A dying light in Corduba

LIX

The funeral took place next day. There were no distant relatives to summon, and Baetica is a hot locality.

The necropolis which the wealthy Cordubans used lay nearest to us on the south of the city, this side of the bridge. Naturally it presented the best aspect. The wealthy did not inter their smart relations among the middle class or paupers, least of all with the gladiators in their multiple columbarium outside the western gate. Across the river from the noise of the town each family possessed a gracious mausoleum, lining the important road that passed through to the fertile plain and the sun-drenched slopes of their rolling olive groves.

I did wonder why they didn't build their tombs in complete privacy on their own land instead of crowding into a necropolis which was passed daily by carriages and carts. Maybe people who socialise madly in life know their dead will still want friends to mingle with in the afterlife.

The Rufii had not yet become so extravagant as the family who had constructed a miniature temple complete with Ionic columns around a little portico. Grandeur would come, no doubt. For the moment theirs was a simple brick-built, tile-roofed edifice with a low doorway. Within the small chamber was a series of niches containing ceramic urns. Wall plaques already commemorated the parents, son and daughter-in-law of Licinius Rufius. These were sombre enough, though nothing to the new panel planned for the grandson. We were shown a maquette, though the real thing would provide half a year's work for the stonemason. The text began, 'O woe! O lamentation! Whither shall we turn?' and ran on for about six grim lines: longer than I could force myself to read. Sloths like me were soon provided with assistance, for Licinius gave an oration on a similar basis which lasted so long my feet went numb.

Everyone was there. Well, everyone who owned half a million upwards, plus Marius Optatus and myself. For the rich, it was just an extra social occasion. They were arranging dinner-party dates in undertones.

Only one notable person was missing: the new quaestor Quinctius Quadratus. His sprained back must be still inconveniencing him. Absenting himself looked amiss, however, since he had been the dead young man's close friend.

The proconsul had deigned to be brought over in a litter from his praetorium. As we all stumped around trying to fill in time while the corpse heated up in the cemetery oven, his honour found time for a muttered word with me. I had been looking for someone to share a joke about whether they used the embers in the oven to warm hot pies for the mourners afterwards – but with him I confined myself to a reverent salute.

'What do you make of this, Falco?'

'Officially – a young lad who foolishly attempted a job for which he was unqualified while trying to please his grandfather.'

'And between ourselves?'

What was the point of condemning Constans now? 'Oh… just a regrettable accident.'

The proconsul surveyed me. 'I believe he tried to see me, when I had gone out to Astigi…' This was not an invitation to speculate on the reason. 'A statue is to be erected in the civic forum, I understand.'

'It's all work for the stonemasons, sir.'

We did not discuss my mission; well, I never expected to.

The women had clustered in a huddle. I was in a mood for avoiding them. I expressed my formal sympathy to Licinius in the routine handshake line. Optatus made himself more agreeable; I saw him among the Annaei at one point. Then he came back and whispered, 'Atha Annaea asked me to tell you that Claudia wishes to speak to you privately. Licinius must not know.'

'Maybe her friend can arrange something -'

I might have given more precise instructions but just at that moment a hurried messenger came from Helena, asking me to return to her at once.