formal feast might now welcome a Spanish dancer to whistle at while they toyed with the fresh fruit, these two pillars of Hispalis commerce had their own diversion: me.

Cyzacus was a dapper, slightly shrunken old featherweight, in a slimline grey tunic over a long-sleeved black one. He was the quiet, better-mannered partner in what seemed an unlikely pair. He had a hollow, lined face with an unhealthy pallor, and closely clipped white hair. His bosom pal Norbanus was much heavier and more untidy, pressing folds of belly up against the table edge. His fat fingers were forced apart by immense jewelled rings. He too was a mature vintage, his hair still dark, though with wings of grey. Several layers of chin sported dark stubble. He had all the physical attributes that pass for a jolly companion – including a painfully raucous personality.

I slumped on a bench and came to the point: 'The last time we met, gentlemen, I was at home and you were the visitors. We were dining, though.' I cast my eyes over the empties, with their debris of fish skeletons, chewed olive stones, stripped chicken wings, oyster shells, bay leaves and rosemary twigs. 'You know how to produce an impressive discard dish!'

'You have the advantage,' Norbanus said. He sounded completely sober. Feasting was a way of life for these men. He had already buried his snout in his cup again, making no attempt to offer a drink to me.

'The name's Falco.'

They did not bother to make eye contact, either with one another or with me: they had known who I was. Either they really remembered being introduced on the Palatine, or they had worked out that I was the none-too-secret agent investigating the cartel.

'So! You're the respected master bargeman Cyzacus, and you're the notable negotiator Norbanus. Both men with sufficient standing to be entertained in Rome by the eminent Quinctius Attractus?'

'The eminent crawler!' Norbanus scoffed, not bothering to keep his voice down. Cyzacus gave him an indulgent glance. The negotiator's contempt was intended not just for the senator; it embraced all things Roman – mcluding me.

'The eminent manipulator,' I agreed frankly. 'Myself, I'm a republican – and one of the plebs. I'd like to hope the senator and his son might have overstretched themselves.' This time they both stilled. I had to look closely to spot it, though.

'I've been talking with your sons,' I told the bargee. There was no way young Cyzacus and Gorax could have communicated with their papa in the three days since I saw them; I was hoping to make him worry what they might have said.

'Nice for you.' He did not disconcert so easily. 'How are my boys?'

'Working well.'

'That makes a change!' I was in a world of rough opinions and plain speaking, apparently. Even so I felt this wary old man would not leave his boys in charge of business upstream at Corduba unless he really trusted them. He had taught them the job, and despite the ruck they must have had when the natural son went off to dabble with poetry, nowadays the three of them worked closely together. The two sons had struck me as loyal both to each other and to their father.

'Cyzacus junior was telling me about his literary career; and Gorax had his mind on some chickens. They explained to me how when I saw you in Rome you were there to talk tough about exports.'

'I was there as a guest!' Cyzacus had the manner of a meek old chap whose mind was wandering. But he was defying me. He knew I could prove nothing. 'Attractus invited me and paid for it.'

'Generous!'

'Bottomless purse,' cackled Norbanus, indicating that he thought the man a fool. I gained the welcome impression that these two had cynically accepted the free trip without ever intending to be coerced. After all, they were both in transport; they could certainly go to Rome whenever they wanted, for virtually nothing.

'It strikes me that much as Attractus may admire your wit and conversation, to pay out fares and offer hospitality in his own fine home – all of which I gather he has done on more than one occasion for different groups of Baeticans – might suggest that the illustrious codger wants something?'

'Excellent business sense,' Norbanus grinned.

'And a sharp eye for a deal?'

'He thinks so!' Another insult tripped lightly off the Gallic tongue.

'Maybe he wants to be the uncrowned king of Baetica.'

Norbanus was still sneering: 'Isn't he that already? Patron of Corduba, Castulo and Hispalis, representative of the oil producers in the Senate, linchpin of the copper mines -'

Talking about mines depressed me. 'What part of Gaul are you from?'

'Narbo.' This was close to Tarraconensis though outside Hispania. It was a major entrepot in southern Gaul.

'You specialise in shipping olive oil? Is that just to Rome?'

He snorted. 'You can't have much idea about the market! A lot of my contracts are bound for Rome, yes; but we're shipping thousands of amphorae. We cover the whole of Italy – and everywhere else. The stuff goes in all directions – up the Rhodanus in Gallia Narbonensis, to Gaul, Britain and Germany; I've done shipments straight across the Pillars of Hercules to Africa; I've sent it as far as Egypt; I've supplied Dalmatia, Pannonia, Crete, mainland Greece and Syria -'

'Greece? I thought the Greeks grew their own olives? Weren't they doing it for centuries before you had them here in Baetica?'

'Not got the taste. Not so mellow.'

I whistled quietly. Turning again to Cyzacus I said, 'Expensive business, exporting oil. I gather the price starts going up as soon as they funnel it into the amphorae?'

He shrugged. 'The on-costs are terrible. It's not our fault. For instance, on the journey down from Corduba we have to pay port taxes every single time we stop. It all gets added to the bill.'

'That's after your own profits have been taken out. Then Norbanus here wants his percentage, and the shipper too. All long before the retailer in Rome even has a smell of it.'

'It's a luxury item,' Cyzacus replied defensively.

'Luckily for all of you in Baetica it's an item in universal use.'

'It's a very wonderful product,' Norbanus put in drily, in a holy voice.

'Wonderfully profitable!' I said. I had to change the subject. 'You're a Gaul. How do you get on with the producers?'

'They hate my guts,' Norbanus admitted proudly. 'And it's mutual! At least they know I'm not some bloody interloper from Italy.'

'Speculators!' I sympathised. 'Coming out to the provinces from Rome solely because they can get away with low cash inputs, then drain off huge profits. Bringing their alien work practices. If they ever come out here in person, clinging together in tight little cliques – always planning to go home again once their fortunes are made… Attractus is a prime example, though he seems to want more from it than most. I know about his olive estate and his mineral mine – what interests does he have in Hispalis?'

'None,' Cyzacus said, disapprovingly.

'He built the baths near the wool market,' Norbanus reminded him. Cyzacus sniffed.

'Didn't it go down well?' I asked.

'The people of Baetica,' Cyzacus informed me, sucking in his thin cheeks, 'prefer to be honoured with benefactions from men who were born here. Not outsiders who want to impress for their personal glory.'

'Where does that leave you as a Gaul?' I demanded of Norbanus.

'Stowing my money in a bankchest!' he grinned.

I looked at them both: 'But you two are friends?'

'We dine together,' Cyzacus told me. I knew what he meant. These were two dedicated men of commerce. They could exchange public hospitality on a regular basis for years on end, yet I doubted if they had ever been to each other's houses, and once they retired from business they might never meet again. They were on the same side – cheating the oil producers and forcing up prices for the eventual customers. But they were not friends.

This was good news. On the face of it the men Quinctius

Attractus had invited to Rome last month shared a common interest. Yet several kinds of prejudice divided them – and they all loathed Attractus himself. The bargees and negotiators tolerated each other, but they hated the olive producers – and those snobs on their grand estates shared no common feeling with the transport side.

Was this antagonism strong enough to prevent them all forming a price ring? Would their shared distrust of a Roman mterloper dissuade them from joining him? Had Attractus miscalculated the lure of money? Might these hard-nosed operaters reject him as a leader? Might they reckon there was sufficient profit to be made from oil, and that they were perfectly capable of squeezing out the maximum gain without any help from him – and without any obligation to him afterwards?

'You know why I'm here,' I suggested. Both men laughed. After the size of meal they had eaten all this hilarity could not be good for them. 'There are two reasons. Attractus has drawn attention to himself; he is thought to be a dangerous fixer – and I'm looking into ways of fixing him.' The two men glanced at each other, openly pleased he was in trouble. 'Of course,' I said gravely, 'neither of you has been approached to take part in anything so crooked as a cartel?'

'Certainly not,' they agreed solemnly.

I smiled like a pleasant fellow. 'Reputable businessmen would want nothing to do with such villainy?'

'Of course not,' they assured me.

'And you would immediately report such an approach to the authorities?' I dropped the pose: 'Don't bother to insult me by answering that!'

Old Cyzacus was picking his teeth, but behind the ensuing grimace he may have looked offended that I had just accused them of lying. Liars are always very sensitive.

Norbanus continued to be as unhelpful as possible. 'Is there a cartel, Falco? If so, good luck to it!' he declared. Then he spat on the floor. 'Tcha! They'll never do it – the bloody producers couldn't organise themselves!'

I leaned my elbows on the table, linking my fingers and surveying the reprobates over my hands. I tried ingratiating myself: 'I think you're right. I've seen them in Corduba. They spend so much time making sure they don't get missed off the guest-list for the next soirwith the proconsul, they can't manage much else.'

'All they care about,' Norbanus growled, 'is taking a turn as duovir and sending their sons to ponce about in Rome spending money – wasting their capital!' he added, as if failure to thrive as an investor was an unforgivable offence.

'So don't you think Attractus managed to lean on them?'

Cyzacus took an interest: 'He could lean until he fell over. The producers would never do anything risky.'

'And what about you two?' I challenged. This only produced contemptuous smiles. 'All right. You've been frank with me, so I'll return the compliment. I have to report to the Emperor. I'm going to tell Vespasian that I am convinced there is a cartel being mooted. That Attractus is the prime mover. And that all the men who were seen dining with him at the Society of Olive Oil Producers' dinner at the end of March have assured me they were horrified and that they spumed the idea. Well, you wouldn't want to be indicted with him before the court of conspiracy, would you?'

'Let us know if you get him there,' Norbanus said drily. 'We'll all come and cheer.'

'Perhaps you'd like to help me form a case? Perhaps you'd like to give evidence?'

Neither even bothered to reply. And I didn't bother offering another free fare to Rome on the strength of future assistance. They would not appear in court. Rome has its own snobberies anyway. A couple of foreigners engaged in transportation – however flourishing their businesses – would be despised. I needed to subpoena the estate owners at least. Land counts. Land is respectable. But to indict a senator with a long Roman pedigree even Annaeus and Rufius would not be enough. The Quinctii would walk, unless I could produce witnesses of their own social weight. And where were they?

I was glad I had spoken to these two in person, despite the long trip. I did feel their story carried weight. Their assessment of the producers matched my own. Norbanus and Cyzacus seemed too self-reliant to follow the lead of an entrepreneur from the political world – and too capable of making money on their own account. Not that I could ever rely on this: if the men Attractus had summoned to Rome had leapt at his suggestion, they were hardly likely to tell me. Price-fixing works on subtlety. Nobody ever admits it is happening.

I was leaving. 'I said there were two reasons why I came to Baetica.'

Cyzacus stopped wielding his toothpick. 'What is the other one?' For a vague old man, he responded well.

'It's not pleasant. The night you dined on the Palatine a man was killed.'

'Nothing to do with us.'

'I think it was. Another man, a high official, was seriously wounded. He may be dead too. Both victims were at the dinner. Both were in fact dining with Attractus – which means he's implicated, and as his guests so are you. Somebody slipped up that night – and it won't go away.' This was a long shot. I was hoping that if the Baeticans were unconnected with the attacks, they would turn in the real perpetrator to absolve themselves.

'We can't help you,' said Norbanus. So much for that pious hope.

'Oh? Then why did you leave Rome so fast the next day?'

'Our business was concluded. Since we turned down his offer, we all thought it would be presuming on the senator's hospitality to remain.'

'You've just admitted that an offer was made,' I pointed out. Norbanus grinned evilly.

The excuse for leaving could be true. Staying at the Quinctius house after refusing to play the Attractus game could have been embarrassing. Besides, if they hated the plan, they might want to escape before Attractus tried putting on more pressure. And if they had said no, then they heard about the murder and suspected it was connected with the cartel scheme, they were bound to flee.

'It looks bad,' I returned sombrely. 'A sudden departure straight after a killing tends to appear significant in court. Part of my work includes finding evidence for banisters, and I can assure you that's the sort of tale that makes them gloat and think of massive fees.'

'You're making wild accusations,' Norbanus told me coolly.

'No!

My simple reply for once caused silence.

Cyzacus recovered himself. 'We offer our sympathy to the victims.'

'Then perhaps you would like to help. I need to find a girl who comes from Hispalis. In delicate official parlance: we think she may have important information relating to the deaths.'

'She did it?' Norbanus sneered crudely.

I smiled. 'She was at the dinner, dancing for Attractus; he claims he doesn't know her though he paid her fee. You may have recognised her; her name's Selia – probably.'

To my surprise they made no quibble about it: they knew Selia. It was her real name. She was a local girl of moderate talent, struggling to make a career where all the demand was for dancers from (Jades. (Lades dancers had organised a closed shop on the entertainment circuit… it had a familiar ring.) Cyzacus and Norbanus remembered seeing Selia at the dinner on the Palatine; they had been surprised, but assumed she had finally made the big breakthrough in Rome. Recently they had heard she was back in Hispalis, so they assumed it came to nothing.

I stared Cyzacus in the eye. 'Just how well do you kuow her? Would Selia be the lovely who came here looking for you recently?'

'Girls like Selia are not welcome at the bargees' clubroom,' he maintained.

'So she never found you?'

'That's right,' he answered with a cool glare that suggested he was lying again, but that I would extract no more.

Patiently I explained why I was asking: 'There's another woman going around asking questions about this business. They're both trouble. I need to know which is up to what. Your fellow members implied that the girl who came here was a looker – but their standards may be more flexible than mine.' The daytime skivers playing dice looked as if anything in a dress would make them salivate. 'So was it Selia or not?'

'Since I never saw her,' sneered Cyzacus, 'I can't say.'

He and Norbanus were closing up on me, but when I asked the most important question they did know the answer and they told me straight away: they gave me directions to where Selia lived.