Ode To A Banker

by Lindsey Davis

  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?’

&
nbsp; ‘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 crossed 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.’

  He too stretched, as people do when the conversation takes a turn into a new subject. ‘I had something to discuss - business for somebody else.’

  ‘Not banking - so shipping?’

  ‘No. Not shipping either.’ This time I waited. Pisarchus coloured up gradually. He looked embarrassed. ‘Sorry - I don’t want to say.’

  ‘I really think you should,’ I told him quietly. I still felt that in his own way he was being honest. ‘I know you were there, I saw you myself. I saw you leave, looking extremely put out.’

  ‘Chrysippus was being difficult; he would not help my… friend.’

  ‘Well, you know what happened not long after that.’

  ‘I know nothing,’ protested Pisarchus, now losing my misplaced confidence.

  ‘Oh you do!’ He had told us he did. I spelled it out angrily: ‘Not long after you had your wrangle on behalf of this mysterious “friend”, somebody battered Aurelius Chrysippus to death in his library. So you were one of the last people to see him - and from what the other visitors have told me, you are the last person we know for sure who had a disagreement with the dead man.’

  Pisarchus lost all the colour that had swamped his face a few minutes earlier. ‘I didn’t know that he was dead.’

  ‘Oh really?’

  ‘That’s the truth.’

  ‘Well, you have been away in Praeneste!’ I sneered, hardly able to believe it.

  ‘Yes - and I deliberately made no attempt to contact Chrysippus,’ Pisarchus argued hotly. ‘I was annoyed with him - for several reasons!’

  ‘Of course you were - he promised you a visiting poet, didn’t he? A poet who then refused to come.’

  ‘He blamed the poet,’ Pisarchus said, still trying to play the rational type. ‘I felt aggrieved, but it was hardly a mortal insult. Would I kill him over that?’

  ‘Those I know who have been entertained by that poet, would say you were well out of it,’ I conceded facetiously. I returned to my previous grim tone. ‘This is serious, man! What was your other grievance, Pisarchus? What had Chrysippus refused to do for your mystery “friend”? - let’s hear it!’

  Pisarchus sighed. When he told me the truth, I could see why a man of his kind might be reluctant to admit this. ‘It was my son,’ he said, now squirming on his stool. ‘My youngest. He does not want to follow his brothers to sea - and for family peace I’m not arguing. He knows his own mind, and he is supporting himself as best he can while he tries to get where he wants to be… He has had no luck; I just tried to persuade Chrysippus he ought to give the lad a helping hand -‘

  ‘Whatever is your boy after?’ I demanded, intrigued.

  Then at last Pisarchus forced it out: ‘He wants to be a writer,’ he informed us gloomily.

  XLII

  I HAD MANAGED not to laugh. Petronius Longus, less sensitive to the feelings of creative artists, let out a high-pitched snort.

  As soon as Pisarchus made the embarrassing admission, he relaxed somewhat. Though shame-faced, he apparently felt that now this was in the open he could return to dealing with us man-to-man.

  ‘It happens,’ Petronius Longus assured him with mock-gravity, making a sideswipe at me. ‘Perfectly sane, normal types with whom you once thought you could safely go out for a drink, can suddenly turn aesthetic. You just have to hope they will see sense and grow out of it.’

  ‘Ignore the enquiry chief,’ I growled. Petro needed cutting down to size. I was still taking the lead in this interview. I would not reveal to Pisarchus that I myself scribbled poetry. It might put him right off. Instead, with plain-spoken questions I managed to squeeze out the truth of what had happened: on the day I first saw him he had been trying to ask Chrysippus to read some of his son’s work. Less high-minded than me, Pisarchus had been quite prepared in principle to shell out the production costs, just to allow the son to see his writing formally copied and sold. But at the time (with his ships stricken and the bank loans to repay), Pisarchus had been unable to afford the huge publication fee Chrysippus had demanded.

  ‘I could have found the cash later, after my next cargoes are sold, but the fact is, my lad won’t thank me. He is determined to do this by himself. When I cooled off, I knew I had better leave it right alone.’

  ‘More to his credit. Is he any good?’ I asked.

  Pisarchus only shrugged. He did not know. Literature was a mystery. This was merely a whim of his youngest son’s, over which he had wanted to be magnanimous. His main concern now was to clear himself: ‘I was annoyed with Chrysippus. He owed me a favour or two after all the years I had banked with the Golden Horse, and allthe interest he has had from me. But when he said no, I just gave up the idea, Falco. That’s the truth.’

  ‘You didn’t leave any scrolls with Chrysippus, I suppose? Samples of your boy’s work?’

  ‘I had none. Philomelus keeps things close. If I had asked to borrow a scroll he would have realised I was up to something.’

  ‘Philomelus is your son’s name?’

  ‘Yes. My youngest, as I said.’

  Petronius and I thanked the proud parent for his frankness; I think we were both impressed by him. We added our polite good wishes for his son. One of us, at least, hoped the poor beggar was not forced to climb yardarms if all he wanted was to write. Maybe he had talent. Maybe he not only had talent, but might one day be a success. His papa would be surprised. Having seen how the world of literature worked, unfortunately so would I. It was a world where mediocrity flourished and genius was too often left to die.

  After Pisarchus left, we called it a day. Petro and I had been on the case since early
morning when the corpse was found beneath the Probus Bridge. I told him Nothokleptes was trying to fmd out which enforcers Lucrio used for banking business. ‘Watch yourself, Falco. Those types are treacherous.’

  ‘Right. If I finger them, I’ll let you and the lads discuss with them whether they happened to hang a historian last night!’

  ‘A nice job for Sergius,’ Petronius agreed. He raised his voice: ‘Fancy mixing it with debt factors?’

  ‘Not me,’ replied Sergius instantly. ‘Those buggers are dangerous.’

  He was normally fearless. That was worrying. Well, it would have been, if I thought I had to tangle with them. Instead, I braced myself for something that most people would not think twice about, though I knew it could be hazardous: I went to see my mother.

  I didn’t get far with that mad plan. Helena Justina had forestalled me. As I reached my mother’s apartment block, I met Helena coming out. She gave me a stern look.

  ‘Did you tackle her about this Anacrites rumour?’

  ‘Certainly not. And she said nothing on the subject herself, Marcus. I just passed on a discreet warning about the problems with the Aurelian Bank, and said she could speak to you if she wanted advice.’

  ‘I’ll go in then.’ Helena produced a freezing stare. I stayed outside. ‘All right - shall I at least warn Maia? She is in a very fragile condition,and someone ought to tell her that her trusted “friend” may be a two-timing incestuous creep -‘

  ‘Don’t approach either.’ Helena was firm.

  My half-hearted attempt at arguing was interrupted by one of Ma’s tottering neighbours. They all tended to be decrepit, and this old chap must have been in his eighties. Bald and skinny, he was hooked over like a hairpin, though he clicked along on his walking stick quite spryly. Helena must have met him before because they exchanged greetings.

  ‘Hello, young lady. Is this Junilla Tacita’s son?’ he croaked seizing my hand for what passed for a shake - more of a tremble, in reality.

  ‘Yes, this is Marcus Didius.’ Helena smiled. ‘Marcus, this is Aristagoras, I believe.’

  ‘That’s right. She has a good memory - wish mine was still up to it. Pleased to meet you, my boy!’ He was still twitching with my paw trapped in his. ‘Your mother is a fine woman,’ he told me - obviously one person who did not believe Ma was cosying up to her lodger, anyway.