Poseidon s Gold

Geminus had come in and caught me frowning. 'Wrong handles!'

'Ah!' The oldest story in the world of fakes. 'I knew something was odd. So your repair man needs a lesson in art history?'

'He has his uses.' The noncommittal tone warned me not to pursue this; I was intruding on the profane mysteries.

I could guess. Sometimes an article comes up for sale with an uncertain history or unconvincing provenance. Sometimes it is better to adapt the said item before it appears publicly: change a bronze palmette to an acanthus leaf; swap the head on a statue; give a silver tripod a satyr's feet instead of a lion's claws. I knew it was done. I knew some of the handy adaptors who did it. Sometimes I had been the frustrated member of an auction audience who suspected the changes but could not prove deceit.

It was part of my informing job to be aware of these procedures. I had a sideline tracing stolen art, though it never paid well. Collectors always expected a bargain, even for normal services. I grew tired of presenting an expenses bill, only to be asked if that was the best I could do on it. Most people who had treasures thieved were full of cheek, but they were novices. Giving them a ten per cent discount 'for trade' was an insult to the real connoisseurs at the Saepta.

'It's not what you're thinking,' my father told me suddenly. 'I got it for nothing. The whole top was missing. My man re-created it, but he's an idiot. With a wide neck, it should have body loops-' He gestured to make two lugs set below the shoulders. The repair had its two handles carried up and hooked on to the throat, like an amphora. 'He can't tell a vase from a bloody jug, that's the truth of it.' Catching my sceptical look, he felt obliged to add, 'It's for sale "as seen". Naturally I'll mention what's been done-unless I really take against the customer!'

I restricted myself to saying, 'Strikes me the demigod has tied Cerberus on a rather thin piece of string!'

Then Pa produced the ritual wine tray, and we sat around with the silly cups again.

I tried to take a firm filial grip. 'Now stop behaving like a bonehead. This time you're going to tell me what is going on.'

'You're as bad as your mother for having a rant.'

'Somebody doesn't like you, Father,' I said patiently. 'Somebody other than me!'

'Someone wants some money,' sneered my honourable parent. 'Money I refuse to give.'

'Protection?'

I saw his eyes flicker. 'Not in essence. Paying up would protect me from this aggravation, certainly; but that's not the dispute.'

'Oh there is a dispute then?' I demanded.

'There was.'

'Is it not settled?'

'Temporarily.'

'So they will leave you alone for now?'

'For the time being.'

'How did you achieve that?'

'Simple,' said Geminus. 'While they were kicking seven bells out of me yesterday evening, I told them the person they really needed to argue with was you.'

XXXVI

I assumed an expression of Roman steadfastness and calm.

'What's up, son? Fly gone up your nose?'

'I'm staying detached.'

'You can't. You're in this-up to your neck.'

'I'll abdicate.'

'Afraid not,' he confessed. For once he looked guilty. 'Not possible.'

This was ridiculous. Marponius was going to be planning a new trial list soon; I should have been back at Ostia seeking to clear my name.

No, I shouldn't have been in this mess at all. I should have been living with my beloved in some peaceful villa in the country where my worst concern was whether to spend the morning catching up on my correspondence, or peel an apple for Helena, or go out and inspect the vines.

'You look upset, son.'

'Believe me, even before this news I was not exactly overflowing with Saturnalian jollity!'

'You're a Stoic' I knew my father had no time for any flavour of philosophy. A typical Roman prejudice, based on the simple concept that thought is a threat.

I blew out my cheeks in irritation. 'Let me struggle to understand what is happening. You know some violent people who have a long-standing grievance, and they have just been told by you that I'm the person they want to tackle about their debt? So good-mannered of you to warn me, Didius Geminus! Such fatherly respect!'

'You'll dodge out of it.'

'I hope so! After I've dealt with any inconvenience from the auction-busters, I'll be looking for somebody else to attack. I advise you to start getting nippy yourself.'

'Show some piety,' complained my father. 'Show some parental reverence!'

'Cobnuts!' I said.

We were both breathing heavily. The situation felt unreal. Once, I had vowed I would never speak to my father again. Now here I was, sitting in his office with curious Egyptian gods peering over my shoulder from some inconsequential red and yellow furniture, while I let him lumber me with Hercules knows what troubles.

'Was your roughing-up arranged by the legionaries?'

'No,' said Pa. He sounded pretty definite.

'So it's unconnected with the death of Censorinus?'

'As far as I can see. Are you going to help out?'

I swore, not bothering to keep it under my breath. If I had stuck to my contempt for him, I could have avoided this. I ought to walk out now.

Yet there was only one answer to give him. 'If you're having a problem, naturally I'll help.'

'You're a good boy!' Geminus smirked complacently.

'I'm a good informer.' I kept my tone low and my temper cool. 'You need a professional for this sort of work.'

'So you'll do the job?'

'I'll do the job, but while I'm trying to save my neck on the other count I can't spare much time to dabble in auction fraud.' He must have known what was coming even before I dished it up: 'If I break into my schedule to do you a favour, you'll have to pay me at top rates.'

My father leaned back and stared at the ceiling in momentary disbelief. 'He's not mine!'

Unluckily for both of us, I certainly was.

'If you don't like it,' I mocked, 'you have a father's usual remedy. Go ahead-disinherit me!'

There was a shifty pause. In fact I had no idea what would happen, on my father's death, to the proceeds of his long auctioneering career. Knowing him, he had not addressed the issue. So that was another mess for me to sort out one day. If only to avoid it, I did my duty mentally and wished him a long life.

'I gather you're short of collateral?' he smiled, immediately all smoothness again. He passed a weary hand through those uncombed grey curls. 'Ah well, what are fathers for?' More than I ever got from this one. 'I'll hire you if that seems to be the form. What are these rates we hear so much about?' I told him, making a quick calculation and trebling them. (Well, he wanted me to get married.) He whistled in outrage. 'No wonder you never have any clients. Your charges are deplorable!'

'No worse than the auction percentage-and I work a lot harder for my wages. All you have to do is bawl loudly and bluff people. Informers need brains, bodyweight, and a gripping business sense.'

'And too much cheek!' he commented.

'So that's a contract,' I said.

Whatever it was we were clinching had yet to be revealed. That did not bother me. Shyness was usual among my clients. The inquisition of the prospective customer was the first part of any job I ever did, and usually the trickiest. Compared to that, asking questions of mere villains, cheats and bullies was easy labour.