ODE TO A BANKER

Passus was seated at a table, intently reading. My empty stomach must have let out a gurgle, because he looked up and flushed rather guiltily.

`Passus!'

You made me jump, Falco. The chief just reminded me I was supposed to catalogue these scrolls for you.'

Great gods, I had forgotten all about that. `Thanks. Found anything? You looked totally absorbed.'

He gri

`What is this great work of literature?'

`Oh, it seems to be called Gondomon, King of Traximene -just an adventure tale.'

`Who wrote it?'

`Well, that's what I'm struggling to find out,' Passus told me. `I sorted out most of the scrolls, but I'm left with some that were badly mangled and messed-up. I am having to piece them together and I have not yet found the title pages of the last couple. They may have been ripped off in the fight.'

He had the furtive air of a reader who had been thoroughly hooked; he could hardly bear to break off and talk to me. Immediately I left him, he would plunge into the thrilling scroll again. An author's dream.

Gri

Which was odd – because the women were Vibia Merulla and Lysa, the woman she supposedly ousted from the Chrysippus marriage bed. I made a quick choice between them. Both were tricky, but one was more experienced. I always like my challenges to be as difficult as possible. When Lysa's covered litter left the house and Vibia disappeared up a staircase, I set off hotfoot to follow Lysa.

XXXVII

THE OLD lady with the shopping was out again, still trying to be knocked down by thieves; as she blundered vaguely down the hill, I had to dance around her. I caught up with my quarry near the bottom of the Clivus. Calling Lysa's name as I ran down the street persuaded the litter-bearers that I was a safe acquaintance and they set down their burden so I could speak to her. I pulled aside the modesty curtain and leaned in through the half-door.

`Lysa!' I saluted her, gri

She was richly clad, though in restrained taste. The heavy gold necklace looked like a Greek antique; it would certainly have cost enough to make Vibia jealous. Lysa coped with the summer heat by covering up – long sleeves and dark material in her gown. No trace of perspiration marred the olive skin. Her eye colours were lightly applied, so they would not run, and from within the enclosed space of the carrying chair a draught of expensive perfume rose sensually.

`What do you want, Falco?'

`I think I must be dreaming. I could swear I just saw you embracing the widow up the street.'

If she was a

I whistled. I could. remember Lysa calling Vibia a `little cow'. `I thought you hated giving up your husband to her. How come you are now cooing like love birds?'

`Hardly that!'

`Vibia is still living in your old home, I see.' This time my probing produced slightly narrowed eyes. `Was the house included with the scriptorium in her inheritance?'

`I gave it, to her as a gift,' conceded Lysa, rather reluctantly. I whistled. `Some gift!'

`I have a generous nature.' Even Lysa could see this was ridiculous.

She was a businesswoman with iron talons. `Oh, it's no secret. Vibia extracted it from me.'

`How?'

`Never mind.'

`You said it was not a secret.'

`Well – it was her price for helping to arrange something…'When I looked sceptical, Lysa was forced to explain. `Diomedes is to be married to a young relative of Vibia's.'

`My word, your family does love weddings! Are you pla

Lysa calmly ignored my jibes. `A charming girl. Elegant and cultured – and from a prime family. Good people, with plenty of co

`Your son is on his way then?'

Lysa smiled contentedly. `Oh yes,' she assured me. `Everything is perfect now.'

I let her go. Another cameo for me to add to my curious collection.

The old dame with the shopping basket tottered up at that point and had a good stare at me. I could tell she regarded herself as a guardian of community life. Some harassed fellow's mother, no doubt. She was the kind who plies to and fro, collecting half a cabbage then returning for a sprat, hoping to brighten her day with a chance to spy on strangers.

When I retraced my footsteps, I nearly stopped at the corner popina. Again, the waiter was standing there – a tall, thin-faced young fellow in a short leather apron, keenly watching me. They were a nosy lot in this Clivus. His stare put me off. I knew the bar was the authors' meeting place. The waiter had that infallible air of wanting to chat, whether I liked it or not. Distrustful, I kept going.

I might have gone to tackle Vibia, but instead I met Euschemon, the same shaggy, shambling bundle with his usual unkempt hair and an abstracted expression. He was leaving the scriptorium but paused for a chat. I told him about the affectionate scene I had witnessed, wondering if it would affect his former loyalty. `I don't know how they can do it!' he grumbled.

`What's that?'

`People are strange, Falco.'

`True. I was surprised to hear about this marriage. It sounded as if Vibia is being used by the Chrysippus family as Diomedes' social vaulting horse?'

`Oh, the Chrysippi obtain high interest rates from everyone,' said Euschemon cryptically. He refused to be drawn further, but I was begi

`Euschemon, I thought Vibia did not look quite as happy as Lysa was.

He laughed under his breath. `Well, she wouldn't.' `Why is that?'

`I could not comment, Falco.'

His tone of voice was a clue. I took a wild guess. `Don't tell me – Lysa has drawn Vibia into arranging Diomedes' marriage – not knowing that Diomedes, frequenting the house to see his father, had happened to catch the eye of Vibia herself?'

Euschemon corrected me on one small point: `Lysa knows perfectly well that Vibia lusts after him.'

Wonderful. This tangle was turning into a full-blooded Greek tragedy.

`And does Diomedes return his stepmother's interest?'

`I am not interested in scandal and gossip. I have no idea.' When people say that, it always means they know.