Norbanus was still sneering: "Isn't he that already? Patron of Corduba, Castulo and Hispalis, representative of the oil producers in the Senate, linchpin of the copper mines—"

Talking about mines depressed me. "What part of Gaul are you from?"

"Narbo." This was close to Tarraconensis though outside Hispania. It was a major entrepot in southern Gaul.

"You specialize in shipping olive oil? Is that just to Rome?"

He snorted. "You can't have much idea about the market! A lot of my contracts are bound for Rome, yes; but we're shipping thousands of amphorae. We cover the whole of Italy—and everywhere else. The stuff goes in all directions—up the Rhodanus in Gallia Narbonensis, to Gaul, Britain and Germany; I've done shipments straight across the Pillars of Hercules to Africa; I've sent it as far as Egypt; I've supplied Dalmatia, Pannonia, Crete, mainland Greece and Syria—"

"Greece? I thought the Greeks grew their own olives? Weren't they doing it for centuries before you had them here in Baetica?"

"Not got the taste. Not so mellow."

I whistled quietly. Turning again to Cyzacus I said, "Expensive business, exporting oil. I gather the price starts going up as soon as they funnel it into the amphorae?"

He shrugged. "The on-costs are terrible. It's not our fault. For instance, on the journey down from Corduba we have to pay port taxes every single time we stop. It all gets added to the bill."

"That's after your own profits have been taken out. Then Norbanus here wants his percentage, and the shipper too. All long before the retailer in Rome even has a smell of it."

"It's a luxury item," Cyzacus replied defensively.

"Luckily for all of you in Baetica it's an item in universal use."

"It's a very wonderful product," Norbanus put in dryly, in a holy voice.

"Wonderfully profitable!" I said. I had to change the subject. "You're a Gaul. How do you get on with the producers?"

"They hate my guts," Norbanus admitted proudly. "And it's mutual! At least they know I'm not some bloody interloper from Italy."

"Speculators!" I sympathized. "Coming out to the provinces from Rome solely because they can get away with low cash inputs, then drain off huge profits. Bringing their alien work practices. If they ever come out here in person, clinging together in tight little cliques—always planning to go home again once their fortunes are made... Attractus is a prime example, though he seems to want more from it than most. I know about his olive estate and his mineral mine—what interests does he have in Hispalis?"

"None," Cyzacus said, disapprovingly.

"He built the baths near the wool market," Norbanus reminded him. Cyzacus sniffed.

"Didn't it go down well?" I asked.

"The people of Baetica," Cyzacus informed me, sucking in his thin cheeks, "prefer to be honored with benefactions from men who were born here. Not outsiders who want to impress for their personal glory."

"Where does that leave you as a Gaul?" I demanded of Norbanus.

"Stowing my money in a bankchest!" He grinned.

I looked at them both: "But you two are friends?"

"We dine together," Cyzacus told me. I knew what he meant. These were two dedicated men of commerce. They could exchange public hospitality on a regular basis for years on end, yet I doubted if they had ever been to each other's houses, and once they retired from business they might never meet again. They were on the same side—cheating the oil producers and forcing up prices for the eventual customers. But they were not friends.

This was good news. On the face of it the men Quinctius Attractus had invited to Rome last month shared a common interest. Yet several kinds of prejudice divided them—and they all loathed Attractus himself. The bargees and negotiators tolerated each other, but they hated the olive producers—and those snobs on their grand estates shared no common feeling with the transport side.

Was this antagonism strong enough to prevent them all forming a price ring? Would their shared distrust of a Roman interloper dissuade them from joining him? Had Attractus miscalculated the lure of money? Might these hard-nosed operators reject him as a leader? Might they reckon there was sufficient profit to be made from oil, and that they were perfectly capable of squeezing out the maximum gain without any help from him—and without any obligation to him afterwards?

"You know why I'm here," I suggested. Both men laughed. After the size of meal they had eaten all this hilarity could not be good for them. "There are two reasons. Attractus has drawn attention to himself; he is thought to be a dangerous fixer—and I'm looking into ways of fixing him." The two men glanced at each other, openly pleased he was in trouble. "Of course," I said gravely, "neither of you has been approached to take part in anything so crooked as a cartel?"

"Certainly not," they agreed solemnly.

I smiled like a pleasant fellow. "Reputable businessmen would want nothing to do with such villainy?" "Of course not, they assured me.

"And you would immediately report such an approach to the authorities?" I dropped the pose: "Don't bother to insult me by answering that!"

Old Cyzacus was picking his teeth, but behind the ensuing grimace he may have looked offended that I had just accused them of lying. Liars are always very sensitive.

Norbanus continued to be as unhelpful as possible. "Is there a cartel, Falco? If so, good luck to it!" he declared. Then he spat on the floor. "Tcha! They'll never do it—the bloody producers couldn't organize themselves!"

I leaned my elbows on the table, linking my fingers and surveying the reprobates over my hands. I tried ingratiating myself: "I think you're right. I've seen them in Corduba. They spend so much time making sure they don't get missed off the guest list for the next soiree with the proconsul, they can't manage much else."

"All they care about," Norbanus growled, "is taking a turn as duovir and sending their sons to ponce about in Rome spending money—wasting their capital!" he added, as if failure to thrive as an investor was an unforgivable offense.

"So don't you think Attractus managed to lean on them?"

Cyzacus took an interest: "He could lean until he fell over. The producers would never do anything risky."

"And what about you two?" I challenged. This only produced contemptuous smiles. "All right. You've been frank with me, so I'll return the compliment. I have to report to the Emperor. I'm going to tell Vespasian that I am convinced there is a cartel being mooted. That Attractus is the prime mover. And that all the men who were seen dining with him at the Society of Olive Oil Pro-

ducers' dinner at the end of March have assured me they were horrified and that they spurned the idea. Well, you wouldn't want to be indicted with him before the court of conspiracy, would you?

"Let us know if you get him there," Norbanus said dryly. "We'll all come and cheer."

"Perhaps you'd like to help me form a case? Perhaps you'd like to give evidence?"

Neither even bothered to reply. And I didn't bother offering another free fare to Rome on the strength of future assistance. They would not appear in court. Rome has its own snobberies anyway. A couple of foreigners engaged in transportation—however flourishing their business—would be despised. I needed to subpoena the estate owners at least. Land counts. Land is respectable. But to indite a senator with a long Roman pedigree even Annaeus and Rufius would not be enough. The Quinctii would walk, unless I could produce witnesses of their own social weight. And where were they?

I was glad I had spoken to these two in person, despite the long trip. I did feel their story carried weight. Their assessment of the producers matched my own. Norbanus and Cyzacus seemed too self-reliant to follow the lead of an entrepreneur from the political world—and too capable of making money on their own account. Not that I could ever rely on this: if the men Attractus had summoned to Rome had leapt at his suggestion, they were hardly likely to tell me. Price-fixing works on subtlety. Nobody ever admits it is happening.