ODE TO A BANKER

Who was joking? Camillus Aelianus was a twenty-five-year-old patrician who had never had-to negotiate a delicate social situation in his life.

Aelianus went off alone, with a list of addresses. I had to provide him with a note-tablet; I told him to bring his own next time. At the last minute, he thought of asking me if this was likely to be dangerous. I said I did not know – then advised him to take up self-defence lessons at his gymnasium. Always one for wearing scowls, he grew even more sullen when I reminded him it was illegal to go armed in Rome.

`So what do I do if I'm in trouble?'

`Back off. If it becomes unavoidable, you can hit people – ideally, just before they hit you. But try to remember that any ugly characters you meet may be friends of mine.'

He was bound to wreak havoc. I was content to let him. Firstly, he thought he knew it all; making mistakes was the only way he would ever learn. And secondly, havoc always comes in useful when a case is stuck.

`I suppose if trouble arises, you will just blame me anyway, Falco?' Helena's dear brother was brighter than I had feared.

I assigned my apprentice the straightforward clients. Unknown to him, I was out there myself nosing around the names I thought looked tricky.

We worked on the debtors and creditors for a few weeks. Meanwhile, Petronius had formally requested the responsible vigiles cohorts in the Forum environs to look out for Pisarchus. The month changed. That August was stifling. I had to explain to Aelianus that only honest men and career criminals stopped for holidays. In our twilight world, we kept going. At best, people would be so surprised to see us, we might catch them off guard. At worst, like the shipper Pisarchus, they would be off and unobtainable at some fern-shaded retreat.

`I don't mind a trip to Praeneste,' my junior offered hopefully. I ignored him. He was too new to be told that the jaunts were mine, while the learner minded the shop. You have to ensure that a young person, faced with life's inequalities, does not lose heart.

We had found nothing. We had to admit we had no real idea what to look for. I marked up Praeneste on a road map in a desultory way, none too keen to undertake the journey in hot weather. I knew Petro would be unable to find the cost of transport, since it lay outside his jurisdiction. Rubella would love to jump on such a breach of the rules.

Anyway, if I had to go outside the city, I would from choice be at Tibur, where I possessed a farm and needed to check on its new tenant. No chance! Informers are not supposed to have a private life. `Is this a waste of time, Falco?'

`Most of this job is a waste of time, Aulus.' `Why do we bother then?'

`For the tiny scrap of information that solves everything.' If and

when we found it, we were unlikely even to recognise what it was. Almost collapsing in the heat and thoroughly depressed, we were

still waiting to discover any helpful clue when my dog started having her pups.

Nux had been making strange nests for a while. She had chosen me as a master; it was her mistake, but as with women, that made me feel responsible. I had been expecting the birth for some days, but we could not be sure which of her horrible suitors had fathered the pups – or when it occurred.

As soon as Helena sent me word that things were happening, I rushed back home, meeting my young nephew Marius on the stairs. After some comment from Helena that I was better at attending the dog's labour than I had been about the birth of my own daughter, Marius and I crouched alongside, while Nux struggled to deliver. She was having problems.

`Uncle Marcus, it is hopeless!' Marius was frantic. So was I, though I could not show it. He was nine; I was thirty-three. Besides, Helena was listening. `Stuff this for a game of soldiers!' he roared. Marius had been working at Pa's warehouse. His language had deteriorated sadly. `There's a friend of my father's who keeps dogs; I'm going to get him.'

So Marius hared off and returned with a bemused horse-vet from the Greens. This man was a typical friend of Famia's – vague, dozy and sinister. He did have more application than my departed brother-inlaw; he grunted and muttered, then while Marius and I clung together unable to watch, he eventually helped Nux to whelp a single, absolutely enormous pup.

`It's a dog.'

`A boy – he's mine!' screamed Marius determinedly. The horse-vet and I surreptitiously worked on the creature, trying not to let Marius realise the imminent tragedy: the puppy was lifeless. Marius was told to look after Nux. The animal doctor sighed. My heart sank. I presumed he meant it was all over.