'Sons never rise to action.' Urbanus smiled. 'They live with the anger for too long.' From personal experience, I agreed with him. 'Sons brood, and fester, and permanently tolerate their indignities. Of course, daughters can be furies!'
Neither woman present took him up on that. His wife, Anna, had not contributed to the discussion, but Urbanus now asked her the question: whom would she accuse?
'I would have to think about it,' Anna said cautiously and with some interest. Some people say that as a put-off; she sounded as if she meant she really would mull it over. 'Of course,' she put to me, with a teasing glint, 'I may have killed Chrysippus, for my husband's sake.' Before I could ask if she did it, she added crisply, 'However, I am too busy with my young children, as you see.'
I was satisfied that Urbanus would have been stupid to kill Chrysippus. He was in the clear, but he interested me. The conversation drifted into more general matters. I confessed to having experience as a working playwright in a theatre troupe myself. We talked about our travels. I even asked advice on The Spook Who Spoke, my best effort at drama. From my description, Urbanus thought this brilliant farce ought to be turned into a tragedy. That was rubbish; perhaps he was not such an incisive master of theatre after all.
While we chatted, Anna was still holding the small baby on her shoulder, smoothing its gown over its back when it grew fractious. Both Helena and I noticed that she had inky fingers. Helena told me afterwards that she thought it might be significant. 'Have the rumourmongers picked up something genuine? Is it Anna who has the way with words?'
Nice thought. You could make a play about a woman taking on a man's identity. If it turned out to be a woman who actually wrote Urbanus' plays, now that really would be a piece of theatre!
XXXI
Last night Petro and I had summoned Lucrio to an interview today. Although Petro had given him an hour at which to arrive, we were prepared for him not to show, or at least to turn up late. To our surprise, he was there.
We all became extremely friendly by the light of day. We had all had time to adjust our positions.
Petro and I had, in the Roman way, appropriated the only chairs as the persons in authority. Lucrio did not care. He walked about and calinly waited to be put through the grinding-mill. He was constantly masticating nuts of some sort; he chewed with his mouth open.
He was a definite type. I could imagine him in his younger days, turning the contractual tricks – cutting corners and boasting about deals with his brash friends, all belt buckles and big-bossed cloak brooches. Now he was maturing; changing from loud to subtle; from risky to absolutely dangerous; from a mere chanter to a much smoother operator, able to guide clients into lifetimes of debt.
Before I came to the patrol-house, I had been to see Nothokleptes. He had given me some interesting information about Lucrio's past. Petronius started the interview by agreeing that, since the tunic-thief had returned to jail of his own accord after he thought about the consequences, he would now release Lucrio's slaves (sending them home without letting Lucrio talk to them). Unbeknown to him, they had been well grilled. Fusculus had volunteered to come in on the day shift; after they had been starved all morning he took them bread and unwatered wine, and 'made friends' with the six of them. That had been productive too.
'Your documents have all been returned to you, Lucrio, so that's in order,' said Petro, taking charge, while I just wrote notes in an ominous manner. 'I would like to discuss the general situation and management of the Aurelian Bank Chrysippus set it up, with the aid of his first wife, Lysa. Did he come from a financial background originally?'
'Old Athens family,' Lucrio asserted proudly. 'He was in shipping insurance; most of that business is conducted in Greece and the East, but he could see there was a gap in the market so he and Lysa moved here.'
'He specialised in loans?'
'Cargo loans mostly.'
'That's risky?'
'Yes and no. You have to exercise your judgement – is the ship sound? Is the captain competent? Is the cargo likely to fetch a profit and will there be another available for it to carry home? And then -' He paused.
Petronius, in his quiet way, was on top of the subject: 'You make a loan to a trader to cover the cost of a voyage. Insurance. If a ship founders, there is no obligation on the trader to repay the loan. You cover the loss. And if that ship returns home safely, the banker is repaid – plus an enormous profit.'
'Well, not enormous,' Lucrio demurred. He would.
'Because of the risk of miscarriage in a storm, shipping lenders are exempt from normal rules on maximum interest?' Petro went on.
'Only fair,' said Lucrio. 'We end up paying for all the voyages that come to grief.'
'Not all of them, I think. You protect yourselves as much as possible.'
'Where we can, legate.'
'Tribune,' Petro corrected him briefly, assuming Rubella's title without a blush.
'Sorry. Just a form of words.'
My friend Lucius Petronius inclined his head loftily. I hid a grin. 'This protection of yours,' he continued, worrying away, 'it can take the form of limiting the period of the loan?'
'Routine condition, tribune.'
'So a journey you are insuring must be completed within a specified number of days?'
'During good sailing weather. There will normally be a date for completion of the voyage written into the contract.'
'So if the ship sinks, you as lender do pay the costs – but only provided the journey has been undertaken in the right period? But if the ship delays sailing until after the loan's expiry date, and then it sinks in the drink – who is liable?'
'Not us!' exclaimed the freedman.
'You, of course, like that,' Petronius returned, rather coolly. 'But the owner does not. He has lost his ship and its cargo – and he still has to repay your loan.'
'He loses twice over. But that's his fault.'
'Well, his captain's.'
'Right – for dilly-dallying. These are the rules of the sea, tribune. It's traditional. Was there some reason,' enquired Lucrio, very politely, 'why you were interested in this aspect?'
Petronius folded his arms and leaned forwards on them. I knew this action. He was about to bring out the gossip we had acquired. 'You have a client at the bank called Pisarchus?'
Lucrio managed to retain his affable, unflustered dodger's attitude. 'Of course this is confidential – but I believe we do.'
'Big debtor?'
'Not too clever.'
'He lost two different ships, both sailing out of time, last winter?'
'A foolish man. Now he needs to readjust his investments rather sharply.'
'Does he have anything left to invest, though?' asked Petronius.
'Well, you could have a point there!' chortled Lucrio, treating the reference to big debts as a big joke.
Petro remained cool. 'Shippers are notorious for having no personal capital. A little mouse has been squeaking to me that Pisarchus is in severe distress over his losses, that he may not be able to repay what he owes, and that Chrysippus and he had a quarrel.'
'My, my!' marvelled Lucrio. 'Somebody must have been pulling really hard on this little mouse's tail. I hope no naughty members of the vigiles have been asking questions of my slaves without clearing it with me?'
That was when I moved in and took over. 'No, we learned about Pisarchus from a private source.' Nothokleptes. 'It is freely available gossip in the Janus Medius.' This must have been the first time in history Nothokleptes had given me something for nothing. 'I hear the odds there are on Pisarchus as the killer, in fact. My interest centres on him too. I'm wondering if he was the man with the sour mood I myself saw at the scriptorium, the very morning Chrysippus was killed.'
Lucrio shook his head, sorrowing 'I'm grieved to hear that, Falco. Pisarchus is one of our oldest clients. His family has dealt with the Chrysippus trapeza for generations back in Greece.'
I flashed a smile. 'Don't fret. Maybe it's not him. Still, it has
given us a clear picture of how your trapeza operates.'
'Nothing illegal.'
'Nothing soft, either!'
'We have to protect our investors.'
'Oh I'm sure you do.'
I let Petronius resume the questioning. 'Let's clear up one tricky item, Lucrio.' Now he would definitely try out the stuff that Fusculus had squeezed from the slaves. 'I have a tip that you and Chrysippus went through a crisis once?' Lucrio looked annoyed. Petronius spelled it out: 'You have been the bank's freedman-agent for a number of years. Before that, while you were still in service as a young slave – this must have been before you reached the age of thirty, when you could be freed – you were given a portfolio to manage on your master's behalf, It was the usual situation: you were allowed to run the fund and to keep any profits, but the capital – what is called the peculium – still belonged to your master and had to be returned to him in due course. Now tell me – was there not a problem when you were first manumitted from slavery, and had to hand back the peculium and render an account of your management?'
Lucrio had stopped casually pacing the room, though he continued chewing nuts. 'It was a misunderstanding. There were queries on the figures; I was able to answer all of them.'
'What sort of queries?' insisted Petronius.
'Oh – whether I had mixed up the peculium float.'
'Mixed it with your own money? Had you?'
'Not intentionally. I was a lad, a bit slapdash – you know how it is. We sorted it out. Chrysippus was never bothered. It was others who made much of it – jealous, probably.'
'Yes, I assume Chrysippus ended up happy, because he went on to let you – in effect – run the bank '
'Yes.'
'Maybe he even thought that a slight tendency to sharp practice was just what he wanted in a manager?'
'Exactly,' said Lucrio, showing us a flash of teeth.
Petronius Longus glanced through his set of note-tablets calmly. 'Well, that seems to be everything covered.' Lucrio let himself relax. Not that it was easy to tell, because he had been strikingly at ease all along. He made a move towards the door. 'Any queries on your side, Falco?' Petro asked.
'Please.' Petro sat back and I started the whole round from my viewpoint. Swapping control once Lucrio thought it was all over might unnerve him. Probably not, but it was worth a try.
'A couple of logistical questions, Lucrio: where were you at noon two days ago when Chrysippus was killed?'
'Forum. Lunching with a group of clients. I can give you their names.'
Not much point; either it was true, or by now the alibis would have been primed to lie for him. 'Were your relations with Chrysippus good? Any problems at the bank?'
'No fear. It was making money. That kept the boss happy.'
'Know any unhappy clients who bore a grudge?'
'No.'
'Apart from Pisarchus,' I corrected. 'Were there any other disappointed creditors?'
'Not in the same league.'
'Another debtor I'm looking at is one of the scriptorium authors -' Lucrio freely supplied the name: 'Avienus.'
'That's right; the historian. He has a large loan out with the bank, I understand. Does it have an end date?'
'It did.'
'Already past?'
'Afraid so.'
'He has difficulties finding the money?'
'So he says.'
'Chrysippus was taking a hard line?'
'No, I dealt with it, in the normal way.'
'Avienus was being tricky?'
Lucrio shrugged. 'He was always appealing to Chrysippus as one of his writers, but I don't buy that. Whining and performing, the way people do. The first time, it wrings your heart.' Lucrio, affected by debtors' pleas? 'After that you take no notice; genuine hardship cases don't ever complain.'
'Did Avienus have any remedy?'
'Write his stuff, and deposit the scrolls so he got paid his fee and clear the debt,' sneered the freedman. He did not sound like a reading man. Then he added, 'Or he could do the usual.'
'What's that?'
'Ask another lender to buy up his loan.'
I blinked. 'How does that work?'
'The date was up. We called in the debt,' explained Lucrio, patiently. 'Someone else could advance Avienus the money to pay us.'
I followed him: 'A loan to pay off a loan? The new one covering the sum of your loan, plus the interest he owed to you, plus the new lender's profit? Jupiter!' Compound interest was illegal in Rome – but this seemed a neat way to avoid that. Bankers would support each other in this unpleasant trade. 'Spiralling down into poverty – and even slavery, perhaps?'
Lucrio showed no remorse. 'Buys him time, Falco. If Avienus ever clambers off his backside and earns something, he could cover the debt.'
Against my inclinations, I could see Lucrio's point of view. Some people with crippling debts do bestir themselves and work until they drop. 'What security has Avienus given for the original loan?'
'I would have to look that up.'
'I want you to do so, and to let me know, please. Don't tell Avienus that I'm asking. He may be your commercial client but he could also be your patron's killer.'
'I'll remember.'
'What will happen about the debt now Chrysippus is dead?'
'Oh, nothing changes. Avienus must repay the bank.'
'You're hot in pursuit, are you?'
Lucrio grinned. It was more of a grimace – not at all humorous. Time for another shift. Petronius leaned towards me. 'Was there a query you mentioned about the will, Falco?'
'That's right.' Lucrio, I noticed, suddenly had the fixed air of a man who had been waiting for this. 'Lucrio, has the will been opened yet?' He nodded.
'Who are the main beneficiaries? Is it right that Vibia Merulla, as the current wife, was only left the scriptorium?'
'So she was.'
'And is it really worth little?'
'Better than a fish-stall at Ostia – but not much better.'
'That seems hard.'
'Her family got her dowry back.'
'Oh lovely! Who was left the bank?'
'Lysa' – he coloured very faintly – 'and myself.'
'Oh that's touching! The ex-wife who helped found the business and a loyal ex- slave.'
'A custom of our country,' Lucrio said, like a tired man who knew he would have to explain this many times to many different acquaintances. 'Greek banks have throughout history been passed jointly to Greek bankers' wives and their regular agents.'
'What,' I sneered, 'do Greek bankers' children think of that?'
'They know it has been done throughout Greek history,' Lucrio said.
'And little Greek boys are taught a love of history!' We all laughed. 'Vibia Merulla appears to have lost out heavily,' I went on. 'A Greek ex-wife takes precedence over a new Roman one? Is that traditional too?'
'Sounds good to me,' said Lucrio shamelessly. 'Lysa built the business up.'
'But in this case, the Greek banker has an only son, who has become thoroughly Romanised. Diomedes must know that in Rome, we do things differently. Here you, of course, would still have a claim to be rewarded for loyal service. Lysa would be an irrelevance, after Chrysippus remarried; Vibia would acquire a claim. And Diomedes would expect his father to acknowledge his importance in the family. Where does this old Greek custom leave Diomedes as a new Roman, Lucrio?'
'Whimpering!' the freedman acknowledged callously. 'Oh, it's not a disaster! He has been given a few sesterces to see him through life. It's more than most sons can expect, especially bone-idle spendthrifts with airy ideas who do nothing but cause trouble.'
'You don't sound like a follower of dear Diomedes?'
'You have met him, I believe,' Lucrio murmured – as if that answered everything.
'Well, his mother will be a grand heiress. One day, perhaps, he will be Lysa's heir?'
'Possibly.' There was a slight pause. I sensed reluctance, but the freedman despised Diomedes so strongly that he w
as prepared to be indiscreet for once: 'Lysa's new husband may have something to say about that,' said Lucrio.
XXXII
My next visit to Lysa, the ex-wife and lucky heiress, caught her off guard. Not expecting me, she made the mistake of being in.
Now I had gained admittance, I saw that as places go it was a desirable residence. We were sitting in a salon that was cool in the July heatwave, though lit expertly from high windows above. A series of patterned rugs was spread on the marble floor. Lush curtains tapestried the walls. Our seating was bronze-framed, with substantial padding. In a corner, on a shelf, stood a lavish wine-warmer, the kind that burns charcoal in a large chamber with a fuel store underneath, out of use at present, due to the weather no doubt. Perfect, unmottled fruit gleamed in translucent glass bowls.
'Not plying your loom like a dutiful housewife?'
It was a joke. Lysa had been reading over columns of figures while a slave who was clearly accustomed to the task took dictated notes. As I entered, I had heard the ex-wife composing messages about the bank's clients in a confident voice. She was better-spoken than Vibia, even though I guessed Lysa had humbler origins.
'Is your son around?'
'No.'
She was probably lying but I had no excuse to search the place. 'How is he bearing up to his father's loss?'
'Grief-stricken, poor boy,' sighed his mother, still lying I reckoned. But he tries to be brave.'
'Belonging to wealthy parents must help him cope.'
'You are a horrible cynic, Falco. Diomedes is a very sensitive soul.'
'What are his talents? What are you planning to do with him?'
'I am trying to help him decide what he wants to be in life. Once he has readjusted to his father's death, I believe he will review his ambitions. Marry soon. Settle down to building up a portfolio of property. Make something of himself in the community.'
'Public life?' I raised my eyebrows.
'Chrysippus dearly wanted him to advance in society.'
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