ODE TO A BANKER

`Since enhancing his reputation is one reason for an author to publish, I regard major reworking by others as hypocrisy.'

`Did you and Chrysippus have disagreements?'

`Not violent ones.' Euschemon smiled, aware of my reasoning. `There are more sinister crimes,' I decided, though I did agree with

him. `The public might feel cheated, if they knew.'

`Misled they may be sometimes,' Euschemon said. `But we can't accuse the disappointed reading public of killing a publisher for it.'

I felt the joke was out of place. `While you're helping me,

Euschemon, can you tell me – does a copying house receive large quantities of unpublishable work?'

Euschemon threw up his hands. 'Cartloads. We could build a new Alp for Hannibal from our slush pile – complete with several model elephants.'

`Your "slush pile" is mainly rejects – how do the authors generally take it?'

`They either slink off silently – or they protest at enormous length., 'No point in that, presumably?'

`Decisions are rarely reversed.'

`What could change a publisher's attitude?'

Euschemon was wearing his satirical expression now. `Hearing that a rival business was interested would bring about a rapid rethink.'

I smiled, equally dryly. `Or?'

`I suppose for the right author, acceptance could be bought.'

`Io! Do publishers sell works in which they don't believe?'

'Hah! All the time, Falco. A bad book by a known name, or a book by a personal friend, for instance.'

`Does it ever work the other way? Discouraging a good author, who might otherwise be a rival to some dud they do choose to patronise?'

Euschemon smiled wryly.

I tackled Pacuvius again. `Back to these scrolls – when you came here that fateful day, was the revised effort a subject you and Chrysippus discussed?'

`Yes. First, I had the usual sordid tussle about whether he would pay a fee for my wasted work. He wanted me to continue the rewrites; I insisted it was worthless to try. At last we agreed that I had done all I could with the material, which he would be using for oven fuel. He should have burnt it before involving me. He was a temperamental idiot. With no taste, as Turius has always said. I simply could not understand why Chrysippus was so determined to make something of this yarn.'

`Did you know who had written it?'

Scrutator looked uneasy. `I was never told directly.'

`But you had your own idea? One last question. Pacuvius, why were you so reluctant to be sent to Pisarchus' villa as a poet in residence? Was it only because you resented the brutal way you were ordered to go?'

`I knew Pisarchus' son wrote adventures. He had mentioned it at the popina. I had a feeling this unfortunate story might be by him.' Scrutator looked at the shipper and Philomelus apologetically. `I thought Chrysippus was sending me to Praeneste so I could be nagged into more editing. I couldn't face that, I'm afraid.'

`Thanks,' I said. To Aelianus on the dividing doors, I then called, `Will you bring in the witness from the Temple of Minerva, Aulus, please?'

LVII

IF ANYBODY was surprised to see my witness, nobody gave a sign of it.

`Thank you for attending. I apologise for the long wait. We are in the final stages of a murder enquiry, but please don't be alarmed.

I would like you to confine yourself to answering the exact questions I ask. You are a member of the Scribes' and Actors' Guild?'

`Yes,' answered Blitis, my contact from last night. `Do you recognise any other members here?' `Yes, and -'

`Thank you!' I stepped in quickly. `Just answer the questions, please. I understand that a writers' group meets regularly at the Temple of Minerva to discuss their work-in-progress. The member whom you recognise here has done that?'

`Yes.' `Often?' `Yes.'

`Has the group ever discussed an adventure tale called something like Zisimilla and Magarone?'

'Er – yes.' Blitis looked slightly embarrassed.

`Relax,' I grinned. `I shall not ask for an unfettered review of it.' He looked relieved. `We have already had that.' He looked embarrassed again. `It is by someone in this room, am I right?'

`Yes, Falco.'

`A technical detail – when you heard this poor work being read at the Temple, did you see the scrolls? I am wondering specifically if it had a title page?'

`I seem to remember that it did.'

`Thanks. Just sit on the bench at the back, will you?' There was room next to the vigiles. All my witnesses would be put safely there now.

I paced down the floor, crossing the rug on the centre mosaic, like a barrister thinking up his concluding remarks as the last water clock ran out and his talk-time expired.

`In any murder enquiry, what we need is actual evidence. One of the first problems in this case was that nobody seems to have seen the killer straight after the crime. We know he must have been heavily bloodstained, yet we never found his clothes. Other items from the scene were missing too: part of the scroll rod that was a murder weapon and, of course, the title page of the manuscript Chrysippus had been reading.'