A Dying Light In Corduba Part 29

Light struggled to infiltrate through slits in the north- facing walls. I stood for a moment, accustoming my eyes to the half-dark of the small room. A faint rich smell remained from last year's olives. The confined s.p.a.ce was quiet, though we could hear the remote sounds of voices from theyard. The boy's body had been removed. It looked as if everything else had then been abandoned as it was.

'This is where the first crus.h.i.+ng takes place,' Optatus explained. 'The fruit is picked, and carried in deep baskets to the farm. It is washed, sorted, and stored in heaps on a sloping floor for a couple of days. Then it comes here for malaxation. The olives are crushed in this mill, to form a rough pulp, evenly mixed. After that they go next door for the oil to be pressed out.'

The crus.h.i.+ng mill consisted of a large circular stone tank, into which whole fruit would be dumped. A central column was supposed to support heavy wooden arms which ran through the centres of two vertical hemispherical stones; these were kept slightly apart from each other by a strong rectangular box into which the wooden arms were fixed. It was plated with metal and formed part of the pivotal machinery which turned and supported the grinding stones.

'Poles are attached through each stone,' Optatus explained in his steady, unemotional way. 'Two men walk around the vat and turn the poles slowly, churning the fruit.'

'So it's not quite the same as grinding corn?'

'No; cornmills have a conical base and cup-shaped upper stone. This is the opposite - a basin into which the stone rollers fit.'

'They move quite loosely?'

'Yes. The aim is to bruise the olives and free the oil, to make a slippery paste. But you try to avoid breaking the stones; they taste bitter.'

We fell silent.

The old worn grinders were propped against a wall, one flat side out, one convex, both stained dark purple and badly misshapen. Pale new concrete had been used to improve the basin. One new stone stood within it in position, already fixed upright to the central pivot though it was held fast on blocks. Both stones had been supplied withbrand new turning poles, their wood still white from the adze.

'You see, Falco,' my companion continued levelly, 'the roller fits fairly loosely. In use the pole acts merely as a lever to move the stone around in the vat. The stones revolve almost of their own volition, due to the pressure of the fruit.' Although the grinder still had wedges beneath it, he leaned on it to show me there was free play. Leverage on the pole would move the stone and tumble the olives against the sides of the basin, but not so tightly that the kernels were split.

I sighed, I fingered a collar, fitting tightly around the pole. 'And this washer - which I presume is adjustable - is fixed here on the outside to keep the stone on?'

'It should be.' Optatus was grim.

'Then I suppose I can work out what happened to the boy.'

'You will!' Presumably Optatus had already thought through events, and did not like the result.

The second grinding-stone lay on the ground. A pole had been partly thrust through it, but then smashed by a fall. Even in the dim light I noticed dark marks on the earth floor next to the stone; they looked like dried blood.

'So what do you reckon?' I asked Marius.

'The new grinders arrived two days ago but Licinius Rufius had not yet made arrangements for fitting them. I asked at the house, and apparently he intended to instruct the stonemasons who have been working on his new portico to do this job.'

'Why didn't he?'

'He had had a dispute with them about a column they broke, and they had walked off the site.'

'That's probably true. I saw the broken column when I was here before.'

Constans seems to have decided to surprise and please his grandfather. All he had said to anyone, however, was that he was coming over to inspect the new rollers before the bill from the supplier was authorised. 'Dear G.o.ds, Falco,if I had known his mind I would have helped him myself! I do wonder if he came over to ask me - but I had gone into Corduba to escape from Quadratus...'

'So they say he was alone - yet here we have the first new stone; already hauled into position.'

'I have talked to the workers, and none of them was involved.'

'This was some job to tackle! Rufus looked a st.u.r.dy lad, but he cannot possibly have moved the weight on his own.'

'No, Falco. That is why I rode over here today; I just cannot believe what is being said about this accident. It would take at least two men to manoeuvre and fix these grinding-stones - preferably four.' The concern in our tenant's voice convinced me his motives were genuine. Like me, he was a practical man. The flaws in the story had astonished and dismayed him so much he had had to see for himself.

'So what is the fixing procedure, Marius? Each stone has to be lifted into the basin - I presume you get it upright with a fulcrum, and use ropes to heave it in?' I glanced around. Now my eyes were more used to the light, I could make out discarded equipment.

Optatus confirmed how difficult the task would be: 'It's heavy work, but raising the stone in the basin is really the easy part. Then the grinder has to be held upright, raised off the bottom, and wedged.'

'To set it into position? It churns above the base of the tank?'

'Yes. Setting the height takes strength.'

'And courage! You would know if a stone like that rolled over your toe.'

'Or fell on your chest,' growled Marius, thinking of what happened to young Rufius. 'First you decide the position. Then somebody has to climb up and straddle the centre pivot to aim the pole into its fixing on the column - I have done that, Falco, and unless you get lucky immediately, it leads to some raw cursing. The man who is to guide the end into position soon hates the man who pushes the polethrough the stone. Making a fit is very difficult. You have to give clear directions - which your partner naturally gets wrong.'

Optatus painted a neat picture of the joys of teamwork. I wished I could see him trying to organise a couple of my brothers-in-law in some simple household task.

'Maybe Rufius and his helper quarrelled ... Rufius must have been the one on the ground.'

'Yes. The stone slipped, and fell out on him,' Optatus agreed. 'The estate workers told me they found him on his back with his arms outstretched, and the grinding-stone right on top of him. It had caved in his chest, and crushed his stomach too.'

I flinched. 'Let's hope he died at once.'

'He could not have lasted long. Even if the stone had been lifted straight off him, he would never have survived.'

'The point,' I said sourly, 'is whether he could have avoided being crushed in the first place.'

Optatus nodded. 'I inspected the pole, Falco.' He bent over it to show me. 'Look, the cap has not been fitted. It looks as if very few wedges were being used to position the stone in the basin either; whoever was doing this job must have been a complete amateur -'

'Rufius was very young. He may never have seen rollers installed before.'

'It was madness. Unplanned, unthinking incompetence. The grinding-stone would have beeu wobbling around on the lever, very hard to control. Once it started to lean out at an angle, the man on the ground might have jumped out of the way if he was quick, but more likely he found its weight too much to resist.'

'Instinct might have made him try to support the stone longer than he should, especially if he was inexperienced. Jupiter, it's ghastly - Wouldn't his friend up above heave on the top rim to pull the stone upright again?'

Optatus was blunt: 'Maybe this "friend" pushed the stone out instead!'

'You're leaping ahead - But that would explain why the "friend" vanished afterwards.'

Optatus became more than blunt; he was angry. 'Even if it really was an accident, the friend could have got the stone off Constans afterwards. He would still have died in agony, but he need not have died alone.'

'Some friend!'

A noise alerted us, too late perhaps, to the fact that Marmarides had just led in Helena and Claudia. Claudia's expression told us she had heard what Marius said.

Optatus straightened up at once and went to the girl. He placed both hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead. The action was brisk and he released her immediately. Claudia gave him a half-smile, and unlike when Quadratus swamped her with condolences she did not burst into tears again.

Optatus explained in a few words what we had been discussing. 'There is no doubt; Constans cannot have done this work alone. Somebody - as yet unidentified - was here helping him.'

'Somebody killed him.' Claudia's voice was now eerily controlled.

I had to intervene. 'It could have been a terrible accident. But whoever was here mug have seen your brother badly " hurt, and yet they simply abandoned him.'

'You mean he need not have died? He could have been saved?' A high note of hysteria showed how Claudia's mind was racing.

'No, no. Please don't torture yourself with that thought. Once the stone slipped and fell on him his wounds would have been too severe.' As I spoke to her, Marius put a hand on her arm and shook his head, trying to persuade her to believe it. Now Claudia did begin to cry, but instead of comforting her himself Marius looked embarra.s.sed and steered her to Helena. As a lover he lacked useful instincts.

Helena held the girl dose to her, kissed her, and thenasked me, 'Marcus, who do we think this missing companion was?'

'I'd happily name one person!' Marius snarled.

'We know you would - but Quinctius Quadratus has an unshakeable alibi: the b.a.s.t.a.r.d couldn't ride. Even if his young pal Constans had gone over to our estate to fetch him, he would still need to get home again after the accident. How are you suggesting he did that?' Optatus was silent, reluctantly conceding the point.

'Call it murder, not an accident!' insisted Claudia, breaking free from Helena's arms.

'I won't do that, Claudia,' I said patiently, 'until I can either provide evidence, or make somebody confess. But I give you my word, I will do all I can to discover what happened, and if it really was murder, whoever was responsible will be made to pay.'

Claudia Rufina made a visible effort to control her emotions. The young girl was brave, but she was close to breaking point. At a signal from Helena I quietly suggested we leave the scene of the tragedy and take her on to her grandparents' house.

LVII LVII.

The great half-finished house lay silent. The builders had been dismissed and the estate workers kept to their quarters. Frightened slaves flitted among the pillars indoors. Time had stopped.

The body of Rufius Constans had been raised on a bier in the atrium. Extravagant branches of cypress decorated the area. A canopy darkened what should have been a s.p.a.ce filled with sunlight, while smoking brands caused visitors to choke and rub their streaming eyes. The young man awaited burial swathed in white, smothered with garlands, reeking of sweet preservative oils. Busts of his ancestors watched over him. Laurel wreaths which he had never managed to earn for himself had been placed on tripods to symbolise the honours his family had lost.

Marius and I exchanged glances, wondering if one of us could keep watch while the other climbed up to inspect the body. The possible gains were not worth the risk of discovery. We chose to avoid the howls of outrage.

In an adjacent reception room Licinius Rufius and his wife were seated, completely motionless. Both were clad in black. Both looked as if they had neither slept nor eaten since they learned of their grandson's death. Neither showed much interest in the fact we had brought back their granddaughter, though they seemed to be pleased that the rest of us had come to share their grief. The atmosphere was stultifying. I sympathised with their tragedy, but I was still weary and short-tempered after my long journey to Hispalis. I could feel my patience ebbing fast.

Chairs were produced. Claudia sat down immediately with her hands folded and her eyes downcast, resigned to her duty. Helena, Marius and I took our places more uneasily. There was a good chance we could all imitatestatues for the next three hours and not hear a word spoken. I was angry, and I felt such pa.s.sivity would not help.

'This is the most terrible tragedy. We all realise how deeply you are suffering.'

A slight reaction pa.s.sed over the grandfather's face, though he made no attempt to reply to me.

Will you come to the funeral?' Claudia Adorata, the old lady, asked me in a hushed voice. She belonged to that group of women who seek their comfort in formal events. Marius and I both agreed to go; I had already decided with Helena that she should excuse herself. n.o.body would thank us if she caused a disturbance by giving birth in the middle of the drawn-out obsequies.

I had to speak out: Licinius Rufius, Claudia Adorata, forgive me for raising unwelcome issues. I speak as a friend. It has been established that somebody who has not come forward must have been with your grandson when he died. The situation needs to be looked into.'

'Constans is gone,' Licinius dragged out. 'There is no point. You mean well,' he conceded in his autocratic way.

'I do, sir. I respect your wish for privacy -' I knew it remained possible that the young man's death had been a sad - but avoidable - accident. I kept my voice calm and respectful. 'I would like to speak to you in private; it concerns the safety of your granddaughter.'

'My granddaughter!' His eyes flew to me, and met a coolreception.

No doubt Claudia Rufina would be smothered with attention after the funeral, but at the moment she was not being granted her due. The old man was sufficiently formal to stop discussing her in what amounted to a public situation, so he stared at me, but then indicated I could follow him to another room. Claudia herself made a swift movement as though she wanted to a.s.sert herself and come with us, but Helena Justina shook her head surrept.i.tiously.

Licinius sat. I stood. It gave him status; I did not need it.

'I'll be brief. Your grandson may have died because of a bungled task, or it may have been more than an accident. Perhaps that only matters if you want to know for your own peace of mind. But I saw you and Constans at the proconsul's palace; I have drawn my own conclusions about why you took him there. I strongly believe there are people who will' not have welcomed Constans speaking out - and they will be feeling relieved now he has been silenced.'

'You said you wished to speak about my granddaughter, Falco.'

'This does affect her. Will you tell me what Constans knew?'

'I have nothing to say on that subject.'

'If Constans was aware of something illegal - perhaps the cartel I discussed with you recently, or maybe something even more serious - then you should consider the position very carefully. I knew them only a short time, but it seemed to me that Constans and Claudia were very close.'

'Claudia Rufina is deeply upset -'

'It's worse than that. She may be in danger. Other people, those who had an interest in your grandson's silence, may now be wondering whether Constans told his sister what he knew.'

Licinius Rufius made no remark, but he was listening to me much less impatiently.

'Don't lose them both!' I warned.

The girl was not my responsibility. Her grandfather possessed ample means for ensuring her protection. I had seeded his mind, anyway. He rose, looking gruff though on principle. He hated to acknowledge that anyone else knew better.

As he started to leave the room he turned to me with a faint smile. 'Your skills seem limitless.'

'Not at all. I cannot, for instance, lure you by any method I know into discussing the proposed cartel.'

At last he allowed me to mention it, though he still sang the old refrain: 'There is no cartel.'

'I may even end up believing that.' I smiled. 'Try this, sir: a group of you, chosen for your prominence in the business world, were invited to Rome by an influential senator. A suggestion was made which you rejected out of hand. Then somebody - not necessarily the senator himself - made a stupid mistake. It became known that the Chief Spy was showing interest in your group. Somebody lost his head and arranged a couple of murderous attacks. The rest of you recognised a dangerous bungle, one which only drew attention to the unpalatable plan. You left Rome fast.'

'Convincing,' Licinius Rufius commented coolly. He was now walking slowly, as if due to his age and his bereavement. This would allow us a certain period of discussion before we rejoined our companions.

'Then I turned up here, suggesting you were all still in the thick of the conspiracy ... Actually, sir, I've changed my mind: those of you who were important enough to run a cartel are well placed, by your very prominence in the oil- producing world, to ensure fair prices. You could be the people who take a stand against price-rigging.'

'I told you that was my view, Falco.'

'Olive oil is a rich commodity? There will be enough for everyone?'

Licinius Rufius gripped my arm and stared at me keenly. 'What's more, because the product has universal applications, including large consumption by the army, we producers should take care. Otherwise the whole industry may be taken over and state-controlled.'

'Just as corn is! You are a man of sense - as well as probity.'

We now reached the intriguing situation where it was Rufius who wanted something from me. He had stopped again. We were standing in a corridor. He seemed much more frail than when I first met him, though I hoped it was temporary. I could not press him to a seat, for there were none. I just had to hope I could squeeze him before the old chap collapsed.

'When I was in Rome, Falco, one of the arguments tha'twas put to us was this: somebody at the Palace is extremely eager to a.s.sume the state control I mentioned. It was suggested that we all get together in a position of strength -' a position which sounded like the cartel to me - 'Then we could resist that move -'

'By bribing the official?' I asked calmly.