Ode to a Banker-Falco 12 by Lindsey Davis

Author:Lindsey Davis [Davis, Lindsey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective, Political, Historical
ISBN: 9780099515173
Publisher: Random House UK
Published: 2009-03-02T08:00:00+00:00

'Al bankers screw their clients,' I reminded him

'Yes, but he made enough from my plays. I saw no reason to be screwed by the same man twice over.'

While I sat thinking, Helena contributed another question: 'Falco is looking at motives, of course. You seem more fortunate than the others. Even so, there are jealous murmurs against you, Urbanus.'

'And what would those be?' If he knew, he was not showing it.

Helena looked him in the eye. 'You are suspected of not writing your plays yourself '

It was Anna, the wife, who growled angrily at that.

Urbanus leaned back. There was no visible annoyance; he must have heard this accusation before. 'People are strange - luckily for playwrights, or we would have no inspiration.' He glanced at his wife; this time she ventured a pale half-smile. 'The charge is of the worst kind - possible to prove, if true, yet if untrue, quite impossible to refute.'

'A matter of faith,' I said.

Urbanus showed a flash of anger now. 'Why are mad ideas taken so seriously? Oh of course! Certain types wil never accept that literate and humane writing with inventive language and depth of emotion can come from the provinces - let alone from the middle of Britain.'

'You're not in the secret society. "Oh only an educated Roman could produce this" ..

'No; we are not supposed to have anything to say, or to be capable of expressing it . .. Who do they say writes for me?' he roared scornful y.

'Various improbable suggestions,' Helena said Maybe Scrutator had told her; maybe she had pursued the gossip herself 'Not al of them even alive.'

'So who am I- this man before you - then supposed to be?'

'The lucky dog who counts in the ticket money,' I grinned. 'While the mighty authors you are "impersonating" let you spend their royalties.'

'Wel , they are missing al the fun,' Urbanus responded dryly, suddenly able to let the subject rest.

let's get back to my problem. It could be argued,' I put to him quietly, 'that this is a malicious rumour, which Chrysippus began spreading because he knew he was losing you. Say you were so affronted by the rumour you went to his house to remonstrate, then the two of you argued and you lost your cool.'

'Far too drastic. I am a working author,' the playwright protested in a mild way. 'I have nothing to prove and I would not throw away my position. And as for literary feuds - Falco, I don't have the time.'

I grinned and decided to try a literary approach: 'Help us, Urbanus. If

you were writing about the death of Chrysippus, what would you say had happened? Was his money a motive? Was it sex? Is a frustrated author behind it, or a jealous woman, or the son perhaps?'

'Sons never rise to action.' Urbanus smiled. 'They live with the anger for too long.' From personal experience, I agreed with him 'Sons brood, and fester, and permanently tolerate their indignities. Of course, daughters can be furies!'

Neither woman present took him up on that.

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