'You'll live-though once the pain sets in you're going to know all about this.'
'Ah well, the scar should be interesting.'
'I can think of easier ways to excite rumors!'
'I'll be all right. You go after the girl.'
If we had been anywhere respectable I would have done. I could not abandon Placidus in this seedy area where the dancer might have friends. A crowd was gathering. They were silent and still; I would not trust them. No one offered assistance but at least nobody tried to interfere.
I made the man with the limp stand up and walk ahead of me with my knife against his back. Supporting the procurator with my free arm, I slowly set off on a difficult trip to find the nearest guardpost of the local watch.
Fortunately it was not too far. Rather than have Placidus faint at their feet, folk did give us directions. The glare I gave them persuaded them to tell us right.
We limped there safely. My prisoner was locked in the cell. Officers went off to bring in his companion. Placidus was carefully stretched out, bathed and bandaged; at first he protested volubly, then he suddenly passed out and made no more fuss. I led a search that lasted the rest of the day, but Selia had slipped away somewhere. I am a realist. She could have gone in any direction, and would be miles from Hispalis by now.
At least I knew something about her. She had lied about most of it, but sinister patterns were emerging. Events had moved on.
Suspects had laughed at me and beaten me up, but I had sized up the opposition-including the man who had commissioned me.
If her claim to be working for Laeta was right, Selia and I took our wages from the same soiled hands. I had no real job; I could not rely on being paid. On these terms I was not even sure I wanted to be.
It was time to return to Corduba. I badly needed to discuss all this with Helena. And if she agreed, I could ditch the whole filthy business and go home to Rome.
I rode back to Corduba even faster than I had come. I was glad I was not journeying in July or August, but even so the weather was uncomfortable enough to remind me this was the hottest part of Spain. Around me, covering the alluvial plain to the south of the River Baetis, lay the finest olive groves in Baetica. For oil rather than fruit, maybe the best olives in the world. Beyond the river even in the baking sun all the hills were green. Trees and shrubs flourished. I was crossing a bowl of abundant fertility, yet my mood remained grim.
For one thing, I was worried about Helena. There was nothing I could do about that. At least I was on my way back to her.
And I now had a new problem. I had not told poor Placidus, who was in enough misery with his wound, but what I had learned from the dancer filled me with dread. If Selia really had been working for Laeta, the attacks in Rome made one kind of sense: I was involved in a power struggle-as I had all along suspected-between two arms of palace officialdom. It looked darker and more bloody than I would have expected, but it was internal.
Whatever was going on here in Baetica might not matter to anybody back in Rome. The oil cartel could merely be the excuse Laeta and Anacrites used to perpetuate their rivalry. Or Laeta had used it on his own. Much as I loathed Anacrites, he was beginning to look like an innocent victim. He might have been just doing his job, decently attempting to protect a valuable commodity. Perhaps he was unaware of the threat from Laeta. When I saw them together at the dinner they had sparred verbally, but there was no sense that the spy suspected Laeta might actually be preparing to pick him off. Him and his best agent-a man I reckoned I would have liked.
I could walk away from the palace intrigue-but the dead Valentinus would continue to haunt me.
The scenario stank. I was furious that I had ever become involved. Helena's father had warned me that whatever was happening among the Palatine magnates would be something to avoid. I should have known all along how I was being used. Well of course I did know, but I let it happen anyway. My mission was a bluff-if Laeta hired Selia to attack Anacrites, he must have brought me in merely to cover his own tracks. He could pretend publicly that he was searching for culprits, though all he wanted was power. He must have believed I would fail to find Selia. Maybe he even supposed I would be so entranced with the importance of investigating a provincial cartel, I would forget to look for her at all. Did he hope I would be killed off in the attempt? Well, thanks, Laeta! Anacrites at least would have shown greater faith in my tenacity.
Perhaps instead Laeta wanted
As for the quaestor and his bumptious senator father, they looked like mere adjuncts to this story. I could only warn the Emperor that Quinctius Attractus was assuming too much power in Baetica. The proconsul would have to deal with Quadratus. I was treading on sliding scree, and I could risk nothing more. No informer accuses a senator of anything unless he is sure of support. I was sure of nothing.
I decided I did not want Claudius Laeta to acquire more power. If Anacrites died, Laeta could take over his empire; once in charge, whether he was bothered about the price of olive oil looked doubtful to me. I had heard for myself how Laeta was obsessed with the trappings of success with which Anacrites had surrounded himself: the suite in the palace of the Caesars, the villa at Baiae. Laeta's personal ambition looked clear enough. And it relied on undetected maneuvering. He certainly would not want me popping up in Rome to say
Maybe I would have to use this knowledge to protect myself. I was perfectly prepared to do so, to secure my own position-yet dear gods, the last thing I really wanted at this point in my life was a powerful politician nervous about what I might know.
I would have to fight him ruthlessly. It was his own fault. He was leaving me no choice.
I spent two days riding hard with muscles that had already ached and a brain that swam. I was so tired when I reached the mansio at Corduba I nearly fell onto a pallet and stayed there overnight. But I needed to see Helena. That kept me on my feet. I recovered the horse Optatus had lent me to come into town, and forced myself to stay upright on it all the way home to the Camillus estate.
Everything looked normal. It was dark, so the watchdogs set up a hectic yammering at my approach. When I led the horse to the stable a slave appeared to look after him, so I was spared that. The slave looked at me shiftily, as most villa rustica staff do. Without a word, I left my baggage roll and limped slowly to the house.
Nobody was about. A few dim lamps lit the corridor. I was too weary to call out. I went to the kitchen, which was where I expected to find everyone. Only the cook and other house-slaves were there. They all froze when I appeared. Then Marius Optatus broke in through another door opposite.
He was holding a leash; he must have been to investigate what had disturbed the dogs. His face was gray, his manner agitated even before he saw me.
'Falco, you're back!'
'What's wrong?'
He made a vague, helpless gesture with the hand that held the dog leash. 'There has been a tragic accident-'
I was already on my way, running like a madman to the room I shared with Helena.
Marcus!'
She was there. Alive. Larger than ever; still pregnant. Whole. Sound.
I fell to my knees beside the chair as she struggled to rise and took her in my arms. 'Oh dear gods…' My breath rasped in huge painful gulps.
Helena was crying. She had been crying before I crashed into the room. Now instead she was calming me, holding my face between her hands, her light rapid kisses on my eyes both soothing and greeting me.
'Optatus said there had been an accident-'
'Oh my darling! It's neither of us.' She laid my hand upon the unborn child, either to comfort me or herself, or to give the baby notice that I was home again. It seemed a formal, archaic gesture. I tickled the child and then
