Venus in copper mdf-3

by Lindsey Davis

  XLVIII

  Next morning, while I was making fruitless attempts to track down Appius Priscillus at one or other of his fancy bivouacs, Helena Justina bought a parrot cage and later took two messages.

  'You had a visit from a slave, who refused to leave his name-though he must be the runabout from the Hortensius house.'

  'They owe me a packet.'

  'He brought that. I counted and wrote a receipt for it. Am I going to keep your accounts for you?'

  A cold sweat struck me, faced by aspects of togetherness I had never allowed for. 'Certainly not! My brains and my body are at your disposal, but a man needs some privacy…'

  'We'll see!' Helena look unimpressed. 'The runabout has found someone who can help you; he will bring her tomorrow morning. Can you be here? She works in the kitchen so it has to be early. Also the cook's funeral will be on Thursday, if you want to go.'

  'Yes; I owe Viridovix a respectful gesture.'

  'I said I thought you would. The other message was from Petronius Longus; he wants to see you urgently.'

  Petronius was working, so I found him on the Aventine. He took time out from policing the Emporium to snatch a glass of wine with me. I told him about my morning chasing around the Priscillus properties and being shown the door at all of them. 'Apparently he was out shopping for Alban holiday retreats. If he can't decide which location he wants, he'll just buy them all…'

  'Priscillus was why I wanted to see you.' Petro gave me one of his sombre looks. He swilled the wine round his gums, as a sign that it tasted like toothpowder. 'Falco, what muleshit are you stepping in? Everyone I asked about this mogul reckons he's about as safe to deal with as a bucket of snakes. And come to that,' added Petro, with relish, 'your Hortensius brothers-or whatever they are-have little more to recommend them!'

  'What's the dirt?'

  'Start with Priscillus. The story is pretty sordid. He first surfaced on a big scale during the clearances after the Great Fire. He was "doing the public a service" preying on the dispossessed tenants Nero had kicked out to make space for the Golden House. Priscillus moved in on them, with his greedy eyes fixed on compensation claims -'

  'I thought "compensation" was a bad joke?'

  'Is this Rome? What actually happened was that Nero removed the corpses and the rubble free of charge-though that was a ploy so he could pick over the debris and grab anything left to loot. The Fire Relief Fund, to which we citizens all contributed so graciously-'Petro meant, it was screwed out of us by the taxfarmers, '-went no further than the Emperor's own coffers. Thousands were left homeless and absolutely desperate. So firstly there were good pickings for contractors providing temporary shelters outside the city. Then racketeers were able to make their piles building cheap slums for the refugees who had salvaged anything, and even cheaper billets for the ones who had nothing left. They cleaned up: as soon as the refugees were settled in, the rents soared. Once the costs bit, cynical Priscillus moved in again-this time as a loan shark.'

  Most of Rome lives on credit. Everyone from temple-cleaner to consul tends to be in debt for most of their lives. People at the upper end of society can juggle their mortgages; the less fortunate spiral down under the burden of five per cent interest into selling their sons as gladiators and their daughters as cheap brothel fare.

  'What about the Hortensius triumvirate, Petro? Is their operation similar?'

  'Yes, though slightly cleaner. Their interest appear more diversified -'

  I mentioned what the cakeman had told me about Pollia's venture into fitting out corn ships. 'Looks as if Novus believed in a well-balanced portfolio: mercantile fiddles nicely balanced against landlease fraud!'

  'Their business style is less brutal than the one Priscillus adopts. As landlords they seem to be merely bad managers. Why should they care if their tenants can see daylight through the walls?'

  'Almost as friendly as Smaractus!' I joked.

  'Not funny. Three children died recently at an apartment in the Third Sector when a floor fell in. The Hortensii average a lawsuit a month from pedestrians who have narrowly escaped falling roof tiles or pieces breaking off balcony balustrades. A whole wall gave way and killed a man not long ago, somewhere on the Esquiline. Neglecting a dangerous structure is second nature; their collateral stays solid, even though their property is always collapsing -'

  'And rebuilt at a profit?'

  'Oh yes!' Petro confirmed with a delicate lift of both wrists. 'But their main method of raising finance is the multiple-pledge fiddle.'

  'What's that?'

  'You still in the cradle, Falco?' Petronius seemed unable to believe I was serious. He was more alert to fraud than me; as a salaried officer he sometimes had cash to invest. Sometimes he lost it-but not as often as most people; he had a canny business sense. 'The legal term is a "hypothec". Are you with me?'

  'I'm not stupid… So what does it mean?'

  'It means a fiddle, Falco!'

  'I have heard the word, or read it somewhere; isn't it just the term lawyers use for a pledge, when the pledge is on property? How can a fiddle operate?'

  'What happens is: the Hortensii own a piece of property, and raise a loan secured on it. Then they repeat the process-same property but a new lender; and again, as many times as possible. They pick simple-minded investors who don't know-or don't enquire-that there are previous secured debts.'

  'So they mortgage the building, to its full value, as often as they can?'

  'Insight is penetrating that drunken little brain! Next, as you'll guess, the Hortensii default. Of course they lose the original property, but they don't mind that! They have raised its value several times over in loans.'

  'But what about their creditors, Petro? Can't they sue?'

  'Paid off in strict order of precedence; earliest contract date first. One or two will recoup when the building is sold; but once its selling price is covered, the rest have no claim.'

  'What? No protection at all?'

  'They should protect themselves by checking first! If not; hard luck. It's fraud which relies on punters' laziness.' Petro sounded unsympathetic. Like me, he was a man who took trouble over things. 'I had all this from a Syrian financier. Normally he just shakes his greasy ringlets and I can't get a word out of him, but this Priscillus is so notorious everyone in the Forum would like to see his operations limited. My contact told me about the Hortensii out of sheer spite at their success with the duplicate loans charade. None of the professional moneylenders touch it-but there are always fools in the private market who can be intrigued by clever talk of quick percentages. The regular dealers are grousing that the Hortensii are pinching all the spare collateral, while Priscillus, with his brutal methods, is making everybody nervous on the fringe.'

  'What,' I suggested, 'if the two groups joined forces?'

  Petro winced. 'That's the big fear.'

  I sat and thought. Now that I had an inkling how the Hortensius and Priscillus empires worked there seemed plenty of scope for them all to make a profit-but that also encouraged endless jealousy about making even more. The poor get used to making do; people with real money never feel it is enough.

  'Thanks, Petro. Anything else I ought to be aware of?'

  'Only that my informant says if you're going to upset Appius Priscillus I ought to ask where you deposited your will.'

  'Ma knows,' I said tersely.

  His quiet brown eyes surveyed me. 'Wear a body belt under your tunic and keep a dagger in your boot! If you get in trouble, let me know.'

  I nodded. He went back to work; I lingered over my drink.

  I won't say I felt apprehensive-but the little hairs were standing to attention all over my skin.

  To give myself something else alarming to think about, I went to see Severina.

  'As promised: come to report.'

  'How is my parrot?'

  'I hear she's been making herself at home…' I described Chloe's trail of destruction, being careful to omit the fact that the aviary she was destr
oying was my own.

  'What do you expect?' rebuked the gold-digger crossly. 'She's a sensitive female. You have to introduce her to a new habitat gradually!' I smiled, thinking not of Chloe, but Helena Justina so warily agreeing to unfurl her tent at my water hole. 'Falco, what are you grinning at?'

  'I may have to chain the birdie to a perch.'

  'No; don't do that. If she tries to fly she may fall and just dangle there!'

  'Thought you were anxious to get rid of her?'

  'I am. Chloe,' declared Severina, 'was a gift from Grittius Fronto, whose unpleasantness I want to forget as soon as possible.'

  'Relax! I gave your feather duster to a person of humane tendencies; a proper cage has been purchased… I want to talk to you about more rapacious birds. Sit down, keep a clear head, and don't give me the "I'm just an ignorant little woman" tale again.' Before she could argue I told her what I had found out so far about Priscillus. 'It does fit with your story-but proves none of it. Tell me what you know about relationships between Priscillus and your group on the Pincian. You mentioned a quarrel, which the dinner was supposed to reconcile. What caused the initial rift? Would I be correct if I guessed that the Hortensii had somehow double-crossed the other organisation with their duplicate hypothecs scam?'

  'That's sharp of you!' Severina admitted. 'Hortensius Novus always claimed it had happened accidentally, but he had tricked Appius Priscillus into underwriting one of those dubious schemes of his. That was why Priscillus started threatening the family, and why Felix and Crepito, who had less nerve than Novus, wanted to end the feud by accepting an offer from him to co-operate in future.'

  'I get the impression they were shaking hands on more than just compensation for rooking him! I think Felix and Crepito desired a full business merger-Mars Ultor, they could still do it, and stitch up the whole of residential Rome! Was your Novus resisting it?'

  'You could be right,' she suggested doubtfully. I recognised the simple woman act again, so left the conversation there. The trick with Severina, I had discovered, was to move one line ahead in the board game, then force her to follow your move.

  'Will you stay to lunch with me, Falco? I need some decent conversation; my girlfriend at the baths was too busy to stop, and I'm missing my fiance -'

  For a moment I forgot Severina was my client now. 'Don't worry,' I smiled sweetly. 'You'll soon find another to fill the void.'

  Her parrot's wilful damage in my apartment must have eroded my natural tolerance.

  I wanted to see Helena; I was anxious to mend relations by helping her cope with the truculent bird.

  Walking home, I did feel I was advancing on the case. Not that it cleared any undergrowth: I still had three sets of suspects and there were more motives than fleas on a cat. The only thing they had in common was that none could yet be proved.

  I was enjoying myself though. This was much more satisfying than some dead-end mission for Vespasian. It offered a livelier challenge, and if I managed to solve it I should not just be removing some tired political grub whose disappearance would hardly be noticed by the man in the street; here there were real social undesirables to unearth and convict.

  I had flushed one of them out already, apparently. Waiting on the bottom step to my apartment was a messenger. A pasty youth with a stye and a stammer told me Appius Priscillus had received my messages. If I wanted to meet him I was to be in the Forum of Julius in half an hour.

  There was no time even to pop up and mention it to Helena. I thanked the youth (who looked surprised anyone should be grateful for an introduction to Priscillus) then I set off hot-foot.

  I knew Petronius would have warned me against going solo, but I had my knife and my self-reliance, which had seen me through plenty. Besides, the Forum of Julius Caesar is an open public place.

  I approached by what I thought was the subtle way, walking through the Curia and letting myself out of the great double doors at the back. It would have been a discreet approach-but Priscillus was not yet there so I had been wasting my time.

  Everywhere seemed quiet. I had the big public lavatory on one hand and the shops on the other: ready for anything! Caesar had built his overspill Forum with a gracious surrounding colonnade; I moved out into the open, just in case.

  The brown sedan turned up five minutes later. It entered from the eastern end and parked there, just inside the arch.

  I had a good look round for ambushers: none in sight. In the end I ambled over. The carriers were standing motionless, staring ahead, ignoring me. They could be mute or stupid or foreign – or all three. I glanced back over both shoulders, then approached. When I whipped aside the lank leather curtain I had already convinced myself that Appius Priscillus would not be there. But I was wrong.

  'Get in!' he said.

  XLIX

  It was like coming face to face with another rat: he was all teeth and piercing eyes. I got in, but I would rather have been tangling knees with my cellmate in the Lautumiae.

  No one could accuse Priscillus of indulging in luxury. He had the skinny frame of a man who was too preoccupied to enjoy eating. He wore a dull old tunic, which had nothing actually wrong with it but was so depressing even I would have tossed it out for a tramp (though most tramps I knew had more sartorial style). A barber had made a few practice feints over his narrow chin fairly recently, but that was probably only because businessmen believe the barber's chair is a place to pick up tips. (I don't know why; all I ever pick up is a rash.) Attending to the Priscillus toilette had stopped short of the expensive frills. His thin hair was too long; his talons needed cleaning and clipping. And I could not imagine his razorman ever bothered offering any little flasks of cedar gum for contraceptive purposes…

  Priscillus was unmarried; now I knew why. Not because a woman would be too fastidious to have him (most would tolerate grimy fingernails in return for all those strongboxes), but this mean runt who barely kept himself alive would begrudge paying board and lodging for anything so inessential as a wife.

  Even with two passengers the chairmen set off at a cracking pace. 'Where are we going?' I demanded in some alarm, before I even introduced myself.

  'Business on the Campus Martius.' Well, I realised it had to be business; he would never spare time to visit a temple or indulge in exercise! 'So, you're Falco. What do you want with me?' His voice had a wheeze in it, as if he hugged in his breath as grudgingly as everything else he did.

  'A few answers, please. I'm working on the Novus case -'

  'Who are you working for?'

  'I'm being paid by Severina Zotica,' I answered pedantically.

  'More fool you! You want to look at your own client, Falco!'

  'Oh I treat her very warily-but I'm looking at you first!' It was difficult to concentrate, for the bearers were still running and the chair jogged every syllable we tried to speak. 'Severina's a professional bride; she had no motive to kill Novus before she was in line to inherit his loot. You and the Hortensii must be much more viable suspects-'The rat's eyes flashed a threat which made me shiver. 'Sorry, but I'm judging by the facts: it looks black for you if you are planning to merge operations with Felix and Crepito-when all Rome knows their dead partner was so strongly set against it. Why was that, by the way?' Priscillus only glared at me; I answered it myself. 'He saw it not as a merger but a takeover-by you. He was used to being top cockerel on his own dungheap; he refused to take second place to anyone… different for the other two, since they had always been subordinate to Novus anyway -'

  The chair had stopped.

  'You annoy me, Falco.' Priscillus spoke with the tired slur thugs always use for threats. He could have been any overstuffed off-duty guardsman who had crossed the street for the simple pleasure of shoving me aside.

  'Then help me.'

  'Help yourself!' he snarled insultingly. 'This is where we get out.'

  I could tell we were well out on the Campus, on open ground. I experienced a sudden yearning to stay safe inside this chair of his, even joggl
ing along and trying to keep from being bruised by his bony knees. He pulled back the curtain and climbed out himself. This almost had the foolish effect of reassuring me.

  I got out. My foreboding had been correct. If I had clung on, the waiting Phrygians would simply have rolled the sedan chair onto its side and tackled the problem like poking a limpet to death inside its shell. Being out of it was no better. We had stopped in the middle of an exercise ground, and they all held javelins. The heads of the javelins were not weighted with practice dummies, but sharp Noricum steel-really sharp. When I climbed out and straightened up I was pinned between them so that a move in any direction would slit my hide.

  I said nothing. One spearhead was nuzzling my windpipe. Speech would have cut my own throat.

  Nowadays the Plain of Mars is well built up with monuments but some parts are still desolate. We were in one of those. A dry wind off the river lifted my curls but barely brushed my sweating arms. A few cantering horseriders were visible, too far away to notice what was happening even if they were willing to interfere.

  None of the Phrygians spoke to me. There were eight of them: taking no chances. They were slight, but all sinew. They had high-cheekboned features, distinguished one from another only by old scars. Aliens, from the mountainous interior of Asia; probably straight descendants of the Hittites-whose fame was based on cruelty.

  They tired me out first. Playing, they nudged me this way and that. Some lifted away their spearheads; others shoved me towards them; I would lurch on my toes as the first javelins engaged again, then be pushed off another way. Too little interest on my part was corrected by a warning nick. Too much effort would spit me. All the time we all knew I was looking for a chance to break away and make a run for it-but it would be a long sprint. Even if I could ever put distance between us, the javelins would come winging after me…

  The signal to act must have come from the man behind me. He grabbed me. The Phrygians all flung down their weapons. Then they played a new game-throwing me from one to another while they battered any parts of me they could reach. Not too hard: they wanted the fun to last.