ODE TO A BANKER

Well,' I said, looking as if I disapproved, `there are new laws against hot food stalls, but I suppose a cold bite taken at midday cannot do much harm.' Helena or Petronius would have doubled up laughing at my sanctimonious attitude. `So! You are Turius.' Said with the right tone of distasteful surprise, that always suggests you know something.

As I hoped, he looked torn between a desire to be famous and terror that I possessed secrets. That he featured in secrets, I felt sure. Instinct only – but I trusted mine.

`Do you have a praenomen?' I was scribbling at my notes as if creating a prosecution brief for the magistrate.

`Tiberius.'

`Tiberius Turius!' That sounded good and ridiculous. `I'm Falco.' Obviously tougher.

Before I could ask, `What's your line, Turius?' he told me anyway. `I am devising rules for the ideal society.' Yes, Avienus had informed him what my questions would be. I raised my eyebrows without comment. He grew faintly embarrassed. `Plato's Republic for modem times.'

`Plato,' I remarked. `He excluded women, am I right?' Turius was trying to decide whether I approved of this fine patriarchal stance. If he could have seen the women in my life dealing with me, he would not have puzzled over the issue for long.

`There was more to it than that,' he answered cautiously.

`I bet!' Just when he thought he could engage in a critical discussion, I swept Plato aside brutishly. `So what does your treatise have to say? Finished it yet?'

'Er – most of it is sketched out.'

`Lot of writing-up to do?'

`I have not been too well -'

`Bad back? Migraine? Face ache? Piles?' I rapped out unsympathetically. I stopped just before saying, `Terminal desire to bore people silly?'

`I suffer from attacks -'

`Don't tell me. I feel queasy hearing about other people's ailments.' I assessed how robust he looked, then made a swift stroke with the stylus. `How did Chrysippus feel about your poor health, Turius?'

`He was always understanding -'

`Gave you a blast, you mean?'

`No -'

`What sort of terms were you on with him?'

`Good, always good!'

I pretended I was about to comment, then said nothing.

Turius looked down at his natty footgear. He clammed up, but I left him to it and eventually could not bear the silence. `He could be difficult to work with.' I just listened. Turius learned fast, however. He too looked as if he was about to continue – then bit it back.

After a moment, I leaned forwards and applied my sympathetic persona. `Tell me about Chrysippus as an artistic patron.'

His eyes met mine, warily. `How do you mean, Falco?'

`Well – what did you do for him; what did he do for you?'

Alarm flashed. Turius thought I was hinting at immoral practices. I reckoned Chrysippus had had enough trouble with Vibia and Lysa, but it showed how Turius' mind worked.

I stuck to commercial reality: `He possessed the money and you had the talent – does that make for an equal partnership? Will this artist/patron relationship be a feature of the ideal political state that you describe in your great work?'

'Hah!' Turius exploded with bitter mirth. `I am not allowing slavery!'

`Enlightening – and intriguing. Give, Turius.'

`His patronage was not a partnership, just exploitation. Chrysippus treated his clients like slabs of meat.'

`Men of intellect and creativity? How could he do that?' `We need funds to live.'

`And?'

`Can't you feel the tension around here, Falco? We hoped to obtain the freedom to carry on our intellectual work, freed from financial worry. He saw us as paid labourers.'

`So he thought giving financial support put him in complete charge? Meanwhile his writers were striving for an independence that he refused to give. What were the problems practically? Did he try to influence what you wrote?'

`Of course.' Turius had not finished his burst of rancour. `He reckoned he published our stuff, so that was our reward. We had to do what he said. I would not have minded but Chrysippus was a lousy critic. Even his manager had better judgement of what would sell.'

He looked as if he was intending a long rant so I interrupted. `Any other bad points?'

You would have to ask the others.'

`Oh I will. You hated being bullied over what you could write; was that a bone of contention between you yesterday?' `There was no contention.'

I put down my note-tablet, implying I was too annoyed even to write down his answer. `Oh come on, Turius! I already heard a sweet little lullaby from Avienus. Don't expect me to believe that none of you was wrangling with the patron over any damned thing. Grow up. This is a murder scene and I have a killer to catch.'

`We are all watching with great interest,' he sneered.