A DYING LIGHT IN CORDUBA

'Anacrites-'

'Anacrites? He never struck me as a dinner party planner! What was his role?'

'Be reasonable, Falco! He's a spy. What do you think his role is? On rare occasions when he exerts himself, he causes upsets. He really enjoys carping about the guests other members bring. 'If you knew what I know, you wouldn't mix with so-and-so…' All hints, of course; he never says why.'

'Master of the nonspecific insult!'

'Then if ever I upset him he'll query the accounts for the previous party and accuse me of diddling them. The rest of the time he does nothing, or as little as possible.'

'Did he have anything special to say about yesterday?'

'No. Only that he wanted space for himself and his guest in the private room.'

'Why?'

'Usual reason: it was bound to offend Attractus.'

'And the spy's guest was Valentinus?'

'No, it was the senator's son,' said Helva. 'The one who just came back from Corduba.'

'Aelianus?' Helena's brother! Well that explained how Aelianus had wheedled his way in-on the tunic tail of the Chief Spy. Unhealthy news.

'I know the family-I didn't realize Anacrites and Aelianus were on such good terms.'

'I don't suppose they are,' Helva remarked cynically. 'I expect one of them thought the other would do him some good-and

if you know Anacrites you can bet which way the benefit was supposed to flow!'

It left an unanswered question. 'You knew who I meant when I mentioned Valentinus. Who brought him last night?'

'No one.' Helva gave me a narrow look. He was trying to work out how much I knew. All I had to do now was work out what dubious situation I was reckoned to know about, and I could press him hard. Until then I was likely to miss something important.

'Look, was Valentinus an official member of the Society?' Helva must have known I could check up; he reluctantly shook his head. 'So how much money did he slip you to let him in?'

'That's a disgusting suggestion; I'm a reputable state servant-'

I named the sum that I would have offered and Helva in his gloomy-faced way told me I was a mean bastard who gave bribery a bad name.

I decided to appeal to his better nature, if he had one. 'I don't suppose you've heard-Anacrites has been badly hurt.'

'Yes. I heard it's a big secret.'

Then I told him that Valentinus was actually dead. This time his face fell. All slaves can spot serious trouble. 'So this is bad, Helva. Time to cough, or it will be the Guards you have to talk to. Had Valentinus paid you to admit him to any previous dinners?'

'Once or twice. He knew how to behave himself. He could fit in. Besides, I had seen Anacrites wink at him so I assumed it was something I was supposed to allow.'

'How did he wangle himself a place in the private room?'

'Pure skill,' said Helva, frowning with admiration. 'He picked up one of the Baeticans as they arrived in the lobby and sauntered in chattering to him.' I knew the trick. A few minutes discussing the weather can admit you to many private parties. 'Quinctius Attractus was not officially supposed to reserve that room for himself. If there were free places anyone could take them.'

'So he didn't object to Valentinus?'

'He couldn't. Any more than he could complain about being landed with Anacrites. They took their couches among his party as if it were a coincidence, and he had to put up with it. Anyway, Attractus is not observant. He was probably so busy getting hot under the tunic about Anacrites, he never noticed Valentinus was there too.'

I wondered if the blinkered senator had noticed me.

I asked Helva about the entertainment. 'Who booked the musicians?'

'I did.'

'Is that routine? Do you pick the performers yourself?'

'Quite often. The members are only really interested in food and wine.'

'Is there always a Spanish dancer?'

'It seems appropriate. She's not really Spanish, incidentally.' Just like most 'Thracian' gladiators, 'Egyptian' fortune-tellers, and 'Syrian' flute players. Come to that, most of the 'Spanish hams' bought at food markets were previously seen skipping around pig farms in Latium.

'She? Is it always the same one?' -

'She's not bad, Falco. The members feel reassured if they recognize the entertainment. They don't watch her much anyway; they only care about their food and drink.'

'Attractus was boasting he paid for her. Is that usual?'

'He always does. It's supposed to be a generous gesture-well, it shows he's rich, and of course he gets to have the dancing performed first wherever he's dining himself. The other members are happy to let him contribute, and his guests are impressed.'

He told me the girl's name was Perella. Half an hour later I was bracing myself to square up to the immaculate body that I had last seen in hunting gear.

I had a slight surprise. I was expecting to meet the dashing Diana with the blue-black hair who had elected to be so rude to me. To my surprise Perella, who was supposed to be the dancer who performed regularly at the Society of Olive Oil Producers of Baetica, was a short, stout, surly blonde.

ELEVEN

Blonde' was putting it kindly. She had hair the texture of mule fodder and about the same shade. It looked as if she styled it once a month then just poked in more bone pins when ends worked loose. You could see why independent-minded pieces of the fantastic coiffure might want to make a break for freedom. The high-piled construction looked as if she was keeping three white mice and her dowry in it.

Lower down, the scenario improved somewhat. I won't say she was tasty, but her person was clean and tidy. As a chaste, ethereal moon goddess she would be a disaster, though as a companion in a wine bar she might be cracking good fun. She was of an age where you could rely on her having had a fair old amount of experience-in almost anything.

'Oh! Am I in the right place? I'm looking for Perella. Are you her friend?'

'I'm her!' So Perella was definitely the wrong dancer. She was putting out a smile that she meant to be winsome: wrong assumption, but I could cope with that. 'What might you be looking for, centurion?'

'Chaste conversation, sweetheart.' She knew better than to believe it. Her outlook on society was mature. 'The names Falco.' It meant nothing to her, apparently. Well, sometimes it was best if my reputation had not gone before me. Critics can be uncouth. 'I expect you'd like my credentials. Do you know Thalia, the snake dancer at Nero's Circus?'

'Never heard of her.' So much for my guaranteed entree to the world of Terpsichore.

'Well if you knew her, she'd vouch for me.'

'As what?' asked the dancer, pointedly.

'As an honest man on an important quest with a few simple queries to put to you.'

'Such as?'

'Why wasn't a luscious piece like you dancing at the dinner for the Society of Baetican Oil Producers two nights ago?'

'Why do you ask?' leered Perella. 'Were you there hoping to watch me-or were they only letting in the rich, handsome ones?'

'I was there.'

'I always told them they had a slack door policy.'

'Don't be cruel! Anyway, you're a regular. What happened to you that night?'