Poseidon's Gold Page 12

  I stayed silent for a while. My breathing had already stabilised, but my thoughts were running fast. Around us the toughs made a feeble show of helping the porters tidy the mess, while the old chaps worked with their usual uncomplaining zeal. If anything, the fight had perked up their spirits.

  My father let them get on with it in a way that made me think this had happened before. I gazed at him, while he pointedly ignored my interest. He was a solid man, shorter and wider than I always remembered him, with a face that could pass for handsome and a nature some folk found attractive. He annoyed me-but I had been brought up by schoolmasters who declaimed that Roman fathers were stern, wise and models of humane ethics. This high-minded philosophy made no allowance for those who drink, play draughts and womanise-let alone for mine, who did most of those things sometimes, and never seemed to have read the elegant grammarians who said a Roman boy could expect his papa to spend all day thinking noble thoughts and sacrificing to the household gods. Instead of taking me down to the Basilica Julia to explain what the barristers were arguing about, mine took me to the Circus Maximus-though only when the ticket gate was being manned by his cousin, who gave us cheap rates. When I was a child, sneaking into the Games at a discount was a source of deep embarrassment to me. It never happened to Livy.

  ‘You were expecting trouble,’ I tackled my father. ‘Want to talk about what’s going on?’

  ‘All in a day’s work,’ replied Geminus, through his teeth.

  ‘This was a set-up-organised disruption. Is it a racket? Who’s responsible?’ I had been drawn into the argument, and I wanted to know its cause.

  ‘Somebody, no doubt.’ Dear gods, he could be an awkward mule.

  ‘Well sort it out yourself then!’

  ‘I will, boy. I will.’ Wondering how such a miserable old groucher could have fathered such a reasonable character as myself, I leaned back my head and closed my eyes. I had only just noticed I was beginning to stiffen all over, and had gone deaf in my left ear. ‘Anyway,’ retaliated my father, ‘you took your time arriving. I expected you two hours ago.’

  I opened my eyes again. ‘No one knew I was on my way.’

  ‘That right? I was told that you wanted a fatherly chat.’

  ‘Then you were told wrong!’ I worked it out. ‘Helena’s been here.’ She was incorrigible. It was not enough to leave her outside her father’s house; I should have pushed her right in through the door and told the Senator to put the bar across.

  My father leered. ‘Nice girl!’

  ‘Don’t bother telling me she could do better for herself.’

  ‘All right, I won’t bother to tell you… So how’s the love life coming along?’

  I grunted. ‘Last time I saw her, she kneed me in the groin.’

  ‘Ouch! Thought you’d filched a demure one!’ he scoffed, wincing. ‘What bad company taught her that trick?’

  ‘Taught her myself.’ He looked startled. I felt tetchy suddenly, and launched off against old grievances. ‘Listen, you may live among the sleek cats now, but you must still remember what it’s like to be holed up in an Aventine tenement-all men with evil thoughts and no door locks. I can’t protect her all the time. Besides, if today is anything to go by, I’ll never know where she is. Women are supposed to stay at home weaving,’ I grumbled bitterly. ‘Helena pays no attention to that.’

  I had said more than I intended. My father leaned on one elbow, lolling there as if I had passed him a dish of interesting winkles but no serving spoon. ‘She’s still with you, anyway… So when is the wedding?’

  ‘When I’m rich.’

  He whistled offensively. ‘Someone’s expecting a long wait then!’

  ‘That’s our business.’

  ‘Not if you make me a grandfather before you achieve the formalities.’

  This was a sore point, and I reckoned he knew it. He had probably heard through the family grapevine that Helena had miscarried once, distressing us both more than either of us expected, and filling us with the usual unspoken doubts about our ability ever to produce a healthy child. Now Helena was terrified, while I was trying to delay the question for life’s strongest reason: poverty. The last thing I needed was my damned father taking an interest. I knew why the old snob was so curious: he wanted us to have a family so he could boast he was related to a senator. I said angrily, ‘You’re a grandfather already. If you want to lavish attention where it’s needed, try Victorina’s orphans.’

  ‘So what’s Mico doing?’

  ‘The usual: not much.’ My father heard this without a reaction, though it was possible he would help. ‘Did you go to the funeral?’ I asked, more inquisitive than I wanted to appear.

  ‘No. My assistance was deemed unnecessary.’ His mood was quiet, his manner uninvolved. I could not tell whether he was upset; I was not sure I cared.

  ‘Victorina was your daughter,’ I said formally. ‘You should have been given the opportunity.’

  ‘Don’t break your heart over it.’

  ‘If I had been here you would have been informed.’ Playing the prig was not my style, but his air of resignation annoyed me. ‘You can’t blame anyone; you’re not exactly famous as a paterfamilias!’

  ‘Don’t start!’

  I hauled myself to my feet. ‘Don’t worry. I’m off.’

  ‘You haven’t tackled what you came to ask.’

  ‘Helena was here; she asks my questions for me.’

  ‘I don’t talk to women.’

  ‘Maybe you should try it for once.’ Maybe he should have tried it when he was living with my mother.

  It had been pointless even coming here. I could not face an argument over Festus; I really was leaving. My father, looking for something he could be awkward about, was furious. ‘Right! We’ve entertained you with a scrap, now you run off and tell your ma you’ve got your tunic dirty playing on the Campus with the big rough boys.’

  In the act of flinging my cloak round me, I paused. This was not helping me solve the Censorinus case. Besides, I did need a story to tell my mother, and I needed it fairly soon. She was renowned for her impatience with slackers. ‘There is something I want,’ I conceded.

  Geminus swung his legs off the couch so he could sit up and stare at me. ‘This is a novelty!’

  ‘Wrong. I’m simply on the scrounge. Does your warehouse at the Saepta contain a cheap but decent bed?’

  He looked sadly disappointed, but did rouse himself to take me there.

  XXIII

  The Saepta Julia was a large enclosed area where voting took place. It had been remodelled by the energetic Marcus Agrippa, Augustus’s general and son-in-law. Since he could see he would never get a chance to be Emperor himself, he had made his mark in the next best way: by building larger and with more innovation and magnificence than anybody else. He had had a good eye for the best spots to glorify. Much of the modern Campus Martius was his work.

  Agrippa had transformed the Saepta from little more than a giant sheep pen to one of the gems in his memorial complex. It now formed an architectual match with the Pantheon and the great Agrippan Baths that sprawled majestically alongside-most famous for having free public entrance. Marcus Agrippa had certainly known how to buy popularity.

  The space enclosed by the Saepta was big enough to be used for gladiatorial combats, and had even been flooded for mock sea fights in Nero’s day, though that had proved inconvenient for the people who normally worked there. Businessmen are not impressed by having to close their premises to allow in a group of fancy triremes. The enclosing walls, two storeys high, contained a variety of shops, especially goldsmiths and bronze-founders, plus associated folk like my father, who for years had been earning a fortune from the second-hand art and antiques trade.

  Because of the political connection there was another side to the place. It would have been useful for me to have my own office in the Saepta; it was where people brought my kind of work. My father’s presence was the main reason I kept away from the area, though tradition
ally the Saepta Julia was where the informers hung out.

  I mean the other informers-the ones who had given my business its bad name. Those vermin whose heyday was under Nero, skulking behind temple pillars to overhear unguarded comments from the pious, or even using conversations at private dinner parties to betray their last night’s hosts. The political parasites who, before Vespasian purged public life, had put fear into the whole Senate. The slugs who had empowered bad emperors’ favourites, and oiled the jealousies of worse emperors’ mothers and wives. Gossips whose stock-in-trade was scandal; bastards whose very oath in court could be bought for an emerald eardrop.

  Right at the start of my career I had decided that clients who went to the Saepta looking for an informer were not clients who wanted me.

  I lost a lot of trade that way.

  Leases in the Saepta Julia were at a premium; my father had managed to acquire two. Like Festus, he knew how things were done. I suppose having cash helped, but reputation must also have come into it. Whereas some traders struggled to fit themselves into hole-in-the-wall lock-ups, Geminus had a select suite on the upper floor, where he could stroll out on to the balcony and survey the whole enclosure below, plus a large warehouse at ground level, which was obviously more convenient for delivery of large or heavy items. His office, always stylishly fitted out, adjoined the Dolabrium, where votes were counted-throbbing with life during elections, and pleasantly quiet at other times.

  We started downstairs, in his main display area. After the usual attempts to palm me off with three-legged, woodwormy frames and oddly padded couches marked with dubious sickroom stains, I persuaded my parent that if he wanted me to perpetuate the family name it ought to be done on decent equipment. He found me a bed. I refused to pay what he said it was worth, so rather than lose the chance of sharing a grandchild with the illustrious Camillus, he halved the asking price.

  ‘Throw in the mattress, will you. Helena can’t sleep on just the webs.’

  ‘I’d like to know where you acquired your cheek!’

  ‘Same place I learned not to sob too much when auctioneers start pretending they are facing bankruptcy.’

  He grunted, still fidgeting around my purchase. ‘This is pretty plain, Marcus-‘ The bed had a straightforward beech frame, with boxy ends. I liked the simple scallop ornament that enlivened the headboard. The mere fact it had four feet on the ground would be a luxury in my house. ‘I’m having doubts. This is meant to be shoved in a wall niche,’ Geminus fussed unhappily.

  ‘I don’t want silver legs and tortoiseshell. Why encourage burglars? When can you deliver?’

  He looked offended. ‘You know the system. Cash down, and buyer collects.’

  ‘Stuff the system! Bring it round as soon as possible and I’ll pay you when I see you. I’m still at Fountain Court.’

  ‘That dung heap! Why don’t you get a decent job and start honouring your debts? I’d like to see you install that girl of yours in a nice town house with an atrium.’

  ‘Helena can manage without marble corridors and spare stools.’

  ‘I doubt it!’ he said. If I was honest, so did I.

  ‘She’s looking for a man of character, not libraries and a private lavatory.’

  ‘Oh she’s found that!’ he sneered. ‘All right, I’ll have the bed taken to your fleapit, but don’t expect the favour to be repeated. It’s not for you I’m doing this… Helena bought an item, so I’ll be sending a cart up the Hill anyway.’

  It gave me an odd feeling to hear my father, whom I could barely tolerate, speaking of Helena Justina with such familiarity. I had never even introduced them; not that that had stopped him presenting himself behind my back and assuming instant paternal rights. ‘What item?’ I growled.

  He knew he had me. I could have swiped the grin off his face with the nearest besom. ‘The girl has taste,’ he commented. ‘She pipped you on the nail…’

  I hated to show my interest, but I had guessed. ‘That tripod table! How much did you sting her for?’

  He chortled annoyingly.

  The porters were bringing back the unsold goods from the interrupted auction. As they hauled in the savaged wall panels I said, ‘Whoever buys the house those were ripped from will need the holes repaired. You could send Mico round to offer his services to make good.’

  ‘Make bad, you mean? All right, I’ll give him the address.’

  ‘If he’s lucky the new owners won’t have heard about him. Anyway, his bodging can be covered up before it’s noticed. The wall plaster will need painting,’ I mused, trying to wheedle out information without him noticing. ‘No doubt you were already thinking of a commission for suggesting a panel artist?’ My father refused to bite. Like Festus, he could be secretive about business affairs. I tried again. ‘I suppose you know all the hack picture painters?’

  This time the twinkle in his eye that had once drawn the women appeared. Nowadays it was dry and dark and sceptical. He knew I was prodding at something specific. ‘First the bed; now renovation. Are you planning to gild your filthy doss-house like a palace? Careful, Marcus! I hate to see inappropriate ornamentation…’

  ‘Just a few false perspectives,’ I joked back feebly. ‘A landscape with satyrs for the bedroom and a set of still lifes in the kitchen. Dead pheasants and fruit bowls… Nothing too elaborate.’ I was getting nowhere. I had to be direct. ‘Helena must have told you. I want to track down a group of daubers I once saw Festus meet at a cheap bar on the lower Caelian. It was a hovel called the Virgin.’

  ‘She told me,’ he agreed, like someone refusing to enlighten a small child as to what he might be getting for a Saturnalia gift.

  ‘So do you know them?’

  ‘I’m not aware of it. No jury,’ declared my father, ‘will convict a man for being kept in ignorance of his son’s friends!’

  I ignored the jibe. Angrily I burst out, ‘I suppose you are also going to tell me you know nothing about the scheme Festus was running just before he died?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Geminus answered levelly. ‘That’s exactly what I’ll say.’

  ‘You’re not talking to Censorinus now!’ I reminded him.

  ‘No. I’m talking to you.’ This kind of conversation only occurs in families. ‘It’s a waste of good air,’ he grumbled, then stretched abruptly. ‘This is typical of you-riding the mule backwards, staring at the tail flicking flies off its arse! I thought we would have come to the soldier half an hour ago, but you do have to dally in the byways pretending you forgot what you were sent to find out-I know you were sent!’ he scoffed, as I started interrupting. He knew I would not have come on my own account. ‘If we have to rake over old miseries, let’s start at the beginning-and let’s do it respectably over a drink!’

  That was when he gripped me by the elbow as if I had raised a sensitive issue too publicly, and steered me from the open frontage of his warehouse to the discreet haven of his office on the upper floor.

  I felt like a man who was about to be sold a fake silver wine-heater with one foot that keeps dropping off.

  XXIV

  On my very occasional visits I had noticed that my father’s office changed in mood and character as he sold off whatever choice pieces adorned it. To this private quarter were brought his most select customers-the ones who had to think themselves special for the next half an hour while he palmed them off with something. Here they were seated on ivory, or chased silver, or sweetly scented oriental woods, while Geminus produced exquisitely decorated cups of spicy wine and told them lies until they found themselves buying more than their budget could afford.

  Today he had a suite from Alexandria: delicate painted coffers and sideboards on slim legs, with horned ibis and lotus-flower patterns. To complement the Egyptian look he had dug out some tall peacock fans (permanent props, which I had seen before), and added sumptuously tasselled cushions to the odd, hard couch that had lived there for ever and was not for sale. Behind the couch hung a dark red curtain; behind that, actually bricked
into the wall, was his bank box.

  Before we talked, he went to the box and stashed the takings from today’s auction. I knew his habits about money were methodical. He never opened the bank chest in front of the staff, let alone customers. I was treated differently-one of the few ways he acknowledged that I was family. In my presence he would quietly go to the box and unlock it with the key he kept round his neck on a thong, as if we two, like he and Festus, were in some sort of partnership. But it had only happened since my brother died.

  He dropped the curtain hastily as a lad came in bringing the usual galley tray of wine and bowls of almonds. ‘Hello, Falco!’ grinned the youth, seeing me leaning on a wall like a spare broom. Then he looked uneasy. None of the staff knew quite what to make of me. The first few times I came here I had refused to admit to any relationship; now they all knew I was the master’s son, but they could see I was not on the same easy terms as Festus. No one could blame them if they found that hard to understand; faced with my father, I felt confused myself.

  Since I was not a customer the lad seemed to have second thoughts about the refreshments, but Papa grabbed at the wine flask, so he left the tray with us. ‘That watch captain you know was looking for you, Falco! Some judge wants to interview you.’

  Surprised, I threw nuts down my throat too rapidly, then choked. Geminus assumed that knowing look of fathers, though waited for the boy to leave before he spoke: ‘Is this about the unpleasantness at Flora’s?’

  ‘Do I gather you know that dump?’

  I thought he gave me a wry look. The caupona was uncomfortably close to Mother’s. ‘I’ve been there a few times.’ Flora’s had only existed for ten or twelve years; it postdated Pa’s return from Capua. But Festus was always hanging round the place. Anyone who knew Festus was bound to have heard of it. ‘Helena told me you were being fingered. Sounds as if Petronius is about to step on your tail.’

  ‘He’s given me time,’ I assured him, like a man of the world who was merely threatened by a creditor who had made him a new cloak and unreasonably wanted payment.