"Papa was being cheated over the olive oil pressing. That was why Aelianus took on a tenant. Using an overseer of our own wasn't working. This way Papa receives a fixed rent, while the man with the lease is responsible for whether he makes a profit or not."

"I hope we're not having to share accommodation with one of your brother's friends!"

"No, no. The man had fallen on hard times somehow and needed a new farm. Aelianus decided he was honest. I don't suppose he knew him personally; can you imagine my brother sharing a drink with a farmer?"

"He may have had to lower his snooty standards in the provinces."

Helena looked skeptical about that. "Well what I do know is that this man—whose name is Marius Optatus—volunteered to point out that Papa was being cheated in some way. It sounds as if Aelianus brushed his advice aside—but then had the sense to check, and found it was right. Remember my father had entrusted him with seeing that the estate was running properly. It was the first time Aelianus had such a responsibility, and whatever you think of him he did want to do well."

"I'm still surprised he listened."

"Maybe he surprised himself."

An honest tenant sounded unlikely, but I wanted to believe it. If I could report back to Camillus Verus that his son had at least put in a good man to work the estate, that suited me. Whereas if the tenant proved a bad one, I had agreed to sort things out—one more claim on my hard-pressed time.

I'm no expert on big villa economy, though I had been partly brought up on a market garden so I should be able to spot gross bad practice. That was all Helena's father required. Absentee landlords don't expect to make vast profits from remote holdings. It is their estates on the Italian mainland, which they can tour in person every year, that keep the rich in luxury.

Something was on Helena's mind. "Marcus, do you trust what Aelianus told you?"

"About the farm?"

"No. About the letter he brought home."

"It looked as though he was coming clean. When I told him what had happened to the Chief Spy and his agent your brother seemed to realize he was in deep trouble." Back in Rome I had tried to find the letter, but Anacrites' papers were in too much disarray. Sight of it would have reassured me, and even if Aelianus had told me the truth I might have learned further details. Laeta had had his own staff search for it, without success. That could just mean Anacrites had devised a complicated filing system—though whenever I had visited his office his scheme seemed to consist of merely throwing scrolls all over the floor.

The road had become rough again. Helena said nothing while the carriage lurched over the uneven pavings. The northward crosscountry road to Corduba was not exactly a marvel of engineering, precision built by the legions in some mighty politician's name, and intended to last for millennia. The regional council must have charge of this one. Public slaves occasionally patched it up well enough to last through the current season. We seemed to be traveling when the work gang were overdue.

"Aelianus must also have realized," I added when the carriage stopped jolting, "the first thing I would do—whether I had to correspond from Rome or whether I came here myself—was to ask the proconsul's office for their side of the correspondence. In fact I'm hoping to discuss the whole business with the proconsul himself."

"I had a go at him," Helena said. She still meant Aelianus. I felt sorry for her brother. Helena Justina could have been a cracking investigator had it not been impossible for respectable women to converse freely with people outside their family, or to knock on strangers' doors with nosy requests. But I always felt a mild pang of resentment when she took the initiative. She knew that, of course. "Don't fret. I was careful. He's my brother; he wasn't surprised I cornered him."

If he had told her anything worthwhile I would have heard about it before now. So I just grinned at her; Helena grabbed at the carriage frame as we were flung forward by a violent bounce. I braced my arm across in front of her for protection.

Just because Aelianus was her brother did not mean I intended to trust him.

Helena squeezed my hand. "Justinus is going to keep prodding him."

That cheered me up. I had shared time abroad with her younger brother. Justinus looked immature, but when he stopped mooning after unsuitable women he was shrewd and tenacious. I had great faith in his judgment too (except of women). In fact there was only one problem: if Justinus discovered anything, sending correspondence to Spain was highly unreliable. Helena and I would probably be home again before any letter could arrive. I was out here on my own. Not even Laeta would be able to contact me.

Changing the subject Helena Justina joked, "I hope this won't be like our trip to the East. It's bad enough finding corpses face down in water cisterns; I don't care for the idea of plucking a preserved one from a vat of olive oil."

"Messy!" I grinned.

"And slippery too."

"Don't worry; it won't happen."

"You were always overconfident!"

"I know what I'm talking about. It's the wrong time of year. Harvest starts in September with the green olives, and is over in January with the black. In April and May the presses stand still and everyone is chipping away at weeds with hoes, spreading manure made from last year's squelched olive pulp, and pruning. All we'll see will be pretty trees with jolly spring flowers hiding tiny fruit buds."

"Oh you've been reading up!" Helena scoffed. Her teasing eyes were bright. "Trust us to come at the wrong time of year."

I laughed too—though it was exactly the right time for some things: in spring the labor-intensive work of tending the olive trees was at its least demanding. That could be when the olive-owners found the time to scheme and plot.

The closer we got to the great oil-producing estates south of the River Baetis, the more my unease grew.

NINETEEN

 

There is a fine tradition that when landowners arrive unexpectedly on their lush estates they find the floors unswept for the past six months, the goats roaming free in the vineyard eating the new young fruits, and grooms asleep with unwashed women in the master's bed. Some senators stop in the next village for a week, sending messages of their imminent arrival so the cobwebs can be sponged down, the floozies persuaded to go home to their aunties, and the livestock rounded up. Others are less polite. On the premise that having their names on a five percent mortgage from the Syrian lender in the Forum gives them right of possession, they turn up at dinnertime expecting hot baths, a full banquet and clean apartments with the coverlets already folded down for their accompanying forty friends. They at least get to publish fine literary letters full of satirical complaints about country life.

We had no one to send ahead as a messenger and we were sick of inns, so we pressed on and turned up unannounced, quite late in the day. Our appearance caused no visible panic. The new tenant had passed the first test of his efficiency. Marius Optatus didn't exactly welcome us with fresh roses in blue glass bud vases, but he found us seats in the garden and summoned a passable julep jug, while he ordered curious servants to prepare our rooms. Nux scampered off after them to choose a good bed to sleep on.

"The name's Falco. You may have heard Aelianus railing about me.

"How do you do," he answered, omitting to confirm whether or not he had been told I was a reprobate.

I introduced Helena, then we all sat around being polite and trying not to show that we were people with nothing in common who had been thrown together unavoidably.

Helena's father had bought himself a traditionally built Baetican farmhouse almost alongside the nearest road. It had mud-brick foundations below wooden panels; the arrangement was one long corridor with reception rooms at the front and more private accommodation behind them. The tenant lived in rooms along one side of the corridor, with views over the estate. The other rooms, which flanked a private garden, were supposed to be set aside for the Camilli if ever any of them visited. This part had been left unused. Either the tenant was scrupulous—or he had been warned to expect visitors.