Part 27 (1/2)

I HAD MANAGED not to laugh. Petronius Longus, less sensitive to the feelings of creative artists, let out a high-pitched snort.

As soon as Pisarchus made the embarra.s.sing admission, he relaxed somewhat. Though shame-faced, he apparently felt that now this was in the open he could return to dealing with us man-to-man.

'It happens,' Petronius Longus a.s.sured him with mock-gravity, making a sideswipe at me. 'Perfectly sane, normal types with whom you once thought you could safely go out for a drink, can suddenly turn aesthetic. You just have to hope they will see sense and grow out of it.'

'Ignore the enquiry chief,' I growled. Petro needed cutting down to size. I was still taking the lead in this interview. I would not reveal to Pisarchus that I myself scribbled poetry. It might put him right off. Instead, with plain-spoken questions I managed to squeeze out the truth of what had happened: on the day I first saw him he had been trying to ask Chrysippus to read some of his son's work. Less high-minded than me, Pisarchus had been quite prepared in principle to sh.e.l.l out the production costs, just to allow the son to see his writing formally copied and sold. But at the time (with his s.h.i.+ps stricken and the bank loans to repay), Pisarchus had been unable to afford the huge publication fee Chrysippus had demanded.

'I could have found the cash later, after my next cargoes are sold, but the fact is, my lad won't thank me. He is determined to do this by himself. When I cooled off, I knew I had better leave it right alone.'

'More to his credit. Is he any good?' I asked.

Pisarchus only shrugged. He did not know. Literature was a mystery. This was merely a whim of his youngest son's, over which he had wanted to be magnanimous. His main concern now was to clear himself: 'I was annoyed with Chrysippus. He owed me a favour or two after all the years I had banked with the Golden Horse, and allthe interest he has had from me. But when he said no, I just gave up the idea, Falco. That's the truth.'

'You didn't leave any scrolls with Chrysippus, I suppose? Samples of your boy's work?'

'I had none. Philomelus keeps things close. If I had asked to borrow a scroll he would have realised I was up to something.'

'Philomelus is your son's name?'

'Yes. My youngest, as I said.'

Petronius and I thanked the proud parent for his frankness; I think we were both impressed by him. We added our polite good wishes for his son. One of us, at least, hoped the poor beggar was not forced to climb yardarms if all he wanted was to write. Maybe he had talent. Maybe he not only had talent, but might one day be a success. His papa would be surprised. Having seen how the world of literature worked, unfortunately so would I. It was a world where mediocrity flourished and genius was too often left to die.

After Pisarchus left, we called it a day. Petro and I had been on the case since early morning when the corpse was found beneath the Probus Bridge. I told him Nothokleptes was trying to fmd out which enforcers Lucrio used for banking business. 'Watch yourself, Falco. Those types are treacherous.'

'Right. If I finger them, I'll let you and the lads discuss with them whether they happened to hang a historian last night!'

'A nice job for Sergius,' Petronius agreed. He raised his voice: 'Fancy mixing it with debt factors?'

'Not me,' replied Sergius instantly. 'Those b.u.g.g.e.rs are dangerous.'

He was normally fearless. That was worrying. Well, it would have been, if I thought I I had to tangle with them. Instead, I braced myself for something that most people would not think twice about, though I knew it could be hazardous: I went to see my mother. had to tangle with them. Instead, I braced myself for something that most people would not think twice about, though I knew it could be hazardous: I went to see my mother.

I didn't get far with that mad plan. Helena Justina had forestalled me. As I reached my mother's apartment block, I met Helena coming out. She gave me a stern look.

'Did you tackle her about this Anacrites rumour?'

'Certainly not. And she said nothing on the subject herself, Marcus. I just pa.s.sed on a discreet warning about the problems with the Aurelian Bank, and said she could speak to you if she wanted advice.'

'I'll go in then.' Helena produced a freezing stare. I stayed outside. 'All right - shall I at least warn Maia? She is in a very fragile condition,and someone ought to tell her that her trusted ”friend” may be a two-timing incestuous creep -'

'Don't approach either.' Helena was firm.

My half-hearted attempt at arguing was interrupted by one of Ma's tottering neighbours. They all tended to be decrepit, and this old chap must have been in his eighties. Bald and skinny, he was hooked over like a hairpin, though he clicked along on his walking stick quite spryly. Helena must have met him before because they exchanged greetings.

'h.e.l.lo, young lady. Is this Junilla Tacita's son?' he croaked seizing my hand for what pa.s.sed for a shake - more of a tremble, in reality.

'Yes, this is Marcus Didius.' Helena smiled. 'Marcus, this is Aristagoras, I believe.'

'That's right. She has a good memory - wish mine was still up to it. Pleased to meet you, my boy!' He was still twitching with my paw trapped in his. 'Your mother is a fine woman,' he told me - obviously one person who did not believe Ma was cosying up to her lodger, anyway.

We managed to shed him, though he seemed to want to cling. In the confusion, Helena distracted me from my original purpose and took me on the short walk home with her. 'I need to talk to you about those scrolls, Marcus.'

'Stuff the scrolls.'

'Don't be petty. I think you will be interested. Something you told me does not fit.'

I let myself be deflected. Fortune had given me a clear sign that saving my mother from infamy was not required today. Anacrites must have bribed some bored G.o.d in the heavenly pantheon.

I growled. Helena refused to be menaced by an informer parading as a mangy bear. 'So what's up with the nutty Greek novel, fruit?'

'I thought you told me Pa.s.sus was enthralled by what he was reading?'

'He could hardly tear himself away.' Except when he saw a chance to embarra.s.s me in the clutches of Vibia... I kept quiet about that.

'Well, Marcus, what you gave me must be different. It's quite, quite dreadful.'

'Oho! So is Pa.s.sus too easily pleased?'

Helena sounded doubtful. 'Different people like different content or writing styles. But I think he must be reading a story by some other writer than mine.'

'Mind you, some people will plod through anything... Pa.s.sus is anew boy to me. I don't know him well enough to appraise his reading tastes. But he seems sensible. Likes adventure yarns, he says. Plenty going on, and not too mushy with the love interest. Would that be too masculine for you, perhaps?'

'I can cope. Anyway, all these stories always have a very romantic view of life...' Helena paused. She liked to tease when I was being too serious. 'No, perhaps romance is more masculine. It's men who dream, and long for perfect women and ideal love affairs. Women know the opposite: that life is harsh, and mostly about clearing up the messes men create.'

'Now you sound like Ma.'

As she intended, she had managed to interest me. It was late afternoon, and we were strolling at ease now. The heat of the sun diminished as shadows lengthened, though the day was still bright. Occasional lock-up workshops started opening their shutters. Stallholders were sweeping up squashed figs and sluicing away fish-scales and scallopsh.e.l.ls.

'So what are we talking about here, sweetheart? Poetic dramas?'

'Prose.'

'Oh! Fluff and chaff, you mean.'

'Not at all. Well-written escapism that keeps you, the reader, unrolling the scroll even when your oil-lamp is failing and you are stricken with a crick in your back.'

'Or until you nod off and set fire to your bed?'

'With the best,' Helena reproved me, 'you cannot bear to nod off until you finish them.'

'Are silly stories ever that gripping?'