Deadly Election

19

‘I do not believe this!’

Taking a breather, Gornia mopped his brow. ‘I know. It did seem too good to be true.’

‘What happened?’

‘Defaulter.’

‘The bulgy man in the puce tunic? I don’t understand it. He’d been hanging about all day waiting for his chance to bid, hoping no one else would have a go.’

‘I wish they had. I wish we’d had a good underbidder that I could drag this bloody thing along to … In fact I’m ready to give it away.’ Gornia was bitter. ‘Buyers have to see the docket boy. Everyone knows the routine. He never even tried to complete. Must have waved his hand and made his bid, then scarpered. Strolled off straight out of the porticus. No money, no delivery instruction, and a no-show this morning. It happens,’ the unhappy old fellow told me, trying to defend the situation. ‘We were all so tired, nobody saw it. Your pa will understand.’

‘My pa will get on to him about it, surely – assuming we know who he is?’

‘Falco won’t bother. No point, not if he really made up his mind he didn’t want it. Once they’ve gone off the scene, we don’t usually chase them. He’ll never pay. We still have the goods. We’ll just sell the thing next time.’

‘And do we know?’ I insisted. ‘Do we know who Puce Tunic is?’

‘Absolutely no idea,’ said Gornia flatly. ‘Never seen the swine before.’

He gave The Boy with a Thorn a kick, then went back up on his stand to try to sell Ursa, the seven-times-attempted mouldy bear.

However, half our staff had been listening in. They love to watch an upset. ‘Puce Tunic was talking to that other one,’ the money-clerk told me, taking a break from his lunch. ‘That skinny one. Him who bought the strongbox.’ Titus Niger.

Gornia brought down his gavel on a no-sale for the stuffed bear. He leaned down from his box. ‘And that’s another thing, Flavia Albia. We had a bad day yesterday – the skinny man still has not sent his banker’s draft. Looks like the old Callistus chest is staying with us, too. It’s lunchtime. We’re never going to see him bring a purse now.’

I sighed. ‘I suppose you are going to tell me this is what comes of holding auctions in July.’ I spoke mildly. I had no wish to offend Gornia.

‘Bad payers don’t care. It’s bloody ridiculous,’ he snarled back. He seemed a sweet old fellow, but he had a furious side. ‘I’d like to know what’s going on – what games are these jokers playing?’

I thought it felt more complex than games. I was suspicious of two defaulting buyers talking to each other. Were they really unconnected, or was this a concerted scam? Anything involving the chest seemed significant, while the puce-attired man had looked dodgy from the off – and not just in his taste for tunic dye. If he and the Callistus negotiator knew one another, that certainly caught my attention.

‘I always thought The Boy with the Thorn was ours for keeps. The strongbox is really outrageous, though,’ Gornia raved. ‘I had good bids on that.’

Neither of the no-shows was our fault. You conduct your sale as best you can, then there has to be trust between auctioneer and bidder. Defaulters are a menace; if feasible, you ban them from attending again. Rome has a tradition of allowing goods to go home with people on credit, but shrewd auctioneers don’t allow it. Too many strangers. Too many peculiar buyers.

I still felt I was the family representative. I said I would go to see the Callisti and, if I could not discover what was going on, at least I would give our clients some colourful language.

‘Now you be careful!’ Gornia had heard me before when I sounded off. He sent a porter with me, Lappius. The large one. The Callisti were used to taking the lead in their business affairs. They were not used to anyone arguing. Especially anyone like me.

First, though, I went to see their skinny agent. He, unlike Puce Tunic, had foolishly left us an address.