He would always have kept a secondary plan to cover snags. Me finding out too much, for instance, on the way to removing Attractus. So he had hired and kept Selia paid up, in case he wanted to eliminate me.

He had made at least one serious miscalculation: for this plan to work, the oil producers themselves had to want a cartel. If they sneakily took the honest route, Laeta would be nowhere.

The other problem would be if Vespasian decided that he preferred to keep his hands clean now that he was an emperor.

 

"Anacrites had seen what was going to happen." Perella was still talking. "He always reckoned Laeta wanted to put the cartel in place, then offer it to the Emperor as his bargaining piece. Laeta's reward will be power—a new intelligence empire, for a start."

"It's cunning. He will demonstrate that Anacrites has simply blundered in and threatened the success of a lucrative scheme— failing in his dumb spy-like way to grasp the potential for imperial exploitation. Laeta, by contrast, exhibits superb speculative nous, proving himself the better man. He is also loyal—so hands his idea to a happy and grateful Emperor."

Perella looked sick. "Pretty, isn't it?"

"Disgusting! And you're telling me before Anacrites received his head damage he was on to all this?"

"Yes."

"I've been told it was Quinctius Quadratus who lost his nerve and arranged for Anacrites to be beaten up. Is there any possibility that Laeta himself really organized the thugs?"

Perella considered. "He could be evil enough to do it—but apparently when he heard what had happened he went green with shock. He's a clerk," she said cruelly. "I expect he hates violence!"

"He did look flustered when he came to me about it."

"Maybe it finally struck him that he was messing with something more dangerous than scrolls."

"That hasn't made him back down from the general plan," I commented.

"No. You said it right, Falco. Everything depends on whether Vespasian has been told all this. Once he knows, he'll love it. We'll be stuck with it."

"So what was Anacrites intending to do to thwart Laeta's scheme?"

"What I'm still doing," she returned crisply. "The spies' network will produce a report saying, 'Look! People were planning to force up olive oil prices; isn't it scandalous?' Then we show that we've stopped the plot. If enough people know, we force the Emperor to agree publicly that it was corrupt and undesirable. We get the praise for discovering the project, and for ending it. Laeta has to back off— from the cartel, and from us."

"For now!"

"Oh he'll be back. Unless," remarked Perella in a tone Laeta would not have cared for, "somebody wipes him out first!"

 

I drew in a long breath then let it out again, whistling to myself.

I had no opinion on whether Anacrites or Laeta was best for running the intelligence service. I had always despised the whole business, and only took on missions when I needed the money, even then distrusting everyone involved. Taking sides was a fool's game. With my luck, whichever side I ended up on would be the wrong one. Better to extract myself now, then wait to see what developed. Watching the two official heavyweights slogging out their rivalry might even be amusing.

I was growing stiff, sitting on the ground. I stood up. The woman followed, gathering up her shawl then shaking it to dislodge twigs and leaves. I was once again struck by how short, stout and apparently unlikely as a spy she was. Still, she didn't look like a dancer, yet everyone who had seen her perform said she could do that.

"Perella, I'm glad we pooled our knowledge. We underlings have to work together!"

"So we do," she agreed—with a pinch-lipped expression that told me how she distrusted me just as freely as I did her. "And are you still working for Laeta, Falco?"

"Oh I'm working for justice, truth and decency!"

"How noble. Do they pay well?"

"Pitifully."

"I'll stick with the network then!" We had walked to our animals. Perella flung the shawl across her horse's back then leaned on the saddle before leaping up. "So who goes after Quadratus?"

I sighed deeply. "I'd like to; I hate that young bastard—but Perella, I'm really stuck now. He's gone in entirely the wrong direction—back west towards Corduba. I've sent my girl to the east coast and I ought to go after her."

She looked surprised. My tenacity must be more famous than I thought. "You don't mean that, Falco!"

"I don't have much choice! I want to corner Quadratus, but I don't want to face Helena—let alone her enraged family—if I slip up and let anything happen to her. Her family are important. If I upset them, they could finish me."

"So what then, Falco? Aren't you the man to take a chance?"

Irritated, I picked at a tooth, pausing for anguished reflection. "No, it's no good. I'm going to have to leave you to take the credit. Anacrites' group needs the kudos, and I just haven't the time to follow in the direction Quadratus has gone. I've found out what you need to know. You saw me at the silver mine? They told me at the supervisor's office that he had been there yesterday. He let them know he was going back to look at the mines near Hispalis."

"And you can't do it?"

"Well it's impossible for me. That's the wrong way. I'll have to give up on him. I've simply run out of time. My lady is about to pop a baby, and I promised to put her on a ship so she can get to a good Roman midwife. She's gone on ahead and I'm supposed to be following."

Perella, who may even have seen Helena looking huge at the Camillus estate in Corduba while I was in Hispalis, snorted that I had better be sharp, then. I gave her the customary scowl of a man who was ruing his past indiscretions. Then I swung up onto my mule again. This time it was I who managed it gracefully, while Perella missed and had to scramble.

"Need a hand?"

"Get lost, Falco."

So we parted in different directions, Perella going west. I meanwhile took the road to the east at a gentle pace, pretending I was headed for the Tarraconensis coast.

I was. But first, as I had always intended, I would be visiting the mines at Castulo.

SIXTY-SIX

 

This time fear had no hold on me. Old anxieties surged around as they always would do, but I was in control.

I found the quaestor very quickly. Nobody could mistake that handsome, wholesome appearance. He was standing, talking to a contractor; the other man looked grateful for my interruption and positively scampered off. Quinctius Quadratus greeted me with warmth, as if we were old dice-playing friends.

This was not one of the great underground workings, but virtually open-cast. We had met at the head of an entry to a seam, more of a cleft in the side of a slope than a real shaft. Below us open tunnels had been carved out like long caves with overhanging roofs. The constant chipping of picks reached our ears. Slaves were clambering up and down an ungainly wooden ladder, ribs showing, all skinny limbs and outsize bony elbows, knees and feet. They carried the sacklike sagging weight of ore-baskets on their shoulders in a jostling chain while Quadratus posed like a colossus at the top of their route, quite unaware that he was positioned in their way.

He had made no attempt to hide from me. In his eyes there could be no reason for him to act the fugitive.

"Do you want to talk indoors, quaestor?"

"It's pleasant here. What can I do for you?"

"A few answers, please." I would have to pose extremely simple questions. His brain had the consistency of a slab of lead. I folded my arms and talked in a straightforward way like a man he could trust. "Quinctius Quadratus, I have to put to you some charges which you will see are immensely serious. Stop me if you consider anything is unfair."