Hispania had lost its chance of glory when Galba slipped off the throne after only seven months and Otto barely lasted three; they were past history in Rome. But the rich estate- and mine-owners of Corduba had been among Galba's allies. Here there could still be dangerous tingles of resentment. Needless to say, outside the massive walls of the administrative palace, the town had appeared to be going about its business on this bright southern morning, as if setting up emperors carried no more world importance than a small scandal to do with amphitheater ticket sales. Yet maybe among the olive groves ambitions still seethed.

"What's the news on the Palatine?" The proconsul was blunt. He had been working in informal dress—a bonus of life in the provinces—but seeing me in my toga he slid into his surreptitiously.

"I bring you cordial greetings from the Emperor, Titus Caesar, and the Chief of Correspondence." I handed over a scroll from Laeta, introducing me.

He didn't bother to unseal it. He was not a man for etiquette. "You work for Laeta?" He managed to restrain a humph. Secretariat employees would be rare visitors—and unwelcome ones.

"I was sent here by Laeta—well, he signed a docket for my fare. There's an interesting situation at home, sir. The Chief Spy has been nastily knocked on the head, and Laeta has assumed some of his responsibilities. I was chosen to come out because I have what we'll call diplomatic experience." Calling myself an informer tended to explode ex-generals and ex-consuls into unsavory bouts of flatulence.

The proconsul absorbed my story and sat up slightly. "Why send you?"

"Expediency."

"Good word, Falco. Covers a wealth of donkey dung." I started to like the man.

"More like pulped olive manure," I said. He got rid of his staff.

 

Achieving an interview was one thing. In the lustrous halls of power I often ended up dissatisfied. Like eating a meal in a bad mansio in Gaul.

We quickly established that I had an official mission, for which the proconsul did not wish to be responsible. He had an official mission too. Since he represented the Senate and I represented the Emperor, our interests did not necessarily collide. It was his province; his role took precedence. That was preserving good relations with the local community.

I described the attacks on Anacrites and Valentinus. The proconsul looked politely regretful about the Chief Spy and merely dismissive of the fate of an unknown underling. He denied knowing any dancers from Hispalis too, and looked annoyed that I had asked. However, he did suggest that the local aediles in her hometown might have the murderous Diana on their lists of licensed entertainers; to find out I would have to go to Hispalis.

He told me I could count on him for full support—although due to the Emperor's wish to reduce provincial expenditure, no resources could be allocated to assist me. That was not unexpected. Luckily I pay for my own boot-leather, and I could charge Laeta for necessary bribes.

I requested comments on the local personnel. The proconsul said I was the expert: he would leave judgments to me. I deduced that he was a frequent dinner guest in at least the more upper-class suspects' homes.

"Obviously the export of olive oil is a major trade which Rome intends to safeguard." And obviously it was the proconsul's place to sum up. I was only the expert; I bit my tongue. "If there were to be an attempt to influence prices unfavorably, Falco, we would have to stamp on it severely. The consequences for the home market, the army, and the provincial outlets would be appalling. However I don't want to upset sensitivities here. You must do what you have to, but any complaints and you'll be bumped out of my province faster than you can breathe."

"Thank you, sir."

"Is that all?"

"Just a minor point, sir." I usually manage to call them "sir" a few times. The shrewd ones are never fooled. "You had some correspondence with Anacrites recently, but it's lost in his coded filing library. I'd like permission to see the documents at your end."

"Financial subject. My quaestor was the official point of contact."

"That would be Cornelius? I gather it was time for him to move on—had he discussed the issue with you?"

"In general terms." I gained the subtle impression this was only one of a myriad of topics on meeting agendas, and that the proconsul could not bring to mind the salient facts. But then he seemed to change his mind. "Are you the agent Anacrites warned us he was sending?" That was a development I had not known about.

"No; Laeta took me on, after Anacrites was put out of action. Valentinus, the man who was killed in Rome, looks the likeliest person to have been sent by the Chief Spy. I assume no one else has turned up?"

"No one has made contact."

"Then we can assume I'm doing the job now."

The proconsul decided to be frank with me. "Well to clear your passage: Anacrites wrote to query whether the olive oil market was stable. I've been in the business long enough to assume that meant he suspected it was not; he would not have expressed an interest otherwise. I had Cornelius review the situation urgently."

"He could be trusted?"

"Cornelius was reliable." He seemed about to add something on that topic, but instead went on, "There did appear to be restiveness, the kind of mood in the business community that is hard to define and harder still to tackle. I was unhappy, certainly. We sent a report. The response was that an agent would be coming out at once." I wondered if the reason Anacrites had left the Palace after the dinner I attended was to meet Valentinus and order him to make a trip to Corduba.

"Thank you; that's clear, sir. From all I've heard, you'll be missing Cornelius. He sounds a useful deputy. And now you've had an unknown quantity wished on you, I hear—Will the new quaestor now be taking over the oil cartel issue, sir?"

I had kept my expression neutral, but I let the proconsul see me watching him. Since the new lad in charge of financial matters was the son of a man who appeared to be piping the tune for the oil producers, this could become delicate.

My new officer is unfamiliar with the subject," stated the proconsul. It sounded as if he was warning me not to alert young Quinctius. I felt reassured.

"I believe he's in Corduba already?"

He came in and had a look around the office." Something

sounded peculiar. The proconsul looked me straight in the eye. "He's not here at the moment. I gave him some hunting leave. Best to let them get it out of their system," he told me dryly, like a man who had had to train a long procession of administrative illiterates.

I thought his real meaning was different. The proconsul would have had little choice about his new officer. The appointment of Quinctius Quadratus would have been lobbied by his influential father and fixed up by the Senate. The Emperor had the right of veto but to use it would be a mark of disfavor, one which the Quinctius family had not openly deserved. "I met his father in Rome," I said.

"Then you will know Quinctius Quadratus comes to us with fine recommendations." There was not a flicker of irony. "Certainly his father carries weight, sir."

I was hardly expecting a proconsul to damn a fellow senator. It didn't happen either. "Tipped for a consulship," he commented gravely. "Would probably have got it by now if there hadn't been a long queue for rewards." After coming to power Vespasian had been obliged to offer honors to his own friends who had supported him; he had also two sons to be ritually made magistrates every few years. That meant men who had thought they were certainties for honors were now having to wait.

"If Attractus does get his consulship he'll be in line for a province afterwards," I grinned. "He could yet take over from you, sir!" The great man did not find it a joke. "Meanwhile the son is expected to go far?"