'I'll mention your interest to Pa,' she said bossily. 'By the way, did you know Maia has persuaded him to let her work at the warehouse?'
'Goodness,' murmured Helena. 'Whoever would have thought of that?'
'She won't stick it out,' Junia decided.
'Wait and see,' I replied, trying to remain calm 'I'll remind you of that statement in ten years' time, Junia, when Maia has become a top-notch antiques expert and the Favonius auction house leads the profession under her shrewd guidance.'
'What a joker,' said Junia. Silently, I willed Mercury the god of commerce to make Flora's Caupona go broke.
Apollonius brought our food then, so Junia broke off to mention little errors he had made in seasoning the salad, and to suggest clever ways he could serve it more elegantly next time. He thanked her gravely. I caught his eye, then had to shove spring onions into my mouth quickly to cover up my grin.
'Jupiter, sister – this is a one-snatch food-bar, not a palace dining room.'
'Try not to talk with your mouth so full Marcus. And don't tell me how to do my job.' After two weeks, she was the expert. Helena kicked me, as a signal not to upset myself arguing. Junia reassumed her regal position, leaning on the inside counter. She could not resist a final dig: 'You want to have a sharp word with Mother – about that man Anacrites.'
This time I crammed a large piece of sorrel into my mouth to annoy her deliberately, before answering: 'Ma knows what I think.'
Junia tossed her head angrily. 'She cannot know what other people are saying.'
'I don't know myself. What are you talking about?'
'Oh, don't play the innocent.'
I had a bad feeling. I tried not replying.
'Well, for one thing,' Junia enjoyed telling me, 'he has persuaded Mother to give him all her savings to invest.'
'Shush! Don't discuss our family affairs so publicly.' For once, I was happy our children were making such a racket.
This was a shock. I had been unaware Ma had any savings with which she wanted to speculate. At my side, Helena moved slightly, almost as if she had expected something else to be said. Whatever she thought, she was noticeably keeping quiet. Now she reached over me to where Apollonius had set down the breadbasket and took a roll. Then she involved herself in breaking it into very neat pieces, which she slowly ate. Flora's Caupona had always specialised in very doughy rolls. What looked like seeds on the top, usually turned out to be grit.
After chewing and swallowing my sorrel leaf to give myself reaction time, I pointed out to Junia that if Ma had been pinching back a few coppers every week from her housekeeping, it could hardly amount to much. She had brought up seven children unaided, then even after we left home she let herself be drawn into helping out the mostfeckless and hopeless of her offspring. Our elder brother Festus set the standard for sponging before he was killed in the East. I looked after his daughter financially, but various grandchildren were being shod, fed, and in some cases pushed through basic schooling by their devoted grandmother. She had two brothers (three if you counted the one who had sensibly run away); from them she cadged country vegetables, but otherwise our family offered few possibilities to recoup her generosity. Pa gave her a small annuity. I had always paid her rent.
Junia came outside again and whispered a huge figure that she thought our mother's nest egg might amount to. I whistled. 'How did she collect that together?'
Still, Ma always was tenacious. She bailed me out of prison once; I knew she could call on spare cash somewhere. I imagined she hid it in her mattress the way old women are supposed to do to help burglars find it easily.
'What has Anacrites done with this money, Junia?' Helena asked, looking concerned.
'He put it in some bank he uses.'
'What – the Golden Horse? The Aurelius Chrysippus outfit?' I was now horrified. I did not care where Anacrites shoved his cash, but enough questions hung over the Golden Horse to make anybody else now shun the place. 'Has Anacrites told Ma that the proprietor was recently found dead in suspicious circumstances – and that there is a suggestion of devious practice?'
'Oh, Ju-no!' drawled my sister loudly. 'Well, that's Mother in trouble! I must tell her at once – she'll be devastated!'
'Just advise her quietly,' I warned. The bank is perfectly solvent as far as I know. Anacrites was talking to me about removing his own cash in view of these problems – but that's privileged information. I presume if he withdraws his own funds, he will do the same for Ma.'
It rankled that my mother had turned to Anacrites for investment advice. It rankled even more that he had known her financial position when I, her only son, did not.
Junia had sat down and was now posing, chin on one hand, looking thoughtful. 'Of course, maybe it would be better not to say anything to Mother after all.'
'Why ever not?' Helena's voice was sharp. She hated people acting irresponsibly. 'Somebody ought to warn Junilla Tacita. She can make up her own mind what she does about the situation – or better still, she can ask Marcus for advice.'
'No, I don't think so,' Junia decided.
'Don't be coy, Junia,' I said lazily. I hardly paid her any attention; I was intending to warn Ma about the bank myself. 'What's on your mind then?'
Being Junia, she could not bear to keep a nasty premise to herself. 'If Ma was to lose money because of Anacrites, it might put a stop to something worse.'
'Worse than Ma losing her savings?' I was coughing over a radish – not only because it was hot.
'Don't pretend you don't know,' sneered my sister. 'Everybody on the Aventine is speculating why Anacrites is living at our mother's house. Once their curiosity is aroused, people will find answers for themselves, you know.'
'What answers? And what's the damned question, anyway?'
The slow heat of indignation had already started burning before Junia told me what she believed the scandal-mongers thought: 'Oh Marcus! The gossips around every fountain are saying that Anacrites is our mother's fancy man.'
I had eaten enough of their brown-edged greenery and swallowed enough of Junia's irresponsible bile. I stood up. Without even looking at me, Helena was already collecting Julia.
As a gesture of farewell, the only one I could bear to distribute, I nodded to Apollonius for old times' sake. I set down the reckoning and left him a large tip. It would be some time before I allowed myself to visit Flora's after this.
'I am impressed by your nose for gossip, Junia. You have given me a lot to think about – and it's a long time since I heard anything so utterly ridiculous.'
'Well, let's face it, Marcus,' replied my sister callously, 'you may call yourself an informer. But when it comes to collecting information, you are absolutely useless!'
'I don't collect irresponsible chit-chat!' I retaliated, and we left.
XL
We had walked nearly all the way home before I stopped dead in the street and exploded. Helena waited patiently until I stopped ranting.
'I don't believe it!'
'Well, why are you making so much fuss, Marcus?'
'I won't have my mother insulted.'
We were outside the poulterer's in Fountain Court by now. Nobody paid any attention. They were used to me. Anyway, it was midday in August. Those who could had fled to the country. Those who could not were lying prone wishing they could go too.
Perspiration poured off me. My tunic was sticking to my back.
Helena said slowly, 'You don't know whether it is true or not. But you ought to allow the possibility that a woman of your mother's age – any age – may enjoy masculine company. With so many children, she cannot ever have had a cold disposition. She has lived without your father for a long time now, Marcus. She might, she just might actually want someone in her bed.'
'You're as disgusting as Junia.'
'If it was a man with a young girl, you would be thrilling with envy,' snapped Helena. She took our daughter and set off for our apartment, leaving me to do as I pleased.
I had to
follow; I was raging with more furious questions. 'What do you know about all this? Is it true? What has Ma said to you? Have the pair of you been giggling over this sweet romance?'
'We have not. Look – there may be nothing in it.'
'Ma has said nothing?'
'She wouldn't.'
'Women always talk to each other.'
'About the men in their lives? Wrong on two counts, Marcus – the ones who chatter are probably discussing men they would like as lovers but can't get, or else men that they have lost. And some never say anything. Maia, for instance. Or me,' said Helena.
She turned back to me from our staircase.
'You never talked to other women about me?' I managed to calm down enough to find a feeble grin. 'I wasn't worth it, eh?'
Helena also relaxed. 'Too important,' she said. In case the flattery went to my head, she added, 'Who would have believed it, anyway?'
'Anyone who ever saw us together, my love.'
Then Helena suddenly tweaked my nose. 'Well, don't worry. If you run off and leave me the way your father left your mother, I shall probably replace you – but like your mother I shall probably wait twenty years and be utterly discreet.'
It was no consolation. I could imagine Helena Justina doing just that.
I could have rushed straight off to see Ma there and then, and it would have probably been disastrous. Luckily, we were hailed cheerily from a balcony above us on the other side of the alley; to ensure our attention, Petronius Longus chucked down an old boot he kept upstairs for that purpose. Helena went indoors, while I waited. Being Petro, once he could see that I had stopped, he took his time.
'Playing the tribune still, Petronius? Come along! I don't have all day.'
'Whatever's the matter with you, Falco?'
'I'm bloody annoyed with my sister.'
'Oh, not Maia and Anacrites again?' he returned dourly. I felt so frustrated I literally tore my hair.
'Junia!' I yelled.
'Oh.' He lost interest.
Assured that he would share my indignation, I had to tell him: 'Never mind Maia; this is a thousand times more horrible – according to Junia, Anacrites is having an affair with Ma.'
Petronius started laughing. I felt better for a moment. Then he stopped laughing sooner than he should have done. He whistled quietly. 'The rotten dog!'
'Come off it. It can't be true, Petro.'
'Oh – right!'
'I mean that.'
'Of course.'
He stared at me. I glared at him. Then he frowned. 'You don't suppose he would go so far as to dally with both your mother and your sister at the same time?'
'You're not listening to me! He has nothing to do with my mother -'
'No. You are right,' said Petronius crisply. 'I know he tried to kill you once – but not even Anacrites would want to do that to you.'
'Well, thanks, friend!'
'Not even to gain the upper hand again…'
Petronius Longus was no use. I changed the subject. It was the only thing to do. I asked him why he had called me, and (once he had finished sniggering over the Anacrites business) he said the shipper, Pisarchus, had turned up and was being held for questioning.
XLI
As I had suspected all along, Pisarchus – the shipper whom we knew had made serious losses while dealing with the Aurelian Bank – was also the man I had seen arguing with Chrysippus at the scriptorium.
He was heavily sunburned, as I had remembered, with that leathery skin and deeply ingrained colour that must have come from years of being lashed by the weather on an open deck. The solid build, once the result of hard work and regular lifting activities, had thickened up a little too much with age and a softer life. A fine-weave tunic and chunky gold fmger rings said he had money – or could obtain credit, anyway. Another Greek. Both his features and his accent gave him away immediately, though he spoke that easy commercial Latin that traders use, and probably knew quite a few other languages.
Sergius, the vigiles heavy, had been delaying him until Petro and I arrived. Unsure whether he could beat people up at this stage of the enquiry, the big, handsome whip-man looked relieved to hand over. Subtle interrogation was not his skill in life. But then, it was not meant to be. Sergius was employed to thrash people – and at that he excelled.
We messed about for a while, as if Pisarchus were unimportant. 'How was he pulled in?' I heard Petronius mutter to Sergius while I pretended to be fiddling with stationery and a stylus.
'For some reason -' Sergius openly admired the man's courage – 'he volunteered to come!'
'Our punishment officer,' Petro grinned to the shipper. 'He seems to think you took a risk in coming here.'
Pisarchus, a man who must be accustomed to having command, merely raised a dark eyebrow. He sat on a stool, both feet planted apart, leaning on his knees with sturdy elbows that matched his muscled calves.
'Of course a member of the public who offers us assistance has nothing to fear from the vigiles,' stated Petronius. He managed to make it sound like a threat. 'Over to you, Falco. It's your case. Found yourself a stylus yet?'
I chewed the end of one, like a novice, glancing at a tablet Sergius had already filled in. 'Pisarchus? Shipper? Trading out of Piraeus, with a base at Ostia?'
'That's right.'
'I'm Didius Falco, on special operations here. This is Petronius Longus, acting tribune. He'll be sitting in with us for a general overview.'
'Are we likely to be long?' asked Pisarchus with horror, as if he had come here to report a stolen duck and found himself in the middle of a major crisis.
'As long as it takes,' I answered, with a slight air of surprise. 'You know what we need to talk about?'
'No.'
'Ah!' I glanced at Petro as if I found this answer highly significant. I decided not to enlighten Pisarchus yet. 'So, tell me why you came to the patrol-house, please?'
'I heard in the Forum that there had been a death.'
'Visiting Rome today? You are staying at Praeneste normally?'
Pisarchus looked surprised and disconcerted. 'How did you know?'
'Had you not told the first officer?' I made a pretence of consulting the scrawl Sergius had given me. 'No. Well, it seems you're famous around here! What did you come to report?'
He was a shrewd man. As soon as he realised the authorities had his name on a list, he backed off completely. 'You ask me what you want to know, Falco.'
I smiled. 'All right.' I felt like playing the reasonable fellow today. 'Tell me, please, about your dealings with the Aurelian Bank.'
'My dealings? How are they relevant?'
'We are consulting their customers about loan arrangements. It's a wide-scale exercise.'
That seemed to reassure him. 'They have given me credit a few times.'
'Marine loans, to acquire ships and to finance cargoes?'
'Yes. Normal conduct between an importer and his banker.'
'You had a couple of unfortunate voyages, I hear?'
'Two sunk. Last year.'
'You were unhappy about that?'
Pisarchus shrugged. 'Who wouldn't be? Two ships lost. Crews drowned. Cargoes and vessels gone. Customers disappointed, and no profit.'
'Sailing "out of time" by your contract terms?'
'Unfortunately.'
'So the bank called in your loans?'
'It was their right.'
'Did you quarrel?'
'No point. I didn't like it, but that is what happens.'
'So you suffered fmancially? The ships sailed in bad weather, uninsured, so when they sank not only did you lose the profits but also you now have to repay the Aurelian all the costs? Will it finish you?'
'Not quite,' Pisarchus replied gloomily.
'So it's a blow – but you will find the cash to start again?' He nodded.
'Another loan?' I asked.
'Obviously.'
'From whom this time? Will you go back to the Aurelian?'
A guarded look cr
ossed Pisarchus' face. 'I might have done.' So losses did not necessarily ruin a commercial relationship. 'But I heard one or two rumours in the Forum today… I may try to put together another arrangement. A syndicate of family and friends. Two of my sons are in the business.'
'Shipping or banking?' queried Petro.
'Shipping!' Pisarchus clarified, slightly indignantly as if he did not regard banking as a trade. 'My sons have both done well lately, luckily for us. That's how it goes. We support one another.'
'In which case you won't need recourse to a bank ' I smiled. 'What rumours have you heard about the Golden Horse, incidentally?'
'I won't spread tittle-tattle,' Pisarchus said.
'All right. Tell me, did you have a slight altercation – over your loans, presumably – with Aurelius Chrysippus recently?'
'No,' replied the shipper. 'It is Lucrio I deal with when I need credit.'
I half-turned towards Petronius and we exchanged frankly sceptical glances. I had told him before we started that Pisarchus might be the man I had seen arguing.
'Wrong identification?' Petro suggested to me. Pisarchus frowned, wondering who had identified whom, and where.
'I don't think so!' I said firmly.
'The man sounds definite.'
'Me too. So he's definitely lying!'
I looked slowly back at Pisarchus. 'Don't mess us about, sir.' Pisarchus looked anxious, yet he did not panic. He simply sat waiting to be told what was up. Something about him appealed to me.
He was either a clever dodger or quite straight. I found myself hoping he was innocent.
'You were seen,' I said heavily, 'at the Chrysippus scriptorium.' He did not blink.
'That's right.'
'Well, why didn't you say so?'
'You asked me about credit. My visit to the scroll-shop was nothing to do with that.'
I took a long breath, scratching my head with the stylus. 'I think you had better explain – and make it good, for your own sake.'
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