Poseidon_s Gold

XXXVI

I assumed an expression of Roman steadfastness and calm.

'What's up, son? Fly gone up your nose?'

'I'm staying detached.'

'You can't. You're in this-up to your neck.'

'I'll abdicate.'

'Afraid not,' he confessed. For once he looked guilty. 'Not possible.'

This was ridiculous. Marponius was going to be planning a new trial list soon; I should have been back at Ostia seeking to clear my name.

No, I shouldn't have been in this mess at all. I should have been living with my beloved in some peaceful villa in the country where my worst concern was whether to spend the morning catching up on my correspondence, or peel an apple for Helena, or go out and inspect the vines.

'You look upset, son.'

'Believe me, even before this news I was not exactly overflowing with Saturnalian jollity!'

'You're a Stoic' I knew my father had no time for any flavour of philosophy. A typical Roman prejudice, based on the simple concept that thought is a threat.

I blew out my cheeks in irritation. 'Let me struggle to understand what is happening. You know some violent people who have a long-standing grievance, and they have just been told by you that I'm the person they want to tackle about their debt? So good-mannered of you to warn me, Didius Geminus! Such fatherly respect!'

'You'll dodge out of it.'

'I hope so! After I've dealt with any inconvenience from the auction-busters, I'll be looking for somebody else to attack. I advise you to start getting nippy yourself.'

'Show some piety,' complained my father. 'Show some parental reverence!'

'Cobnuts!' I said.

We were both breathing heavily. The situation felt unreal. Once, I had vowed I would never speak to my father again. Now here I was, sitting in his office with curious Egyptian gods peering over my shoulder from some inconsequential red and yellow furniture, while I let him lumber me with Hercules knows what troubles.

'Was your roughing-up arranged by the legionaries?'

'No,' said Pa. He sounded pretty definite.

'So it's unconnected with the death of Censorinus?'

'As far as I can see. Are you going to help out?'

I swore, not bothering to keep it under my breath. If I had stuck to my contempt for him, I could have avoided this. I ought to walk out now.

Yet there was only one answer to give him. 'If you're having a problem, naturally I'll help.'

'You're a good boy!' Geminus smirked complacently.

'I'm a good informer.' I kept my tone low and my temper cool. 'You need a professional for this sort of work.'

'So you'll do the job?'

'I'll do the job, but while I'm trying to save my neck on the other count I can't spare much time to dabble in auction fraud.' He must have known what was coming even before I dished it up: 'If I break into my schedule to do you a favour, you'll have to pay me at top rates.'

My father leaned back and stared at the ceiling in momentary disbelief. 'He's not mine!'

Unluckily for both of us, I certainly was.

'If you don't like it,' I mocked, 'you have a father's usual remedy. Go ahead-disinherit me!'

There was a shifty pause. In fact I had no idea what would happen, on my father's death, to the proceeds of his long auctioneering career. Knowing him, he had not addressed the issue. So that was another mess for me to sort out one day. If only to avoid it, I did my duty mentally and wished him a long life.

'I gather you're short of collateral?' he smiled, immediately all smoothness again. He passed a weary hand through those uncombed grey curls. 'Ah well, what are fathers for?' More than I ever got from this one. 'I'll hire you if that seems to be the form. What are these rates we hear so much about?' I told him, making a quick calculation and trebling them. (Well, he wanted me to get married.) He whistled in outrage. 'No wonder you never have any clients. Your charges are deplorable!'

'No worse than the auction percentage-and I work a lot harder for my wages. All you have to do is bawl loudly and bluff people. Informers need brains, bodyweight, and a gripping business sense.'

'And too much cheek!' he commented.

'So that's a contract,' I said.

Whatever it was we were clinching had yet to be revealed. That did not bother me. Shyness was usual among my clients. The inquisition of the prospective customer was the first part of any job I ever did, and usually the trickiest. Compared to that, asking questions of mere villains, cheats and bullies was easy labour.

Pa poured himself more wine. 'Drink on it?'

'I'll keep sober if I'm working.'

'You sound like a prig.'

'I sound like a man who stays alive.' I reached out and grasped his wrist, preventing him from lifting the cup. 'Now tell me what the job is.'

'You aren't going to care for it!' he assured me contentedly.

'I'll deal with my emotions. Now feel free to elaborate!'

'I should never have got you into this.'

'Agreed. You should have shown restraint when those bastards were applying their boots to the apples of your Hesperides-' I was losing my temper (yet again). 'What's the wrinkle, Pa?'

Finally he told me, though even then extracting the details was like squeezing olives through a jammed press.

'This is how it is. Things take time in the fine-art world. When people are commissioning creative works, they don't expect quick deliveries, so the fashion is to let problems ride.'

'How long ago did this marathon start?'

'Couple of years. I received an enquiry; I put the people off. I said it wasn't my problem; they didn't believe me. This year they must have remembered to do something about it, and they came back. More insistent.'

I was grinding my teeth. 'More aware, you mean, that they were losing cash? On whatever it is,' I added, though I knew.

'Exactly. They became aggressive, so I threw my javelin.'

'In a manner of speaking?'

'Well I told them to push off.'

'With spicy phraseology?'

Lindsey Davis

Poseidon's Gold

'They might have thought so.'

'Jove! Then what?'

'It went quiet for a bit. Next the auctions were invaded. Last night it was the warehouse-and me, of course.'

'You may have been lucky last night. Read the dead sheep's liver, Pa. If these people are not soon satisfied, somebody may end up damaged even more severely. From what you mentioned earlier, these bruisers may bash me?'

'You're tough.'

'I'm not a demigod! And actually, I don't enjoy spending my life looking over one shoulder for large types with nails in their cudgels who want to practise hunt-the-decoy through the streets.'

'They don't want bloodshed.'

'Thanks for the reassurance, and tell that to your kicked ribs! I'm not convinced. There was a dead soldier at Flora's Caupona who may have inadvertently stepped in these people's way. That worries me-'

'It worries me,' cried my father. 'If you're right, there was no need for that!'

'I'd rather not have people standing round a pyre next week saying the same thing over me! In a minute I'm going to start demanding names from you-but first I have a crucial question, Father.' He looked pained at my tone, as if I were being insensitive. I forced myself to keep my voice level. 'Just tell me: does this problem of yours have anything to do with big brother Festus and his missing Phidias?'

Our father found an expression of amazement from his skilled repertoire. 'However did you realise that?'

I closed my eyes. 'Let's stop acting the farce, shall we? Just come clean!'

'It's quite simple,' Pa acquiesced. 'The people who want to talk to you are called Cassius Carus and Ummidia Servia. A couple. They don't socialise in a vulgar way, but in the trade they regard themselves as persons of influence. They have a big house with a private art gallery, nice place off the Via Flaminia. They collect statues. They had been lined up by Festus to acquire his Poseidon.'

I was already groaning. 'How closely lined up?'

'As tight as they could be.'

'And persons of influence don't like to be diddled?'

'No. Especially if they intend to go on collecting-which carries some risks, as you know. People want a reputation. They don't like their mistakes to be publicly known.'

I asked, 'Were they diddled?'

'I reckon they think so. Carus and Servia were certainly expecting to receive the property. But then Festus lost his ship, so he failed to deliver it.'

'Had they actually paid for the goods?'

'Afraid so.'

I pulled a face. 'Then they were definitely diddled-and we are rightly being chased. How much-if it's not a saucy question-are we two honest brokers being asked to find?'

'Oh… call it half a million,' muttered Pa.