Poseidon s Gold

I had said more than I intended. My father leaned on one elbow, lolling there as if I had passed him a dish of interesting winkles but no serving spoon. 'She's still with you, anyway: So when is the wedding?'

'When I'm rich.'

He whistled offensively. 'Someone's expecting a long wait then!'

'That's our business.'

'Not if you make me a grandfather before you achieve the formalities.'

This was a sore point, and I reckoned he knew it. He had probably heard through the family grapevine that Helena had miscarried once, distressing us both more than either of us expected, and filling us with the usual unspoken doubts about our ability ever to produce a healthy child. Now Helena was terrified, while I was trying to delay the question for life's strongest reason: poverty. The last thing I needed was my damned father taking an interest. I knew why the old snob was so curious: he wanted us to have a family so he could boast he was related to a senator. I said angrily, 'You're a grandfather already. If you want to lavish attention where it's needed, try Victorina's orphans.'

'So what's Mico doing?'

'The usuaclass="underline" not much.' My father heard this without a reaction, though it was possible he would help. 'Did you go to the funeral?' I asked, more inquisitive than I wanted to appear.

'No. My assistance was deemed unnecessary.' His mood was quiet, his manner uninvolved. I could not tell whether he was upset; I was not sure I cared.

'Victorina was your daughter,' I said formally. 'You should have been given the opportunity.'

'Don't break your heart over it.'

'If I had been here you would have been informed.' Playing the prig was not my style, but his air of resignation annoyed me. 'You can't blame anyone; you're not exactly famous as a paterfamilias!'

'Don't start!'

I hauled myself to my feet. 'Don't worry. I'm off.'

'You haven't tackled what you came to ask.'

'Helena was here; she asks my questions for me.'

'I don't talk to women.'

'Maybe you should try it for once.' Maybe he should have tried it when he was living with my mother.

It had been pointless even coming here. I could not face an argument over Festus; I really was leaving. My father, looking for something he could be awkward about, was furious. 'Right! We've entertained you with a scrap, now you run off and tell your ma you've got your tunic dirty playing on the Campus with the big rough boys.'

In the act of flinging my cloak round me, I paused. This was not helping me solve the Censorinus case. Besides, I did need a story to tell my mother, and I needed it fairly soon. She was renowned for her impatience with slackers. 'There is something I want,' I conceded.

Geminus swung his legs off the couch so he could sit up and stare at me. 'This is a novelty!'

'Wrong. I'm simply on the scrounge. Does your warehouse at the Saepta contain a cheap but decent bed?'

He looked sadly disappointed, but did rouse himself to take me there.

XXIII

The Saepta Julia was a large enclosed area where voting took place. It had been remodelled by the energetic Marcus Agrippa, Augustus's general and son-in-law. Since he could see he would never get a chance to be Emperor himself, he had made his mark in the next best way: by building larger and with more innovation and magnificence than anybody else. He had had a good eye for the best spots to glorify. Much of the modern Campus Martius was his work.

Agrippa had transformed the Saepta from little more than a giant sheep pen to one of the gems in his memorial complex. It now formed an architectual match with the Pantheon and the great Agrippan Baths that sprawled majestically alongside-most famous for having free public entrance. Marcus Agrippa had certainly known how to buy popularity. The space enclosed by the Saepta was big enough to be used for gladiatorial combats, and had even been flooded for mock sea fights in Nero's day, though that had proved inconvenient for the people who normally worked there. Businessmen are not impressed by having to close their premises to allow in a group of fancy triremes. The enclosing walls, two storeys high, contained a variety of shops, especially goldsmiths and bronze-founders, plus associated folk like my father, who for years had been earning a fortune from the second-hand art and antiques trade.

Because of the political connection there was another side to the place. It would have been useful for me to have my own office in the Saepta; it was where people brought my kind of work. My father's presence was the main reason I kept away from the area, though traditionally the Saepta Julia was where the informers hung out.

I mean the other informers-the ones who had given my business its bad name. Those vermin whose heyday was under Nero, skulking behind temple pillars to overhear unguarded comments from the pious, or even using conversations at private dinner parties to betray their last night's hosts. The political parasites who, before Vespasian purged public life, had put fear into the whole Senate. The slugs who had empowered bad emperors' favourites, and oiled the jealousies of worse emperors' mothers and wives. Gossips whose stock-in-trade was scandal; bastards whose very oath in court could be bought for an emerald eardrop.

Right at the start of my career I had decided that clients who went to the Saepta looking for an informer were not clients who wanted me.

I lost a lot of trade that way.

Leases in the Saepta Julia were at a premium; my father had managed to acquire two. Like Festus, he knew how things were done. I suppose having cash helped, but reputation must also have come into it. Whereas some traders struggled to fit themselves into hole-in-the-wall lock-ups, Geminus had a select suite on the upper floor, where he could stroll out on to the balcony and survey the whole enclosure below, plus a large warehouse at ground level, which was obviously more convenient for delivery of large or heavy items. His office, always stylishly fitted out, adjoined the Dolabrium, where votes were counted-throbbing with life during elections, and pleasantly quiet at other times.

We started downstairs, in his main display area. After the usual attempts to palm me off with three-legged, woodwormy frames and oddly padded couches marked with dubious sickroom stains, I persuaded my parent that if he wanted me to perpetuate the family name it ought to be done on decent equipment. He found me a bed. I refused to pay what he said it was worth, so rather than lose the chance of sharing a grandchild with the illustrious Camillus, he halved the asking price.

'Throw in the mattress, will you. Helena can't sleep on just the webs.'

'I'd like to know where you acquired your cheek!'

'Same place I learned not to sob too much when auctioneers start pretending they are facing bankruptcy.'

He grunted, still fidgeting around my purchase. 'This is pretty plain, Marcus-' The bed had a straightforward beech frame, with boxy ends. I liked the simple scallop ornament that enlivened the headboard. The mere fact it had four feet on the ground would be a luxury in my house. 'I'm having doubts. This is meant to be shoved in a wall niche,' Geminus fussed unhappily.

'I don't want silver legs and tortoiseshell. Why encourage burglars? When can you deliver?'

He looked offended. 'You know the system. Cash down, and buyer collects.'

'Stuff the system! Bring it round as soon as possible and I'll pay you when I see you. I'm still at Fountain Court.'