Ode To A Banker

by Lindsey Davis

  It was weeks since I had been at the Chrysippus house. I liked to keep an eye on scenes of unsolved deaths. And it was still rather early to reappear at Fountain Court, so on an impulse I went into the house. As usual, a slave on the door merely nodded when he saw me enter. He probably knew me and knew that I was being allowed to borrow the Latin library. Still, I had come without an appointment and once indoors, I could have wandered anywhere.

  Without a clear idea of what I wanted, I walked through the little lobby and into the library I had used as an interview room. For a moment I stood soaking in the atmosphere. Then, hearing a slight noise, I crossed to the room-divider, which had now been pulled across, dragged open a peeking-in space and surveyed the Greek section. I was amazed to see Passus. I had thought all the vigiles had been pulled from this case. (Was Petronius wanting somebody to spy on me?)

  Passus was seated at a table, intently reading. My empty stomach must have let out a gurgle, because he looked up and flushed rather guiltily.

  ‘Passus!’

  ‘You made me jump, Falco. The chief just reminded me I was supposed to catalogue these scrolls for you.’

  Great gods, I had forgotten all about that. ‘Thanks. Found anything? You looked totally absorbed.’

  He grinned shyly. ‘I must admit I started reading one and found it interesting.’

  ‘What is this great work of literature?’

  ‘Oh, it seems to be called Gondomon, King of Traximene - just an adventure tale.’

  ‘Who wrote it?’

  ‘Well, that’s what I’m struggling to find out,’ Passus told me. ‘I sorted out most of the scrolls, but I’m left with some that were badly mangled and messed-up. I am having to piece them together and I have not yet found the title pages of the last couple. They may have been ripped off in the fight.’

  He had the furtive air of a reader who had been thoroughly hooked; he could hardly bear to break off and talk to me. Immediately I left him, he would plunge into the thrilling scroll again. An author’s dream.

  Grinning, I walked back quietly through the lobby. There I was in for a second surprise, one that seemed far more significant. Coming here as an unexpected visitor had certainly paid off: in the main reception area two women were taking leave of each other, embracing like sisters. One had a slight air of reserve, yet she permitted her effusive companion to kiss her, and herself returned the salutation quite naturally.

  Which was odd - because the women were Vibia Merulla and Lysa, the woman she supposedly ousted from the Chrysippus marriage bed. I made a quick choice between them. Both were tricky, but one was more experienced. I always like my challenges to be as difficult as possible. When Lysa’s covered litter left the house and Vibia disappeared up a staircase, I set off hotfoot to follow Lysa.

  XXXVII

  THE OLD lady with the shopping was out again, still trying to be knocked down by thieves; as she blundered vaguely down the hill, I had to dance around her. I caught up with my quarry near the bottom of the Clivus. Calling Lysa’s name as I ran down the street persuaded the litter-bearers that I was a safe acquaintance and they set down their burden so I could speak to her. I pulled aside the modesty curtain and leaned in through the half-door.

  ‘Lysa!’ I saluted her, grinning as I got my breath. ‘You’re looking lovely! Are you a bride yet?’

  She was richly clad, though in restrained taste. The heavy gold necklace looked like a Greek antique; it would certainly have cost enough to make Vibia jealous. Lysa coped with the summer heat by covering up - long sleeves and dark material in her gown. No trace of perspiration marred the olive skin. Her eye colours were lightly applied, so they would not run, and from within the enclosed space of the carrying chair a draught of expensive perfume rose sensually.

  ‘What do you want, Falco?’

  ‘I think I must be dreaming. I could swear I just saw you embracing the widow up the street.’

  If she was annoyed at being under surveillance, she hid it well. ‘Vibia and I have a civilised relationship.’

  I whistled. I could remember Lysa calling Vibia a ‘little cow’. ‘I thought you hated giving up your husband to her. How come you are now cooing like love birds?’

  ‘Hardly that!’

  Vibia is still living in your old home, I see.’ This time my probing produced slightly narrowed eyes. ‘Was the house included with the scriptorium in her inheritance?’

  ‘I gave it to her as a gift,’ conceded Lysa, rather reluctantly. I whistled. ‘Some gift!’

  ‘I have a generous nature.’ Even Lysa could see this was ridiculous.She was a businesswoman with iron talons. ‘Oh, it’s no secret. Vibia extracted it from me.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Never mind.’

  ‘You said it was not a secret.’

  ‘Well - it was her price for helping to arrange something…’ When I looked sceptical, Lysa was forced to explain. ‘Diomedes is to be married to a young relative of Vibia’s.’

  ‘My word, your family does love weddings! Are you planning a joint ceremony the day you hitch up with Lucrio? What thrilling news for Diomedes too - good match?’

  Lysa calmly ignored my jibes. ‘A charming girl. Elegant and cultured - and from a prime family. Good people, with plenty of connections.’ Ah! I had thought Vibia common, but that was a response to her personal behaviour; it by no means ruled out social rank. Plenty of solid citizens have female relations who sound like scallop-sellers and who overdo the face powder. Lysa continued, ‘They have been clients of the bank for years, of course; we know them very well.’

  ‘Your son is on his way then?’

  Lysa smiled contentedly. ‘Oh yes,’ she assured me. ‘Everything is perfect now.’

  I let her go. Another cameo for me to add to my curious collection.

  The old dame with the shopping basket tottered up at that point and had a good stare at me. I could tell she regarded herself as a guardian of community life. Some harassed fellow’s mother, no doubt. She was the kind who plies to and fro, collecting half a cabbage then returning for a sprat, hoping to brighten her day with a chance to spy on strangers.

  When I retraced my footsteps, I nearly stopped at the corner popina. Again, the waiter was standing there - a tall, thin-faced young fellow in a short leather apron, keenly watching me. They were a nosy lot in this Clivus. His stare put me off. I knew the bar was the authors’ meeting place. The waiter had that infallible air of wanting to chat, whether I liked it or not. Distrustful, I kept going.

  I might have gone to tackle Vibia, but instead I met Euschemon, the same shaggy, shambling bundle with his usual unkempt hair and an abstracted expression. He was leaving the scriptorium but paused for a chat. I told him about the affectionate scene I had witnessed, wondering if it would affect his former loyalty. ‘I don’t know how they can do it!’ he grumbled.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘People are strange, Falco.’

  ‘True. I was surprised to hear about this marriage. It sounded as if Vibia is being used by the Chrysippus family as Diomedes’ social vaulting horse?’

  ‘Oh, the Chrysippi obtain high interest rates from everyone,’ said Euschemon cryptically. He refused to be drawn further, but I was beginning to understand what he meant. Diomedes must have had the path to social acceptance carefully mapped out for him. Did the scheme go right back to his father’s own remarriage? I wondered. Was Vibia Merulla just part of the advancement plan Chrysippus worked out for his son? And if so, did Lysa know all along?

  ‘Euschemon, I thought Vibia did not look quite as happy as Lysa was.’

  He laughed under his breath. ‘Well, she wouldn’t.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘I could not comment, Falco.’

  His tone of voice was a clue. I took a wild guess. ‘Don’t tell me - Lysa has drawn Vibia into arranging Diomedes’ marriage - not knowing that Diomedes, frequenting the house to see his father, had happened to catch the eye of Vibia herself?’

  Eusc
hemon corrected me on one small point: ‘Lysa knows perfectly well that Vibia lusts after him.’

  Wonderful. This tangle was turning into a full-blooded Greek tragedy.

  ‘And does Diomedes return his stepmother’s interest?’

  ‘I am not interested in scandal and gossip. I have no idea.’ When people say that, it always means they know.

  XXXVIII

  THIS WAS too good to leave alone. I went back inside the house. Passus was still in the Greek library. He had now sorted theremnants of the tangle of papyrus recovered at the crime scene into two piles, though he was holding a few extra scrolls and looking perplexed.

  ‘Back again?’ The new man had grown more used to me. He was joshing in a mild way, as the old stagers did. ‘Look, Falco, I’m having a problem with the last few of these. I think there are two different manuscripts without titles, and one of them seems to be in two different versions.’

  I went right into the room this time. ‘What have you found then?’

  ‘Well, I’ve worked out that those scrolls on the floor with the body were all authors’ draft manuscripts. The handwriting tends to be illegible and some are full of crossings out. A lot are scrawled on the backs of old stuff too - and some have insertions cross-hatched on them.’

  ‘They are not ready for sale. Chrysippus must have been deciding which to publish. He was reviewing them - then interviewing some of the authors. Make sense?’

  ‘Yes!’ Passus consulted a note-tablet. ‘I found some rejections among them. Poems by someone called Martialis had had scrawled on them, “Who is this? No - crap!” in red ink. And Constrictus - one of his regulars - had a submission where Chrysippus put “Usual fluff - Small edition; reduce payment.”’

  ‘Any good?’

  ‘Sex and waffle. I couldn’t be bothered to read it. The poetry was straightforward and I’ve just listed it. Now I’m stuck. But what’s left is more my taste anyway.’ He gestured to the untitled scrolls he was still trying to sort out ‘Adventures; they have a romantic story, but the people spend most of their time separated and in trouble, so they never get too sloppy.’

  I laughed. ‘You’re a fan of Greek novels!’ Passus looked offended,then went red. ‘No, I’m sorry. I’m not sneering, Passus. It’s a change to have some culture in the vigiles. Look, Helena likes a yarn.’ Helena Justina read everything. ‘I want these with the missing titles to be fully evaluated. If you can carry on reading the one you’ve already started, I’ll take the other scrolls home and get Helena to skim through - she’s a very fast reader.’

  Passus looked crestfallen. I told him with a smile that when Helena had finished he could have the scrolls back to read. He cheered up.

  ‘Well, perhaps she can sort out the story that has two versions,’ he suggested, quick to shed the most awkward job.

  ‘I can try her with it… I’m going upstairs now for a word with the lovely Vibia.’

  ‘I’ll keep an ear out, Falco. If I hear a scream, I’ll know you need rescuing.’

  ‘Watch it. You stick with that adventure scroll. It might even tell us something useful.’

  A staircase led to the upper reaches from near the main entrance door. It was curtained off; until I had seen Vibia gliding up on her glittery sandals earlier today, I had hardly noticed it.

  Nobody stopped me. I walked quietly, as if I had permission. Self-confidence can take you a long way, even in a strange house.

  There were various small rooms, frescoed yet not so grand as the ground-floor reception area. Most were bedrooms, some looking unoccupied as though they were kept for guests. One grand set of rooms, silent and shuttered, contained the master bedroom with the marital bed. If Vibia slept there now, she must feel like a lost little flea.

  Eventually I found her in a smaller salon, propped up on a couchful of well-plumped cushions, chewing a stylus end.

  ‘Writing! Dear gods, everyone’s at it. I wish I had the ink-supply contract around here.’

  Vibia flushed and put away the document. I wondered why she had been scribing it herself. ‘No secretary? Don’t tell me you are composing a love letter!’

  ‘This is a formal notice asking a tenant to remove his possessions from my property,’ she retorted frostily. I chanced my luck and held out my hand to look at it, but she clung on fiercely. It was her house. I was an uninvited male visitor. I knew better than to force her to do anything.

  ‘Don’t worry; I’m not going to make a grab for it. Informers avoid being accused of assaulting widows. Especially young attractive ones.’

  She was naive enough to let any kind of compliment soften her. Lysa, her rival, would never have fallen for anything so routine. ‘What do you want, Falco?’

  ‘A private conversation, please. Business, regrettably.’ I had lived with Helena Justina for three years, but I could still remember how to flirt. Well, I liked to practise on Helena.

  ‘Business?’ Vibia was already giggling. She signalled to her maids, who fluttered off. They would probably listen outside the door, but Vibia did not seem to have thought of that. No hardened campaigner apparently. Yet perhaps no innocent.

  She was sitting up now, with one little foot bent under her. I joined her on the reading couch. Cushions jammed themselves into my back; their striped covers were packed hard with filling, uncomfortably reminding me how Glaucus had pummelled me; I hooked out a couple from behind me and dropped them on the floor. A lavish carpet, imported a vast distance from the East by camel-train, waited to receive these discards. My bootstuds caught slightly on the fine woollen tufts.

  Vibia had perked up, now that someone handsome and masculine had come to play with her. How fortunate it was that I had bathed and shaved at Glaucus’ comprehensive establishment. I would hate any hint of uncouthness to offend. And we were at close quarters now.

  ‘What a lovely room!’ I gazed around, but even Vibia cannot have supposed it was the creamy plaster covings and the painted swags of flower garland that concerned me. ‘The entire house is striking - and I gather that you, lucky girl, have acquired it?’

  At that she looked nervous. The smile on the wide mouth shrank a little, though the gash was still generous. ‘Yes, it is mine I have just made an arrangement with my late husband’s family.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘What do you mean, why, Falco?’

  ‘I mean, why did you have to ask for it - and why ever did they agree?’

  Vibia bit her lip. ‘I wanted somewhere to live.’

  ‘Ah! You are a young woman, who had been married and mistress of her household for three years. Your husband died, rather unexpectedly - well, let us assume it really was unexpected,’ I said cruelly. ‘And you were faced with the prospect of returning like a child to your father’s house. Unpalatable?’

  ‘I love my papa.’

  ‘Oh of course! But tell the truth. You had loved your freedom too.Mind you, you would not have been stuck for very long; any dutiful Roman father would soon find someone else for you. I’m sure he’s surrounded by people he owes favours to who would take you off his hands… Don’t you want to remarry?’

  ‘Not now I have tried it!’ scoffed Vibia. I noticed she did not argue with my assessment of her father’s attitude.

  I sucked my teeth. ‘Well, you had a thirty-year age difference with Chrysippus.’

  She smirked - not sweetly, but viciously. Interesting.

  ‘Everyone else thinks you were a schemer who stole him from Lysa.’

  ‘Everyone else? What do you think?’ she demanded.

  ‘That it was deliberately fixed. You probably had little to do with it originally. That doesn’t mean you objected - any sensible girl would approve of such a rich husband.’

  ‘What a horrid thing to say.’

  ‘Yes, isn’t it? Chrysippus probably paid your family a grand figure to get you; in return he acquired a connection with good people. His enhanced status was intended to help his son Diomedes. Then because Chrysippus gave so much to your father on your
marriage -‘

  ‘You make it sound as if he bought me!’ she shrieked.

  ‘Quite.’ I remained passionless. ‘Because the price was so high, the bargain absolved Chrysippus from leaving you much in his will. Just the scriptorium - not a thriving concern - and not even the house attached to it. I dare say, if there had been children, other arrangements would have been made. He would have wanted children, to cement the connection with your family.’

  ‘We were a devoted couple,’ Vibia reiterated, churning out the same false-sounding claim she had presented to the vigiles and me the day her husband died.

  I appraised her slim figure as we had done at her first interview. ‘No luck with a pregnancy though? Juno Matrona! I hope nobody tried interfering with nature here?’

  ‘I don’t deserve this!’

  ‘Only you know the truth of that fine declaration…’ As I continued to be openly insulting, she said nothing. ‘Devoted or not, you cannot enjoy having been purchased like a barrel of salt meat. Chrysippus treated his authors that way, but a woman prefers to be valued for her personality. I think, you were aware - or in time you became aware - of the reasons the Chrysippi - all of them, including Lysa in the interests of her beloved son - had wanted your marriage.’

  Vibia no longer disputed it: ‘An alliance for the improvement of all parties - such things happen frequently.’

  ‘Discovering that Lysa had supported the idea must have been a shock though. Did you turn against your husband then? Enough, perhaps, to rid yourself of him?’

  ‘It was not a shock. I always knew. It was no reason for me to kill my husband,’ Vibia protested. ‘Anyway, Lysa had a shock herself - Chrysippus soon realised that he liked being married to me.’

  ‘I bet that pleased her! Did she turn against him?’

  ‘Enough to kill him?’ queried Vibia sweetly. ‘Oh, I don’t know - what do you think, Falco?’ I ignored the invitation to speculate.