We sorted it out. Chrysippus was never bothered. It was others who made much of it -jealous, probably.'

`Yes, I assume Chrysippus ended up happy, because he went on to let you – in effect – run the bank.'

`Yes.'

`Maybe he even thought that a slight tendency to sharp practice was just what he wanted in a manager?'

`Exactly,' said Lucrio, showing us a flash of teeth.

Petronius Longus glanced through his set of note-tablets calmly. `Well, that seems to be everything covered.' Lucrio let himself relax. Not that it was easy to tell, because he had been strikingly at ease all along. He made a move towards the door. `Any queries on your side, Falco?' Petro asked.

`Please.' Petro sat back and I started the whole round from my viewpoint. Swapping control once Lucrio thought it was all over might unnerve him. Probably not, but it was worth a try.

`A couple of logistical questions, Lucrio: where were you at noon two days ago when Chrysippus was killed?'

`Forum. Lunching with a group of clients. I can give you their names.'

Not much point; either it was true, or by now the alibis would have been primed to lie for him. `Were your relations with Chrysippus good? Any problems at the bank?'

`No fear. It was making money. That kept the boss happy.' `Know any unhappy clients who bore a grudge?' `No.'

`Apart from Pisarchus,' I corrected. `Were there any other disappointed creditors?'

`Not in the same league.'

`Another debtor I'm looking at is one of the scriptorium authors -' Lucrio freely supplied the name: `Avienus.'

`That's right; the historian. He has a large loan out with the bank,

I understand. Does it have an end date?'

`It did.' `Already past?' `Afraid so.'

`He has difficulties finding the money?' `So he says.'

`Chrysippus was taking a hard line?' `No, I dealt with it, in the normal way.' `Avienus was being tricky?'

Lucrio shrugged. `He was always appealing to Chrysippus as one of his writers, but I don't buy that. Whining and performing, the way people do. The first time, it wrings your heart.' Lucrio, affected by

debtors' pleas? `After that you take no notice; genuine hardship cases don't ever complain.'

`Did Avienus have any remedy?'

`Write his stuff, and deposit the scrolls so he got paid his fee and clear the debt,' sneered the freedman. He did not sound like a reading man. Then he added, `Or he could do the usual.'

`What's that?'

`Ask another lender to buy up his loan.' I blinked. `How does that work?'

`The date was up. We called in the debt,' explained Lucrio,

patiently. `Someone else could advance Avienus the money to pay us.' I followed him: `A loan to pay off a loan? The new one covering the sum of your loan, plus the interest he owed to you, plus the new

lender's profit? Jupiter!' Compound interest was illegal in Rome – but this seemed a neat way to avoid that. Bankers would support each other in this unpleasant trade. `Spiralling down into poverty – and even slavery, perhaps?'

Lucrio showed no remorse. `Buys him time, Falco. If Avienus ever clambers off his backside and earns something, he could cover the debt.'

Against my inclinations, I could see Lucrio's point of view. Some people with crippling debts do bestir themselves and work until they drop. `What security has Avienus given for the original loan?'

`I would have to look that up.'

`I want you to do so, and to let me know, please. Don't tell Avienus that I'm asking. He may be your commercial client but he could also be your patron's killer.'

`I'll remember.'

`What will happen about the debt now Chrysippus is dead?' `Oh, nothing changes. Avienus must repay the bank.' `You're hot in pursuit, are you?'

Lucrio grinned. It was more of a grimace – not at all humorous. Time for another shift. Petronius leaned towards me. `Was there a query you mentioned about the will, Falco?'

`That's right.' Lucrio, I noticed, suddenly had the fixed air of a man who had been waiting for this. `Lucrio, has the will been opened yet? He nodded. `Who are the main beneficiaries? Is it right that Vibia Merulla, as the current wife, was only left the scriptorium?'

`So she was.'

`And is it really worth little?'

`Better than a fish-stall at Ostia – but not much better.' `That seems hard.'

`Her family got her dowry back.'

`Oh lovely! Who was left the bank?'

`Lysa' – he coloured very faintly – `and myself.'

`Oh that's touching! The ex-wife who helped found the business and a loyal ex-slave.'

`A custom of our country,' Lucrio said, like a tired man who knew he would have to explain this many, times to many different acquaintances. `Greek banks have throughout history been passed jointly to Greek bankers' wives and their regular agents.'

`What,' I sneered, `do Greek bankers' children think of that?'

`They know it has been done throughout Greek history,' Lucrio said.

`And little Greek boys are taught a love of history!' We all laughed. `Vibia Merulla appears to have lost out heavily,' I went on. `A Greek ex-wife takes precedence over a new Roman one? Is that traditional too?'

`Sounds good to me,' said Lucrio shamelessly. `Lysa built the business up.'

`But in this case, the Greek banker has an only son, who has become thoroughly Romanised. Diomedes must know that in Rome, we do things differently. Here you, of course, would still have a claim to be rewarded for loyal service. Lysa would be an irrelevance, after Chrysippus remarried; Vibia would acquire a claim. And Diomedes would expect his father to acknowledge his importance in the family. Where does this old Greek custom leave Diomedes as a new Roman, Lucrio?'

`Whimpering!' the freedman acknowledged callously. `Oh, it's not a disaster! He has been given a few sesterces to see him through life. It's more than most sons can expect, especially bone-idle spendthrifts with airy ideas who do nothing but cause trouble.'

`You don't sound like a follower of dear Diomedes?'

`You have met him, I believe,' Lucrio murmured – as if that answered everything.

`Well, his mother will be a grand heiress. One day, perhaps, he will be Lysa's heir?'

`Possibly.' There was a slight pause. I sensed reluctance, but the freedman despised Diomedes so strongly that he was prepared to be indiscreet for once: 'Lysa's new husband may have something to say about that,' said Lucrio.

MY NEXT visit to Lysa, the ex-wife and lucky heiress, caught her off guard. Not expecting me, she made the mistake of being in. Now I had gained admittance, I saw that as places go it was a desirable residence. We were sitting in a salon that was cool in the July heatwave, though lit expertly from high windows above. A series of patterned rugs was spread on the marble floor. Lush curtains tapestried the walls. Our seating was bronze-framed, with substantial padding. In a corner, on a shelf, stood a lavish wine-warmer, the kind that bums charcoal in a large chamber with a fuel store underneath, out of use at present, due to the weather no doubt. Perfect, unmottled fruit gleamed in translucent glass bowls.

`Not plying your loom like a dutiful housewife?'

It was a joke. Lysa had been reading over columns of figures while a slave who was clearly accustomed to the task took dictated notes. As I entered, I had heard the ex-wife composing messages about the bank's clients in a confident voice. She was better-spoken than Vibia, even though I guessed Lysa had humbler origins.

Is your son around?'

`No.'

She was probably lying but I had no excuse to search the place. `How is he bearing up to his father's loss?'

`Grief-stricken, poor boy,' sighed his mother, still lying I reckoned. `But he tries to be brave.'