Nemesis - Falco 20

by Lindsey Davis

  ‘I’ll keep your name handy then. I’m an informer myself. We may be able to do business.’ The veiled surprise in Parvo’s expression reminded me that most people expected I would now retire. It was still too early for me to be certain, though I thought Helena was probably right; work would always claim me. ‘You’re far too young to have prepared my father’s will, Parvo - assuming the date is right?’

  ‘No, my own late father did that. We have worked for many years with Didius Geminus - - we always called him that. Or do you prefer to say Favonius, Falco?’

  ‘To be frank, I just called him an incorrigible swine.’

  The young man kept his expression neutral. He managed to avoid glancing around the salon we were in: the walls were drab because Pa never paid out for fresco decorators, but the room was adorned with a fabulous collection of furniture. Given how much I had just inherited, Parvo may have been wondering at my attitude.

  Helena rejoined us. She led in Thalia. It was the first time I had ever seen the circus entertainer looking nervous. Normally she was as brazen as she was statuesque, even when not wrapped in her python.

  ‘This is Thalia, Parvo. Have you met?’

  She was a tall, striking woman, with muscled thighs like wharfside baulks, which were impossible to ignore through a fringed cloak that barely covered her toned body, minute skirt and tightly laced circus boots. Faced with this vision, Parvo inclined his head twitchily, as if he could tell Thalia ate men like him as pre-lunch snacks. ‘No - - but I heard a lot about you, Thalia.’ Always a wily operator, Thalia made no reply to that thumping phrase. ‘We are about to discuss the will,’ Parvo murmured, acknowledging that Thalia should be part of the conversation, though not immediately saying why.

  The women seated themselves in comfortable half-round chairs, filling in time by arranging cushions. Thalia folded the cloak so it just covered her legs, in a curiously modest gesture. I glanced at Helena, then waited. She had given me a ‘don’t say anything impetuous’ look, the put-down that strong-minded wives inherit from their mothers. You know, the look you should always pay attention to, though the mischievous Fates somehow make you foolishly ignore it.

  Parvo must be a piecework lawyer, not paid by the hour. He moved things along: ‘Falco, when we spoke just now, did I detect a query?’

  ‘Only that I was surprised by the will’s date. I understand Pa made frequent revisions - and didn’t that include one last week?’

  ‘Yes, I brought that for you,’ Parvo replied calmly. ‘It is a codicil. Your father did indeed frequently make changes, but he always left the will itself alone.’

  ‘Your fee for a codicil is much cheaper than your fee for a new will?’ I guessed drily.

  Parvo smiled his acknowledgement of what Pa called value for money and others might stigmatise as meanness. ‘Apart from that, a codicil is often a more flexible way of giving instructions.’

  I braced myself. ‘So what usefully flexible orders has the old beggar left?’

  Without comment, Parvo passed me a scroll, the ink so fresh and black it almost still smelt sooty. I read it. I raised my eyebrows and passed it to Helena, who read it too. We both looked at the lawyer.

  ‘Marcus Didius Falco, your father hereby makes a solemn request of you called a fideicommissum. That is a good faith undertaking.’ Filthy misnomer. Good faith did not come into this. ‘It affects any child of Marcus Didius Geminus, otherwise Favonius, which is born to him after the date of this codicil - including a child born posthumously. You are charged with treating any child that you know your father intended to acknowledge as your sister or brother, according to the terms of the will.’ Parvo knew what instruction he was handing me. A new female child must be given the same as my sisters’ annuities. A male child would halve my inheritance. ‘I shall leave you with that, Falco. Should you have any queries, anything at all, I gave your wife my address. Delighted to meet you, Helena Justina - and you too, Thalia.’

  Being an experienced family lawyer, he fired the arrow then at once made off.

  Helena and I turned to our old friend Thalia. Helena balanced her chin on her clasped hands, in silence. It was left to me: ‘Do I gather, Thalia, that you are pregnant?’

  She eyed me ruefully. ‘Properly caught out, Falco.’

  Thalia looked well-preserved. Across an arena she could pass for a lithe girl, but near to, I put her at approaching forty. Gracious Roman manners barred me from suggesting she was too old for this. Maybe she had thought so herself, while freely indulging in love play. That sexual promiscuity of an athletic kind had occurred was in no doubt. Thalia referred to her appetite for pleasure as consistently as she denounced as pitiful the brave men she bedded.

  ‘Would this have been on your Egyptian trip?’

  ‘I wondered why I was feeling so queasy all the time in Alexandria.’

  ‘Geminus believed he was responsible?’

  ‘Oh, he didn’t need persuading. The sweet duck was ecstatic,’ boasted Thalia. ‘It must have happened on the boat when we were going out to Egypt. We had a few cuddles to keep out the sea breezes.’

  ‘I’m rather surprised by the results!’

  Thalia grinned. She was recovering her confidence. ‘I can’t say I’m happy to be a mother at my age - - but when I told him the news, your dear father was just thrilled. He was so proud to find out his ballista was still firing missiles.’

  I believed that. Pa - vain, foolish and ridiculous - would eagerly take the blame.

  ‘You told my father you were expecting, he accepted it was his responsibility, and if he hadn’t died, he would have acknowledged the baby?’

  ‘That’s right, Falco,’ said Thalia meekly.

  ‘What does Davos say?’

  ‘Nothing to do with him.’ Davos was Thalia’s long-lost love, in theory. Helena and I had witnessed them being reunited out in Syria. It had seemed like a heart-warming development - - for about three months. As far as I knew, he was now leading a summer theatre tour in southern Italy. No chance of pinning this baby on Davos. ‘The Girl from Andros’ and her pal ‘The Girl from Perinthos’ would give him foolproof alibis.

  ‘And have you mentioned it to Philadelphion?’

  ‘Why would I do that?’

  Thalia gave me a hard defiant stare. She was sticking to her story, even though she realised I thought it much more likely her child had been procreated by a womanising zoo keeper we knew in Alexandria. He was firmly married - and what’s more had a tenacious official mistress. None of that had stopped him unofficially discussing the price of lion cubs with his old crony Thalia in the humid privacy of her travel tent.

  ‘You’re right.’ I managed not to appear angry. ‘Philadelphion had enough baby animals to hand-rear.’

  I rarely pray to the gods but on this occasion it did seem permissible to offer up a plea to Juno Lucina, light-bearer to pregnant women, that Thalia was not expecting male twins or triplets to reduce my heritage even further. Suddenly I knew how that old mythical king felt about the interlopers Romulus and Remus. I saw why he put those threatening twins straight into the Tiber in a basket; if I did it, I would make sure there were no nearby female wolves available for suckling.

  ‘So Marcus, my dear,’ Thalia wheedled. ‘It’s lucky we know each other so well - - now that I’m going to be giving you a little sister or brother! And do I gather the precious babe is to receive a bit of money from your lovely father?’

  ‘Get it born first!’ I answered her, perhaps too cruelly.

  VI

  You hypocrite - I saw your face!’ Helena accused me. She smoothed her skirts, rattling her bracelets in annoyance. ‘Marcus Didius Falco -’ That was a subtle clue. Helena used formality like a fisherman’s trident. I was well speared. ‘Can it be that you have become a miser, over a fortune you never expected - - and it’s only nine days since you heard about it?’

  ‘Human nature. The dark side of greed.’ I forced a grin cautiously. ‘What I really hate is this pregnancy of Thalia’s b
eing passed off as our problem. Pa was riddled with vanity and befuddled by drink if he couldn’t see she was conning him. Being fleeced by a friend is loathsome.’

  Helena shook her head. ‘What if she’s right? No child can ever truly know its father, nor any father know his child. Unless there is some way of testing the blood in our veins, we are all left with the word of our mothers - - and most of us are none the worse for it.’

  ‘The world is full of wicked mothers who have no idea who their children belong to. Roll on the day some scientific investigator finds out how to prove paternity. Maybe that silver-haired fox Philadelphion will do it.’

  ‘Given that Philadelphion may be the real parent, that would be a nice irony. But uncertainty has advantages,’ Helena maintained. ‘Besides, you can’t blame Thalia asking Geminus for help - -’

  ‘She’s a highly successful entrepreneur. What help can she need?’

  ‘She can’t dance with the python during a pregnancy!’

  ‘I would not put it past her. Modesty isn’t in her repertoire.’ Even Thalia’s normal acrobatics were gross. ‘If she’s out of action for a while, her troupe will go on working. She’ll have funds.’

  ‘But Marcus, she wanted to plan for the baby’s future. She didn’t know your father would die,’ Helena insisted. ‘No one expected it.’

  ‘I agree, she can’t have intended settling down with him - - she’s far too independent.’ I shuddered at the thought of Thalia as a stepmother. ‘Still, she got him to promise something. He obviously told her he would change his will. And she was happy for him to do so!’

  ‘As you said - - she is a very good businesswoman.’

  Growling, I went off to the Saepta Julia, where I was burying my anger in the monumental task of exploring my father’s affairs.

  It was the day that crawler Cluvius turned up. He was nagging to know whether I intended carrying on Pa’s business, or could Cluvius and his auctioneer cronies siphon off work that would have been ours? ‘People approach the Guild for advice. We assume you don’t want to be bothered, Marcus Didius …’

  On the spot, I decided. ‘Business as usual!’ I snapped crushingly. ‘I’ll be lending a hand myself.’ I had spare capacity. Informing was quiet in summer. People are too hot to worry about professional fortune-hunters marrying their daughters. Of course they should worry - - because long steamy July and August nights are when those bold girls are most likely to let lovers in at the window …

  ‘Feel free to ask any of us for advice then,’ Cluvius offered peevishly.

  That clinched it. From that moment I became a joint auctioneer-informer. I would manumit one or two of the better slaves from. Pa’s ménage then train them up as freedmen assistants, a few in the auction house, a couple on my client casework. There could be a handy crossover. The auction helpers could scout for people in the kind of difficulty I solved as an informer. And it was traditional for both trades to operate out of the Saepta Julia.

  Strange how you can worry for years over your career, and do nothing about it - then alter it instantly without a qualm. This was like falling in love all over again. Certainty thumped down on me. There was no going back.

  ‘Yes, Cluvius; I’m moving back into my old office. That will help me keep an eye on the competition!’ I may have looked naive but if Cluvius knew that the ‘office’ I referred to was where I had once worked with the Chief Spy picking off Census defaulters, he might see me as a more serious rival. Anacrites and I had done well. Even Vespasian, a byword for stinginess, had felt moved to reward us with social elevation. I had skills; I had contacts too. I rubbed my gold ring thoughtfully, but Cluvius still didn’t get it.

  He was leaving. Thank you, gods!

  He dropped one more innocent-sounding question from the doorway to catch me off-guard. I hadn’t seen that feeble trick since Nero appointed his racehorse a consul: ‘I suppose nothing came of that amphitheatre contract? Tricky, pinning down the Treasury; I dare say it fell through …’

  I knew nothing about this. I tapped my nose, implying some delicate and secret deal. As soon as Cluvius wandered off, I bounded into the back of the warehouse and briskly tackled Gornia.

  The porter groaned. ‘Oh, he must be on about the statues.’

  Not news I wanted. The last time Pa and I were involved in statuary - our one and only operation together - we caught a bad cold. I could hardly bear to remember. Pa claimed he’d learned his lesson. Maybe I had too. Or maybe he at least could never resist a challenge … ‘If that leech Cluvius is curious, do I sniff nice profits?’

  ‘Oh just let Cluvius wet himself.’ Gornia, a spindly old cove with about sixty years of working for Pa behind him, was as exciting as that porridge our forebears called a national dish. I mean, before they discovered the better joys of oysters and expensive turbot. ‘You don’t want to worry about him, Marcus Didius.’

  I wondered if I could trust Gornia. His attitude was an aspect of the business I had not yet resolved. Even though he had stuck by Pa, he might not be so loyal to me.

  ‘Statues? Amphitheatre? Gornia, would that be the great lump of unfinished masonry our beloved Emperor is dumping on the south side of the Forum? Where Nero’s giant lake was? Where they need so much travertine cladding, they had to open a new marble quarry?’

  ‘That’s the beauty. Soon to be covered with statues,’ said Gornia, looking nonchalant. ‘They need thousands of the buggers, I believe.’

  ‘Thousands?’

  ‘Well, there will be three tiers of eighty arches, at least two tiers with some statuary in each arch.’ He seemed well informed on the building plans.

  ‘So “thousands” actually means a hundred and sixty? Two hundred and forty if they do the top tier?’

  ‘Big fellows! Plus the odd hero driving a quadriga, with a full rack of fiery steeds, to shove up over entrances.’

  I slumped on a stone seat. Foreboding dropped on me like a smelly old blanket, but I leaned back with a nonchalant air. ‘Whisper to me what my cherished papa had to do with it?’

  ‘Well … you know him!’

  ‘Yes, I am afraid so.’

  ‘He tried anything.’

  ‘Tell me the worst.’

  ‘The old fool lined up to supply a few old stone toffs for the exterior.’

  I had already learned that Gornia avoided discussing problems. He had handled Pa by keeping out of awkward chats. When he did comment it was wry, dry and plastered as floridly as a banker’s dining room with dangerous understatement. ‘How many stone toffs,’ I asked gently, ‘is “a few”?’

  ‘Not sure I know.’

  ‘I bet. Does my sister have figures?’

  ‘Oh, he didn’t want to involve Maia.’

  ‘Why not? Dodgy contract?’ With Pa, no contract at all was more usual. I had another thought. ‘Was this transaction off the books?’

  ‘Our books?’

  ‘No, the Treasury books. Don’t say this is a corrupt deal?’

  Gornia looked disapproving. ‘He always said you were a prig, Marcus Didius!’

  ‘I don’t mess with the government; that’s why I’m still alive. Was Pa behind with the order or something?’ I remembered that his Rome warehouse had been significantly short of statues when I surveyed the stock.

  ‘He sent samples. We’d scraped the moss off the second-hand ones. The officials were happy.’

  ‘So what’s the problem?’

  Gornia looked shifty. ‘Who mentioned a problem?’

  ‘You did, Gornia, by not coming clean. What’s up? Are we overdue on deliveries, or are we done?’

  ‘It’s our call. They pay by the piece, as and when. They’re just happy to get enough suitable figures. Anyone who can meet the specifications is in. The spec,’ Gornia added quickly, ‘is simple; there’s a height rule, that’s all.’

  ‘That will be for visual uniformity.’ I sounded like an interior designer. ‘I bet it’s surprisingly difficult to find ready-mades to fit the arches … We have stock?’


  ‘The old man collected a marble or two at the place on the coast, I believe.’

  ‘Be more specific?’

  ‘Oh … maybe a hundred,’ said Gornia.

  ‘A hundred?’ My voice was faint. ‘That’s bulk-buying by a maniac’

  ‘You did ask. Don’t worry about it, I told you.’

  ‘I am relaxed.’ I was anxious. ‘So, Gornia - - excuse me, but why don’t we just hand this huge batch over, and collect our fees? I don’t want to be stuck with a glut of forgotten heroes and disgraced generals.’

  Everyone who might buy such junk had gone to their summer villas at Neapolis. There, many would be gazing at horrible statues my father had sold them on previous occasions, and thinking never again.

  ‘It will work out,’ Gornia assured me. ‘Geminus said to hold off a bit …’ He looked embarrassed. ‘We ought to pay for them.’

  Now I saw it. This was neither unexpected nor insurmountable: ‘Daylight! No ready funds?’

  Odd, that. There were plenty of funds, as I knew well. In fact I was looking for outgoings, to set against the inheritance tax.

  ‘We had the collateral. We just couldn’t pass it to the vendors. I went. I went down there with the cash myself. Geminus always sent me, because I look so ordinary,’ Gornia told me endearingly. ‘Nobody ever robs me on the road. But I couldn’t find them.’

  ‘His suppliers?’

  ‘They vanished.’ Gornia looked relieved to squeeze it out. ‘Bit of a novelty, isn’t it?’

  My father had been in many scrapes. Sometimes debt featured, but he covered it eventually. His cash flow only faltered temporarily. He was good at what he did.

  It was rare for anyone in Rome, and never Geminus, to try to pay a creditor but to fail. I was used to the other system: those with claims came forward at a run. Their invoices were immaculate. They brought their own strongboxes to take away their cash. I coughed up. They were happy. End of story.