Poseidon s Gold

At the gallery of Cocceius stood an interesting marble.

'I can make no claims,' said Cocceius, who was an honest kind of dealer, 'for its artist, or its antiquity.'

Collectors soon heard about the statue's striking features, and flocked to gawp. It was a Poseidon: nude, one arm poised and throwing a trident, and with a rich curly beard. Very Greek-and quite magnificent.

'It has an intriguing history,' Cocceius informed enquirers in his comfortable way. He was a quiet, reassuring man, a pillar of the Auctioneers' Guild. 'The illustrious Senator Camillus Verus found this rather nice piece in the attic when going through his late brother's house:'

That old tale!

People all over Rome went rushing home to look in their attics.

Nobody else had one.

Two people, a man and a woman heavily wrapped in cloaks and veils, came to view the statue incognito. Cocceius gave them a familiar nod.

'What's the provenance, Cocceius?'

'None, I fear. We can make no guesses. Though it's certainly Parian marble, as you can see.' That was evident. This was no Roman copy in limestone. Even fine Carrara would be noticeably more grey in the vein:

'What's the reason for selling?'

'It seems a convincing story. I understand the Senator is trying to raise cash to put his second son into the Senate. I dare say you can ask around their neighbours for confirmation. The bright young thing has made an unexpected name for himself, and with Daddy having Vespasian's ear, his path is now clear to the top. Finance is their only problem. So offers are invited for this rather handsome sea god, though you'll have to use your judgement as to what it is:'

'Where did it come from?'

'Absolutely no idea. The noble Senator's brother imported things. But he's dead, so we can't ask him.'

'Where did he trade?'

'All over. North Africa. Europe. Greece and the East, I believe:'

'Greece, you say?'

'There does appear to be some minor damage to one shoulder:' Cocceius was completely open, a model of neutrality.

'It's excellent. But you make no claims?'

'I make no claims.' Cocceius was certainly honest; such a refreshing change.

There are many ways of making claims-and not all of them involve direct lies.

The closely swaddled collectors went away to think about it.

Next time they came, the owner was apparently considering withdrawing the statue from sale. Alarmed by this news, the cloaked man and woman stood in the shadows and listened. Maybe other people were in other shadows, but if so they were invisible.

The Senator's noble daughter was explaining to Cocceius that her father might be having doubts. 'Of course we do need the money. But it's such a lovely thing. If it commands a large price, that's wonderful. But we're tempted to keep it and enjoy it at home ourselves. Oh dear! Father doesn't know what he should do for the best: Could we ask an expert to have a look at it?'

'Certainly.' Cocceius never pushed his clients to sell against their will. 'I can arrange for an art historian to give you an authoritative opinion. How much are you prepared to pay?'

'What can I get?' asked the noble Helena Justina.

Cocceius was honest, but a humorist. 'Well, for a small fee I can get you a man who will close his eyes and say the first thing that comes into his head.'

'Forget the small fee,' she answered.

'For a little bit more I can get you a proper expert.'

'That's better.'

'Which sort would you like?'

Helena looked surprised-though not so surprised as she might have looked before she met me. 'Which sorts can I have?'

'Either Arion, who will tell you it's genuine-or Pavoninus, who will maintain it's a fake.'

'But they haven't seen it yet!'

'That's what they always say.'

Apparently Helena Justina was now growing tense. 'How much,' she demanded at her most crisp (which was about as crisp as toasted bread when you answer the door and forget it until you smell smoke), 'how much would we have to pay for the very best?' Cocceius told her. Helena drew a sharp breath. 'And what will we get for that exorbitant amount?'

Cocceius looked embarrassed. 'You will get a man in a slightly peculiar tunic who stares at the statue for a very long time, drinks some herb tea in a thoughtful manner, then tells you both of the possible verdicts and says that frankly he cannot say for certain which is correct.'

'Ah I see! He,' said Helena, collapsing with a smile, 'is the really clever one.'

'Why is that?' asked Cocceius, though he knew all along.

'Because without putting his own reputation at risk, he leaves people to convince themselves of what they want to hear.' The noble Helena reached a decision in her usual swift manner. 'Let's save our cash! I can speak for Papa.' Obviously they were a free-thinking, liberal family. (And the women were very forceful.) 'If we can establish my brother's career the sale will be worth it. People will recognise quality. If anybody offers a good figure, Papa will sell.'

The collectors in the cloaks hurriedly sent both Arion and Pavoninus to look at the Poseidon; then they also paid for the man in the odd tunic, who had very peculiar diction too, and who said that they must make up their own minds.

They decided their need for the Poseidon was desperate.

The question of money was discreetly raised.

Apparently, in order to put young Justinus into the Senate, the illustrious Camillus would need a very large amount. 'The figure which has been mentioned,' said Cocceius in a hushed voice, like a doctor announcing a fatal disease, 'is six hundred thousand.'

Naturally the collectors offered four hundred. To which the owner replied that that was an outrage; he could not possibly settle for less than five. The deal was struck. Half a million in gold aurei (plus the commission to Cocceius) was exchanged for the unknown statue.

Two hours later people were being invited to a viewing at the private house of Cassius Carus and Ummidia Servia, who had acquired a Poseidon by Phidias.

We were even. We had got them off our backs, then retrieved our money. We had fooled them: we had sold them our fake.

We still had the Zeus. We were rich.

Father and I bought an amphora of the best well-aged Falernian. Then we bought two more.

After that, before we touched a drop but knowing we were on the verge of becoming extremely drunk, we went along together to the caupona for a fond look at our Zeus.

We went in through the back lane. The stable door had been properly locked by Orontes when he left. We opened up, amid happy exclamations. We banged the door behind us and lit lamps. Then slowly our celebrations died.

In the cleared space where I had placed the marble block for Orontes to carve still stood-a marble block. A chunk of it was missing, however. Clean stone gleamed with Parian whiteness where this piece had been removed: a neat rectangle, taken off the top. Most of the marble that was supposed to have been transformed into the Poseidon remained untouched.

We walked upstairs. By then we both knew what had happened, but we had to see the proof.

In the room where our Phidias Zeus had been left for Orontes, all that remained now was a severed arm holding a thunderbolt.

'I'm dreaming this:'

'That lazy, cheating, dissolute bastard! If I catch him-'

'Oh he'll be far away

Instead of bothering to carve a whole new statue, Orontes Mediolanus had simply adapted the existing one, giving it a new right arm. Now the Zeus had a trident instead of a thunderbolt.

Instead of a fake, we had sold Carus and Servia our genuine Phidias.

LXVII

It was April, and not as far as I knew an official black day in the Roman calendar, though it would be for ever in mine. In the old republican period New Year began on the Ides of March, so this was the first month of the year. The Senate went into recess to brace itself. To tackle April, you needed to be fit. April was packed with celebrations: the Megalensis and the Floral Games, the Games and Festival of Ceres, the Vinalia, the Robigalia and the Parilia, which was the birthday of Rome itself.