ODE TO A BANKER

`Looks horrible.' Maia was right. Petronius had a good body, but the giant must have wanted to hurt him before choking out his life. It would account for some of the noise Marius had heard. Maia squinted disapprovingly at the marbled black and purple results. Petro breathed in, showing off to her how he always kept in shape; her lip curled. `You'll have to stop chasing the women. A few well-positioned cuts might have made you look romantic but that's just ugly.'

`I'll stop chasing when I catch the right one,' said Petronius, gazing into his hot drink. Steam, comfortingly infused with honey and watered wine, wreathed around his battered face. He looked tired and still in shock, but his brown hair stood up boyishly.

`Really?' asked Maia, with a light disbelieving inflexion.

`Really.' Petro looked up suddenly with a faint smile that implied – well, maybe nothing at all.

We were all sitting subdued and silent when we were joined by Fusculus. He gazed around as if the atmosphere made him fear the worst, then weighed up his chiefs wounds with routine expertise. As a courtesy, he pulled a face. `Nice ornaments!'

`Pretty effect, eh? It was close. Still, we're not booking a funeral. What's new?' Fusculus tossed a glance towards Maia. Suspicion mingled with masculine interest. Petronius said briefly, `Falco's sister. You can speak.'

Now Fusculus was taking a better look at him, after noticing that Petro's throat was so sore it was limiting his speech. `It's true? The bastard tried to strangle you…?'

`I'm all right.'

`Well, chief, I do have something to report. We know who he is. The description was easy enough to put around. He was a serious heavy, known as Bos. Built like a fighting bull -'

'We know that,' I commented.

Fusculus grinned. `Rumour says you two tossed him over a balcony?'

`Very gently.'

`Accomplished with perfect etiquette? Well, Bos had a huge reputation. Nobody but you two crazymen would have dared tackle him. If you go down to the Forum today, you'll be treated like demigods -'

T

hat was his status?' interrupted Petronius.

`Brute-for-hire. Leaning on people. Squashing those who refused to co-operate. Mostly he just had to arrive on the doorstep and they gave up.'

You surprise me!'

Who used to hire him?' I asked Fusculus intently.

Racketeers, rent-hungry landlords – and you guessed it: defaultedon moneymen.,

`Particular clients?'

`Often a set of debt-collectors called the Ritusii. Harsh and hardhearted. Known for their tough methods and subtle hints of unacceptable violence.'

`Wrong side of the law?'

`No,' said Fusculus dryly. `In their field, they make the law. They are never sued for compensation. Nobody lodges complaints.'

Petronius stretched awkwardly. `I think I might make one.'

`Can we prove Bos was sent here by the Ritusii? Doubtful,' I reminded him. `Neither they nor Lucrio will admit a connection; banks aren't supposed to use enforcers, for one thing. They made a bad mistake, attacking a vigiles officer – but they are unlikely to admit they sent Bos to hurt you.'

`They do know we suspect it,' Fusculus told us. `A report had to go to the Prefect.' Petronius choked with annoyance. He had wanted to settle this in his own way. Still, he did not insist on knowing which over-hasty member of the cohort had made the report in his absence. `The Prefect sent a detachment to pull their place apart.'

`Oh good thinking! Find anything?' I scoffed sarcastically.

`What do you think?'

Petronius said nothing. Maia removed his empty beaker, which he seemed about to drop.

`Do these Ritusii hardmen openly work for Lucrio and the Aurelian Bank?' I demanded.

`Not openly,' said Fusculus. Then an expectant grin stretched across his face. He had something to tell us and wanted to see us react. `Anyway, Falco, less business will be coming their way from that direction now the Aurelian Bank has been inundated with; scared clients wanting to withdraw their funds. Lucrio froze all accounts this morning and called in specialist liquidators. The bank has crashed.'

I helped Petro limp back to the reading couch, where he subsided drowsily.

`Can you look after yourself?'

`I'm in the hands of a lovely nurse,' he whispered with a husky pretence at secrecy. It was the traditional male response to being trapped in a sickbed. You have to play the game.

`Helena will be back any minute,' Maia retorted, whisking out of the room with a vigorous yank at her skirts.

I covered him over. `Stop flirting with my sister. You may be the demigod who disposed of the giant Bos – but there's a queue for Maia. Don't risk your neck with Anacrites. That man is far too dangerous.'

I meant it. It would be bad enough if the Chief Spy made any headway with my sister, but if he did and she ever decided to dump him, it would threaten all our family. He had power. He controlled sinister resources, and he made a spiteful enemy. It was time all of us remembered Anacrites had a darker side.