Lindsey Davis - Deadly Election

‘You don’t need the ones we expect to disappear?’

‘No point. Your flight-risk bankrupts will have planned their exile – besides, they will come sneaking back, once they get tired of hiding on Greek islands. This man has met a surprise fate, I believe. I have no clue to his identity. He could be anybody. Even, in fact, a banker.’

‘Flavia Albia, if a banker goes missing, everyone will know.’

‘Yes, you’re right. Cheers would resound from here to Tusculum.’

Junior was insulted too often to react. ‘I have been eagerly waiting for your proceeds from the Callistus sale, Flavia Albia, but who will bid, when the goods are contaminated?’

‘Fear not. Our staff say close contact with a corpse brings added value.’

He cheered up. ‘So, any plans to have a body in every sale?’

‘No. Restraint, Notho, is the motto of our house. Anyway, the market is too volatile – you can never get hold of a good gloopy cadaver at the right moment.’

He blenched. Changing the subject as a courtesy, I asked what he knew about the men standing for aedile. Even though Uncle Petro called him useless, he knew quite a lot. I obtained the names of all their bankers, plus confirmation that Dillius Surus had inherited the best wine cellar in Rome but it was now known to be empty, due to his diligent testing of vintages. ‘It doesn’t matter. He married a rich woman. Terentia wants to be the wife of a magistrate so, until he is one, she will humour him.’

‘Into his grave, by the sound of it.’

‘Could be her plan. They reckon he is about two days away from seeing eight-foot rats climbing walls. She’ll find a new husband easily. Horrible woman, but she has exceedingly pretty investments. I’d love to acquire a client with such placement in Baetican olive oil and shipping squid-in-brine. Her broker is a magician, even though his armpits are hairy and his feet stink … Which of the fine upstanding bastards are you working for, Flavia Albia?’

‘Vibius Marinus.’

‘Handsome lad? Are you trying to get him into bed?’

‘Notho, my father would kill me if I went to bed with a magistrate.’ Well, only if he found out. ‘No, his agent has employed me to dig dirt on the others.’

‘Oh, you’re going for easy labour, these days?’ We laughed. ‘What have you turned up so far?’

‘After one morning’s work and picking your brains, I think they are all unspeakable.’

Notho made an Egyptian gesture of amazement. ‘Even your client? Mind you, Falco’s customers were never up to much and I haven’t noticed you choosing better. You want to start earning real money and build up some decent savings, Albia, or you’ll never attract a new husband.’

‘I want one who thinks I have a wonderful mind.’

‘That’s why you have been single for the past ten years.’ Notho was wrong. I could have been married. I simply preferred to keep looking for a man whose habits and personality did not fill me with rage. ‘Marinus, you say … I still fail to place him, Albia. Is he the wife-beater?’

‘I hope not!’

‘Well, somebody mentioned that one of them is. I forget exactly. Maybe it’s Marinus whose dog bit a priestess of Isis. And on her birthday, poor slut! The word is, she ended up with gangrene and has only days to live.’

‘Ooh − lovely details. Thanks for that, Nothokleptes. I’ll trace the dog and ask for his side of the story …’

Notho went on to say I had been misled about Dillius Surus suing his grandfather (the sick man who would not live to see justice); Notho claimed that was Trebonius Fulvo, one of the bullies. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Hard-arse who does weight-training? My cousin has the grandfather’s account. It was all he could talk of last Saturnalia.’

‘Thanks again, then … May I ask whom the banking fraternity have decided to support? I presume you have put your heads together and chosen your favourite?’

‘Trebonius and Arulenus.’

‘Surely not! They look like dangerous men.’

‘Exactly.’ Notho Junior was unrepentant. ‘Looks are not everything – though Arulenus would do well to get that eye fixed. Weird appearance puts people off more than he thinks. But we cannot be complacent, Flavia Albia. These men are tough. They know how to govern. Firm hands on the tiller, that is what Rome needs. Not whimpering simpletons who will fail to collect any fines.’

Ah! Bankers would be involved in investing fines income – or even, when some aedile believed public office existed to help him amass bribes, they would launder the money. Either entailed fees for them.

Trebonius and Arulenus were perfect for bankers. Apparently they gave legendary dinners for their supporters and had promised they would change the law to allow higher interest rates.

They looked unbeatable. But were usury laws even in the aediles’ remit? I would consult Faustus. If not, Vibius Marinus could gain ground by announcing that his rivals not only sued their granddads and cheated on their fancy women but made impossible promises. Shocking!

All right. I am not that naïve. But if he accused them of lying, everyone would believe it. The rivals would never sue him; defamation had to diminish the plaintiff’s reputation. Nobody would think any the less of Trebonius and Arulenus for the customary sin of fibbing.

There were probably no votes in this. But Vibius Marinus would look like a man who was enticingly outspoken. Rash claims about opponents can only help.

Slander was promising, but sleaze would be better. I must try to find some.

Talking to your own banker is hard, but it’s nothing like trying to squeeze information from somebody else’s. Juno, you might almost imagine that bankers are bound by confidentiality rules. This cannot be true. My father has many tales of ravenous creditors learning exactly when he had a few denarii – information only his banker could provide.

Yet they are picky who they speak to. Do you, an ordinary person, desire to check whether someone is creditworthy? Ask their tailor or their fishmonger. Their banker will never help, not even if the person in question owns vast unmortgaged estates and squillions in a strongbox in the Forum – no, not even if he wants you to believe he is sound so has himself given you his banker’s name as a guarantee.

To tell the truth, if someone offers his banker as a reference, all the investigators in my family assume he has prepaid the banker to lie.

Nothokleptes and Nothokleptes certainly counted fake credit ratings as a service they provided. Rates were in their business prospectus. It came in cheaper than them sending bail money to get you out of prison. If you pleaded for that, the bastards charged a sky-high fee. Best of all for the Nothos was producing a witness statement in a claim for divorce − which they did pro bono because if they saved your dowry from a grasping spouse it enhanced your value to them.

How do I know these things? Because I am the one person in Rome who always scans notices and price lists. If words are written, I read them. Helena Justina brought me up that way.

Perhaps I should have clarified earlier that Notho and Son were not my bankers. They believed they were. Even my darling papa presumed it, although my mother was more astute. So the Nothos continued to suppose that if I ever had money to save I would tuck the coins into my father’s strongbox, as an unmarried or widowed daughter ought to do − while (surprise!) no funds of that sort ever materialised.

My work rarely produced large sums. Such as it was, I needed my income right away for essentials, like laundry bills and food. Not to mention new earrings to cheer myself up. I had a secret place in Fountain Court where I stashed any spare cash – which was what most ordinary people in Rome did. It was the easiest way to please your neighbours in the burglary profession.