Nemesis

Growling, I went off to the Saepta Julia, where I was burying my anger in the monumental task of exploring my father's affairs.

It was the day that crawler Cluvius turned up. He was nagging to know whether I intended carrying on Pa's business, or could Cluvius and his auctioneer cronies siphon off work that would have been ours? 'People approach the Guild for advice. We assume you don't want to be bothered, Marcus Didius…'

On the spot, I decided. 'Business as usual!' I snapped crushingly. 'I'll be lending a hand myself.' I had spare capacity. Informing was quiet in summer. People are too hot to worry about professional fortune-hunters marrying their daughters. Of course they should worry – - because long steamy July and August nights are when those bold girls are most likely to let lovers in at the window…

'Feel free to ask any of us for advice then,' Cluvius offered peevishly.

That clinched it. From that moment I became a joint auctioneer-informer. I would manumit one or two of the better slaves from. Pa's menage then train them up as freedmen assistants, a few in the auction house, a couple on my client casework. There could be a handy crossover. The auction helpers could scout for people in the kind of difficulty I solved as an informer. And it was traditional for both trades to operate out of the Saepta Julia.

Strange how you can worry for years over your career, and do nothing about it – then alter it instantly without a qualm. This was like falling in love all over again. Certainty thumped down on me. There was no going back.

'Yes, Cluvius; I'm moving back into my old office. That will help me keep an eye on the competition!' I may have looked naive but if Cluvius knew that the 'office' I referred to was where I had once worked with the Chief Spy picking off Census defaulters, he might see me as a more serious rival. Anacrites and I had done well. Even Vespasian, a byword for stinginess, had felt moved to reward us with social elevation. I had skills; I had contacts too. I rubbed my gold ring thoughtfully, but Cluvius still didn't get it.

He was leaving. Thank you, gods!

He dropped one more innocent-sounding question from the doorway to catch me off-guard. I hadn't seen that feeble trick since Nero appointed his racehorse a consuclass="underline" 'I suppose nothing came of that amphitheatre contract? Tricky, pinning down the Treasury; I dare say it fell through…'

I knew nothing about this. I tapped my nose, implying some delicate and secret deal. As soon as Cluvius wandered off, I bounded into the back of the warehouse and briskly tackled Gornia.

The porter groaned. 'Oh, he must be on about the statues.'

Not news I wanted. The last time Pa and I were involved in statuary – our one and only operation together – we caught a bad cold. I could hardly bear to remember. Pa claimed he'd learned his lesson. Maybe I had too. Or maybe he at least could never resist a challenge. .. 'If that leech Cluvius is curious, do I sniff nice profits?'

'Oh just let Cluvius wet himself.' Gornia, a spindly old cove with about sixty years of working for Pa behind him, was as exciting as that porridge our forebears called a national dish. I mean, before they discovered the better joys of oysters and expensive turbot. 'You don't want to worry about him, Marcus Didius.'

I wondered if I could trust Gornia. His attitude was an aspect of the business I had not yet resolved. Even though he had stuck by Pa, he might not be so loyal to me.

'Statues? Amphitheatre? Gornia, would that be the great lump of unfinished masonry our beloved Emperor is dumping on the south side of the Forum? Where Nero's giant lake was? Where they need so much travertine cladding, they had to open a new marble quarry?'

'That's the beauty. Soon to be covered with statues,' said Gornia, looking nonchalant. 'They need thousands of the buggers, I believe.'

'Thousands?'

'Well, there will be three tiers of eighty arches, at least two tiers with some statuary in each arch.' He seemed well informed on the building plans.

'So "thousands" actually means a hundred and sixty? Two hundred and forty if they do the top tier?'

'Big fellows! Plus the odd hero driving a quadriga, with a full rack of fiery steeds, to shove up over entrances.'

I slumped on a stone seat. Foreboding dropped on me like a smelly old blanket, but I leaned back with a nonchalant air. 'Whisper to me what my cherished papa had to do with it?'

'Well… you know him!'

'Yes, I am afraid so.'

'He tried anything.'

'Tell me the worst.'

'The old fool lined up to supply a few old stone toffs for the exterior.'

I had already learned that Gornia avoided discussing problems. He had handled Pa by keeping out of awkward chats. When he did comment it was wry, dry and plastered as floridly as a banker's dining room with dangerous understatement. 'How many stone toffs,' I asked gently, 'is "a few"?'

'Not sure I know.'

'I bet. Does my sister have figures?'

'Oh, he didn't want to involve Maia.'

'Why not? Dodgy contract?' With Pa, no contract at all was more usual. I had another thought. 'Was this transaction off the books?'

'Our books?'

'No, the Treasury books. Don't say this is a corrupt deal?'

Gornia looked disapproving. 'He always said you were a prig, Marcus Didius!'

'I don't mess with the government; that's why I'm still alive. Was Pa behind with the order or something?' I remembered that his Rome warehouse had been significantly short of statues when I surveyed the stock.

'He sent samples. We'd scraped the moss off the second-hand ones. The officials were happy.'

'So what's the problem?'

Gornia looked shifty. 'Who mentioned a problem?'

'You did, Gornia, by not coming clean. What's up? Are we overdue on deliveries, or are we done?'

'It's our call. They pay by the piece, as and when. They're just happy to get enough suitable figures. Anyone who can meet the specifications is in. The spec,' Gornia added quickly, 'is simple; there's a height rule, that's all.'

'That will be for visual uniformity.' I sounded like an interior designer. 'I bet it's surprisingly difficult to find ready-mades to fit the arches… We have stock?'

'The old man collected a marble or two at the place on the coast, I believe.'

'Be more specific?'

'Oh… maybe a hundred,' said Gornia.

'A hundred?' My voice was faint. 'That's bulk-buying by a maniac'

'You did ask. Don't worry about it, I told you.'

'I am relaxed.' I was anxious. 'So, Gornia – - excuse me, but why don't we just hand this huge batch over, and collect our fees? I don't want to be stuck with a glut of forgotten heroes and disgraced generals.'

Everyone who might buy such junk had gone to their summer villas at Neapolis. There, many would be gazing at horrible statues my father had sold them on previous occasions, and thinking never again.

'It will work out,' Gornia assured me. 'Geminus said to hold off a bit…' He looked embarrassed. 'We ought to pay for them.'

Now I saw it. This was neither unexpected nor insurmountable: 'Daylight! No ready funds?'

Odd, that. There were plenty of funds, as I knew well. In fact I was looking for outgoings, to set against the inheritance tax.

'We had the collateral. We just couldn't pass it to the vendors. I went. I went down there with the cash myself. Geminus always sent me, because I look so ordinary,' Gornia told me endearingly. 'Nobody ever robs me on the road. But I couldn't find them.'

'His suppliers?'

'They vanished.' Gornia looked relieved to squeeze it out. 'Bit of a novelty, isn't it?'

My father had been in many scrapes. Sometimes debt featured, but he covered it eventually. His cash flow only faltered temporarily. He was good at what he did.

It was rare for anyone in Rome, and never Geminus, to try to pay a creditor but to fail. I was used to the other system: those with claims came forward at a run. Their invoices were immaculate. They brought their own strongboxes to take away their cash. I coughed up. They were happy. End of story.