Ode to a Banker mdf-12

by Lindsey Davis

  An hour later, sandal in hand, bleary-eyed and furious, I have chased the sly tormentor from ceiling to shutter, then into and sneakily out of the folds of a cloak on a doorpeg. Helena is craning her eyes, now seeing its cursed body shape in every shadow and doorframe cranny. She smacks her hand on a knot in a wooden panel that I have already tried to kill three times.

  We are both naked. It is not erotic. We are friends, bound by our hatred of the devious insect. Helena is obsessive because it is her sweetskin they always seek; mosquitoes home in on her with horrific results. We both suspect, too, that they carry summer diseases that might kill our child or us. This is an essential ritual in our house. We have a pact that any mosquito is our enemy, and together we chase this one from bed to wall until at last I swat the thing successfully. The blood on the wall plaster – probably ours – is our sign of triumph.

  We fall together into bed, arms and legs entwined. Our sweat mingles. We fall asleep at once, knowing we are safe.

  I start awake, certain that I have heard another insistent high-pitched whine above my ear. I lie rigid, while Helena sleeps. Still believing I am listening for trouble, I too fall asleep again, and dream that I am chasing insects the size of birds: I am on guard. I am the trained watcher, keeping the night safe for those I love. Yet I am unaware of the shadows that flit through the laundry colonnade in Fountain Court. I cannot hear the furtive feet as they creep up the stairs, nor even the crash of the monstrous boot as it kicks in a door.

  The first I know of it is when Marius, my nephew and puppy-loving lodger, runs in yelling that he cannot sleep because of a row from the tenement opposite.

  That is when I do grab my knife and run. Once awake, I can tell where the commotion is, and I know – with cold fear in my heart – that somebody is attacking my friend Lucius Petronius.

  XLIV

  I shall never forget his face. Dim light from a feeble wall-lamp showed the scene eerily.

  Petronius was being strangled. His lungs must have been bursting. He was purple, his face screwed with effort as he tried to break free. I threw my knife from the doorway; there was no time to cross the room. After racing up six long flights of stairs, I simply had no breath myself. It was a bad aim. All right, I missed. The blade sheared past the huge man's cheek. Not quite useless; he did drop Petro.

  The main room was wrecked. Petronius must have roused himself when the door crashed in. I knew he had been on the balcony at some point; to attract attention he had hurled down an entire bench, tipped it right over the rocky parapet. As I had rushed here, I fell over it in the street, barking my shin badly. That was just before I stepped on the broken flowerpot and cut my foot. Petro had certainly done all he could to rouse the neighbourhood before he was overpowered. Then the giant had dragged him into the main room, and that was where I found them.

  No one but me had come to help. As I pelted up the stairs, I had known that people would have been lying awake now, all petrified in the darkness, nobody willing to interfere lest they themselves were killed. Without Marius, Petro would have succumbed. Now perhaps, this gigantic assailant might kill both of us.

  Milo of Croton would have nothing on him. He could have fought a rhinoceros; the betting touts would have gone crazy trying to fix the odds. He could have stepped in front of the lead quadriga in a full-pelt chariot race, and stopped it by seizing the reins, barely needing to brace his back or his enormous legs. I had seen some muscles, but he excelled all the weightlifting buttonheads I had ever had to fight before.

  Petronius, no mean figure, now lay slumped at the monster's feet like a whittled doll. His face was hidden; I knew he might be dead. A pine table, so heavy it had originally taken us three days to hoist itupstairs, stood on one end with its main stretcher snapped; everything that had been on it lay in a smashed heap. With a delicate twist of his ankle, the giant kicked debris aside. Heavy potsherds skidded everywhere. It did not seem the moment to say, 'Let's talk about this sensibly…'

  I grabbed an amphora and heaved it at him. It bounced off his chest. As it landed, it cracked open and wine slewed everywhere. Unreasonably angered – because Petronius was a wine expert so it must be good stuff – I hurled a stool in the brute's face. He caught it, one-handed, and crushed it to a fistful of splinters. There had never been much furniture in my old office – which this was – and now there was virtually nothing in one piece.

  Petronius had hooked his toga on the back of the door. Glancing down at my nudity as if shy, I grabbed the great white woollen thing. As the giant approached to crush out my life too, I swirled it once like a man who was seeking modesty in death – then flapped it in his eyes, a cloud of material that forced him to blink. Despite his flailing arm, I pancake-flipped the toga over his head. I dodged past him, trying to reach my knife Shedding blood was my only hope. Once he grappled me, I would be lost.

  He was blundering, trapped briefly in the toga's folds. I snatched the knife and since his neck was inaccessible, plunged it down between his mighty shoulder blades. My dagger had killed men in its time, but I might as well have tried to carve prime bullock steak with an ivory-handled plum-paring knife. As he spun around, with a small grunt of irritation, I did the only thing possible; I jumped on his back, temporarily out of his reach. I knew he would crash me against a wall, which with his force could be fatal. I got my arm round his neck, pegging down the toga so he could not see. One free hand was clawing behind him.

  He was staggering forward. A massive foot missed the prone Petronius by an inch. The left hand had found my upper thigh and was squeezing so hard I nearly fainted. He was shaking me off, or trying to. He bucked forwards, got up speed, and by chance shot straight into the doorway to the balcony. He had wedged himself in the frame. I was still in the room behind. I slid floor-wards, leaned my shoulder and head against the slab of his waist, and pushed for all I was worth. It pinioned his arms. He was still blinded by the toga. He was stuck, but it would never last. Even my full body weight was making no impression, with raw tenor to inspire me.

  Material ripped; the toga had had it. I felt the brute shudder. He wasabout to use his full strength. Either the wall would collapse, or he would burst outside. The old folding door, which had had a hard life during my tenancy, creaked in protest. I groaned with effort. Someone else groaned. My sinews were bunting. My bare feet were skidding as I pushed. I was aware of noises like Petronius complaining after a hard night. Next moment he had hauled himself upright beside me.

  The giant could have resisted the two of us as easily as one, but he did not realise what was coming. Through eyes that were squinting and filled with running sweat as I struggled, I met Petro's woozy gaze. We did not need a verbal countdown. As one, we gave an unexpected heave with all our strength and shoved our assailant through the doorway.

  He stumbled right out onto the parapet. It must have been stronger than I thought, because it survived his crashing weight. He was scrabbling for a grip on the stonework, but we rushed forwards. We seized a foot each. Raising them right above our heads, we leaned back, and then pushed hard again, one to each gigantic leg.

  It was a hard fate, but we had no choice. It was him or us. Petro and I only had one chance, and we took it instinctively. As we lifted his legs, the huge man let out a yell; his great chest and belly bumped across the balustrade, then we had a glimpse of his bootsoles and he slid over head first.

  We leaned against one another, holding each other up like drunkards, painfully gasping for breath. We tried not to listen to the instant of silence, or the heavy crunch as the faller landed. When eventually I leaned out and looked down, I did think for a second I saw him crawling, but then he lay still in the finality of death.

  The rest was interesting. Dark figures suddenly materialised and bent over the body. I saw one pale face looking up, too far away to identify. Weak as I was by then, I could have been mistaken, but it seemed to me they made an attempt at dragging off the corpse. He must have been too heavy. After a moment they all rapidly wa
lked away.

  The next men to arrive had a lantern and a whistle, and were clearly a troop of vigiles.

  We waited for them to notice that they were near Petro's apartment and come upstairs to us. We were both wrecked. We could have called down to them. We were too exhausted to do anything more than wave feebly.

  'Who was your friend, Lucius?' I demanded wryly.

  'Yours, I think, Marcus.'

  'I really must notify the world that I have changed my address.'

  'Good,' Petronius agreed. He was in a bad way now. As we tried to recover, failing mostly, he added in a quiet voice, 'He wanted to stop the rumours about the Aurelian Bank.'

  'He told you? He didn't mind you knowing he was sent by Lucrio?' Petro's voice rasped, due to his damaged throat. One hand was holding his neck. 'I was meant to end up dead.'

  We remained silent for a while. Enjoying the moment. Both savouring the fact that Lucius Petronius Longus was alive.

  'Was that,' he croaked, 'my toga you destroyed?' He hated wearing a toga, like any good Roman. Unfortunately, it was a necessary element of life.

  'Afraid so.' I lolled against the outside wall, feeling slightly sick. 'Shredded, I fear. I would give you mine, but Nux whelped her pup on it.'

  Petronius sat down on his haunches, unable to stay upright. He held his head between his hands. 'We can buy matching new ones, like best friends.' There was a pause. Not for the first time in our lives, we were best friends who were feeling rather ill. This time we could not even blame it on a night of debauchery. 'Thanks, Falco.'

  'Don't thank me.' Petro had taken a lot of damage before I arrived. He was ready to pass out. I was too weak to help him much, but I could hear the vigiles coming up the stairs now. 'My dear Lucius, you haven't heard me confess yet what I did to your amphora.'

  'Not the Chalybonium? I really wanted to try that…'

  'Imported, isn't it? Must have cost you!'

  'You damned menace,' Petronius muttered weakly. Then he keeled over. I had no strength to catch him, but I managed to get my left foot stretched out so his face – no longer that suffocated purple – landed on my foot. At least it was a better pillow than the floor.

  XLV

  I woke late, in my own bed again. My sister Maia was looking in at the bedroom door. 'Want a drink? I've made hot mulsum.'

  Moving carefully, I crawled to the living room. I ached, but I had been worse. Nothing was broken or split open this time. I had no internal pain.

  Nux and the puppy wagged ecstatic tails. The puppy wagged his little worm perpetually, but Nux meant a real welcome. Julia was striding about in her wheeled walking-frame; she no longer needed it, she just enjoyed the racket. Maia had been left in charge.

  There was no sign of Helena. 'Do you know what she's doing?'

  'Oh yes!' replied Maia forcefully. 'I know exactly what she thinks she's up to.' Cradling my beaker, I shot her an equiring look. Her tone of voice modified. 'Changing her library book, apparently.' Swapping Greek novels with Passus. Maia was obviously not going to tell me what had caused her to sound so indignant: some girls' stuff that I was not yet old enough to know about.

  'How's Petronius?' The vigiles had stretchered him over here last night and laid him on our reading couch.

  'Awake.'

  'Well enough to keep an eye on you two,' he rasped himself, appearing in the doorway, barefoot, bare-chested and wrapped in a sheet. Julia trundled herself over to him, bumping hard into his knee. He winced. Maia indicated the end of my bench, then unhelpfully watched Petro aim himself across the room to sit. Once he had landed, he gave her a bared-teeth grin, acknowledging that he had nearly toppled over and that she had known it would be a close thing.

  Maia looked at us, from one to another. 'You're a right pair.'

  'Cute little treasures?' I suggested.

  'Stupid chanters,' sneered Maia.

  I wondered when Helena would return. I needed to see her. My sister would forget her scorn soon enough. Helena, who never said much after I had been in trouble, would nonetheless remember thisevent far longer and would grieve over its danger more deeply. Every time there were bad street sounds in the night, I would have to pull her into my arms and shield her from the memory of last night's terror.

  Petro was reaching to collect the beaker Maia had grudgingly poured for him. The sheet slipped, showing widespread bruising. Scythax, the vigiles doctor, had been summoned last night and had examined him for broken ribs, but thought none was damaged. He had left a painkilling draught, some of which Petro unobtrusively poured into his cup.

  'Looks horrible.' Maia was right. Petronius had a good body, but the giant must have wanted to hurt him before choking out his life. It would account for some of the noise Marius had heard. Maia squinted disapprovingly at the marbled black and purple results. Petro breathed in, showing off to her how he always kept in shape; her lip curled. 'You'll have to stop chasing the women. A few well-positioned cuts might have made you look romantic – but that's just ugly.'

  'I'll stop chasing when I catch the right one,' said Petronius, gazing into his hot drink. Steam, comfortingly infused with honey and watered wine, wreathed around his battered face. He looked tired and still in shock, but his brown hair stood up boyishly.

  'Really?' asked Maia, with a light disbelieving inflexion.

  'Really.' Petro looked up suddenly with a faint smile that implied – well, maybe nothing at all.

  We were all sitting subdued and silent when we were joined by Fusculus. He gazed around as if the atmosphere made him fear the worst, then weighed up his chiefs wounds with routine expertise. As a courtesy, he pulled a face. 'Nice ornaments!'

  'Pretty effect, eh? It was close. Still, we're not booking a funeral. What's new?' Fusculus tossed a glance towards Maia. Suspicion mingled with masculine interest. Petronius said briefly, 'Falco's sister. You can speak.'

  Now Fusculus was taking a better look at him, after noticing that Petro's throat was so sore it was limiting his speech. 'It's true? The bastard tried to strangle you…?'

  'I'm all right.'

  'Well, chief, I do have something to report. We know who he is. The description was easy enough to put around. He was a serious heavy, known as Bos. Built like a fighting bull -'

  'We know that,' I commented.

  Fusculus grinned. 'Rumour says you two tossed him over a balcony?'

  'Very gently.'

  'Accomplished with perfect etiquette? Well, Bos had a huge reputation. Nobody but you two crazymen would have dared tackle him. If you go down to the Forum today, you'll be treated like demigods -'

  'What was his status?' interrupted Petronius.

  'Brute-for-hire. Leaning on people. Squashing those who refused to co-operate. Mostly he just had to arrive on the doorstep and they gave up.'

  'You surprise me!'

  'Who used to hire him?' I asked Fusculus intently.

  'Racketeers, rent-hungry landlords – and you guessed it: defaulted – on moneymen.'

  'Particular clients?'

  'Often a set of debt-collectors called the Ritusii. Harsh and hardhearted. Known for their tough methods and subtle hints of unacceptable violence.'

  'Wrong side of the law?'

  'No,' said Fusculus dryly. 'In their field, they make the law. They are never sued for compensation. Nobody lodges complaints.'

  Petronius stretched awkwardly. 'I think I might make one.'

  'Can we prove Bos was sent here by the Ritusii? Doubtful,' I reminded him. 'Neither they nor Lucrio will admit a connection; banks aren't supposed to use enforcers, for one thing. They made a bad mistake, attacking a vigiles officer – but they are unlikely to admit they sent Bos to hurt you.'

  'They do know we suspect it,' Fusculus told us. 'A report had to go to the Prefect.' Petronius choked with annoyance. He had wanted to settle this in his own way. Still, he did not insist on knowing which over-hasty member of the cohort had made the report in his absence. 'The Prefect sent a detachment to pull their place apart.'<
br />
  'Oh, good thinking! Find anything?' I scoffed sarcastically.

  'What do you think?'

  Petronius said nothing. Maia removed his empty beaker, which he seemed about to drop.

  'Do these Ritusii hardmen openly work for Lucrio and the Aurelian Bank?' I demanded.

  'Not openly,' said Fusculus. Then an expectant grin stretched across his face. He had something to tell us and wanted to see us react. 'Anyway, Falco, less business will be coming their way from that direction now – the Aurelian Bank has been inundated with scaredclients wanting to withdraw their funds. Lucrio froze all accounts this morning and called in specialist liquidators. The bank has crashed.'

  I helped Petro limp back to the reading couch, where he subsided drowsily.

  'Can you look after yourself?'

  'I'm in the hands of a lovely nurse,' he whispered with a husky pretence at secrecy. It was the traditional male response to being trapped in a sickbed. You have to play the game.

  'Helena will be back any minute,' Maia retorted, whisking out of the room with a vigorous yank at her skirts.

  I covered him over. 'Stop flirting with my sister. You may be the demigod who disposed of the giant Bos – but there's a queue for Maia. Don't risk your neck with Anacrites. That man is far too dangerous.'

  I meant it. It would be bad enough if the Chief Spy made any headway with my sister, but if he did and she ever decided to dump him, it would threaten all our family. He had power. He controlled sinister resources, and he made a spiteful enemy. It was time all of us remembered. Anacrites had a darker side.

  Of course if he was dumped by my mother at the same time as Maia saw through him, we were probably dead from the moment the letter saying 'Darling, we've had so much fun and I really hate writing this… landed on his Palace desk. I felt sick at the thought of anyone calling Anacrites darling. But that was nothing to my fear of his reaction if he ever lost face by rejection as a lover – especially if he then blamed me. He had tried to have me killed once, in Nabataea. It could happen again at any time.