ODE TO A BANKER

Helena answered with relish: `According to Pacuvius – who may be lying for theatrical effect, of course – Turius was much more forceful than that. He proclaimed in public that Chrysippus was a devious philandering foreigner, who would have rejected Homer's manuscripts because a blind man would be a menace at public readings, and would need a costly amanuensis to take dictation.'

`A feud! I love it!' I guffawed.

Helena's eyes sought mine, brown and bright, enjoying my delight in her story. `Then – still according to Pacuvius, who seemed rather carried away by all this – Turius raged that Chrysippus was so lacking in critical discernment he would have insisted Helen of Troy be seen constantly naked in the Iliad; he would have censored the love between Achilles and Patroclus in case the aediles sent him into exile for inflaming immorality; and in the Odyssey he would have demanded that the heart-rending death scene of Odysseus' poor old dog be cut as mere padding.'

We all winced.

I divided a small sausage between us with a sharp knife. `Did Chrysippus know Turius had been so rude?'

`They all think so.'

`Thrills! Was there a fight? Any suggestion of violence?'

`No. Nobody thinks Turius can even find the energy to blow his nose, despite the sniffles.'

`Oh, but Chrysippus must have been furious – he might have picked a fight.' And Turius might have feebly run away. `So what does Pacuvius think of Turius and his lively opinions?'

`Watery approval – but he keeps his mouth shut. As a satirist, he is a hypocrite.'

`Aren't they always? Anything else you found out?'

`Hardly anything,' Helena said offhandedly. That meant there was. `The epic poet hits the amphora too often, and it's said that the successful playwright does not write his plays himself.'

I shook my head, then grinned at her. `Nothing to go on at all, in fact!'

XXIV

A GOOD PICTURE of jealousies and quarrels was building. I always like a case with a crowd of seething suspects; I allowed myself to enjoy lunch.

When the conversation turned to family matters, Maia told me she had been to see Pa. Although she had investigated his situation at the warehouse, she had not come out and directly offered help. `You tackle him. You and Helena know him better than I do. Anyway, it's you two who want me to do this…'

She was prevaricating. Helena and I took her back to the Saepta Julia straight after we had eaten.

We found my father frowning over a pile of what looked like bills. He was perfectly able to deal with his financial affairs; he was shrewd and snappily numerate. Once he had found a basket of odd pots and finials to keep Julia happy, I put it to him bluntly that he seemed to have lost the will to keep his daily records, and that he would be doing my sister a favour if he allowed her – and paid her – to become his secretary.

`There's nothing to it,' Pa avowed, trying to minimise the salary. `It does not need keeping up every day -'

`I thought all business deals were supposed to be recorded in a daybook,' I said.

`That doesn't mean you have to write them up the same day they happen.' Pa looked at me as if I were simple. `Do you write your expenses on a tablet the minute you pay out a witness bribe?'

`Of course. I am a methodical consultant.'

`Pigs' pizzle. Besides, son, just because I can, when challenged, produce a daybook looking all neat and innocent, doesn't mean it has to be correct.'

Maia shot him a look; that was about to change smartly around this office.

Despite this difference in ethics between them, we settled the matter easily. Like most arrangements that appear fraught with problems, once

tackled, its difficulties evaporated. Straight away Maia began to explore and soon extracted a pile of accounting notes from under Pa's stool. I had seen how she kept her own household budget; I knew she would cope. She herself obviously felt nervous. While she sat down to get the hang of our father's systems, which he had devised especially to bamboozle others, Helena and I stayed to distract the suspicious proprietor from overseeing Maia so closely he would put her off.

`Who do you bank with, Pa??

'Mind your own business!' he retorted instinctively.

'Typical!'

`Juno,' Helena muttered. `Grow up, you two. Didius Favonius, your son has no designs on your moneychests. This is just an enquiry related to his work.'

Pa perked up, always eager to put his nose into anything technical of mine. `What's that then?'

`A banker has been killed. Chrysippus. Ever come across his agent, Lucrio, at the Aurelian Bank?'

Pa nodded. `I know a few people who use him.'

`Given the prices you extract at auction, I'm not surprised buyers have to get financial help.' Pa looked proud to be called an extortioner. `I hear he specialises in loans.'

`This Aurelian outfit going down, then?' Pa demanded, ever anxious to be first with gossip.

`Not that I know.'

`I'll put the word around.'