Fans of "informer" Marcus Didius Falco will be glad to find the classical world's answer to the modern-day gumshoe back in Rome in Davis's stellar historical, the 15th entry in this witty and learned series, after two adventures set in Britain (A Body in the Bathhouse; The Jupiter Myth). In an effort to resume his career as an informer on his home turf, Falco ends up playing advocate in a messy dispute that pits him against two highly successful "legals," Paccius Africanus and Silius Italicus. The convoluted case, which involves a wealthy, fractious family and tricky questions of inheritance, gives Davis the opportunity to explore the vagaries of Roman law, which she approaches with her usual mix of respect and sarcasm. The corruption conviction of senator Rubirius Metellus followed by his mysterious demise threaten the Metelli family's fortunes. Hired to prove the senator's death was not a suicide, Falco finds himself immersed in scandal, blackmail, corruption and intrigue-common ingredients of legal practice. In one particularly fine scene, Falco delivers a speech in the Basilica that relies on amusing and effective rhetorical tricks. Wry, cynical and principled, Falco makes the perfect guide to Davis's vividly realized ancient Rome. (Apr. 22) Copyright 2004 Reed Business Information.
Marcus Didius Falco (The Jupiter Myth) is back, cheeky as ever, this time matching his wits against two sleek lawyers intimately involved with the evident suicide of a Roman senator accused of corruption. Did he or didn't he? Of course, Falco uncovers the truth, though just barely; the ending is a surprise and surprisingly affecting. Meanwhile, the brothers of Falco's beloved Helen continue learning how hard the life of an informer can be and grow up just a little. Topnotch work in a topnotch series. Copyright 2004 Reed Business Information.
Fifteenth adventure for the inimitable Roman shamus (official job title: informant) Marcus Didius Falco. Returning home in 75 a.d. with his wife Helena and their brood (including a scene-stealing dog named Nux) after an extended stay in Londinium (The Jupiter Myth, 2003), Falco needs some quick cash. That's why he holds his nose and accepts a commission from two slick lawyers to gather evidence in the trial of wealthy and influential senator Rubirius Metellus, who's charged with abuse of office-specifically, with selling appointments. The sleaziness of the case, and his dislike of the arrogant Metellus, keep Falco at a distance. Still, Metellus' quick conviction owes much to the excellence of the gumshoe's work. So when Metellus dies by poisoning a month later, it falls to Falco to investigate. What should be a simple probe is complicated by the unanimous contempt of the Metellus clan and its servants for their master, and by his own stated desire to commit suicide. Indeed, the first official ruling is suicide until a comically complicated series of explanations triggers a shift to accidental poisoning. But this is only the beginning: Each of Metellus' three ungrateful children falls under suspicion in turn, followed by his barely grieving widow, before the methodical Falco ferrets out the killer. As usual, Davis's sprightly narrative focuses on customs, history, and details of the Metellus and Falco households and takes its time unraveling the mystery.
From the Publisher
“Queen of the humorous crime romp is Lindsey Davis.”
“A pure delight, with Davis’s unique blend of wit and humour brilliantly immersing us in the marvels of ancient Roman life.”
—Good Book Guide
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ICopyright© 2003 by Lindsey Davis
I had been an informer for over a decade when I finally learned what the job entailed.
There were no surprises. I knew how society viewed us: lowborn hangers-on, upstarts too impatient for honest careers, or corrupt nobles. The lowest grade was proudly occupied by me, Marcus Didius Falco, son of the utterly plebeian rogue Didius Favonius, heir to nothing and possessing only nobodies for ancestors. My most famous colleagues worked in the Senate and were themselves senators. In popular thought we were all parasites, bent on destroying respectable men.
I knew how it worked at street level -- a hotch-potch of petty investigative jobs, all ill-paid and despised, a career that was often dangerous too. I was about to see the glorious truth of informing senatorial-style. In the late summer of the year that I returned with my family from my British trip, I worked with Paccius Africanus and Silius Italicus, two famous informers at the top of their trade; some of you may have heard of them. Legals. That is to say, these noble persons made criminal accusations, most of which were just about viable, argued without blatant lies and supported by some evidence, with a view to condemning fellow senators and then snatching huge proportions of their doomed colleagues' rich estates. The law, ever fair, makes decent compensation for selfless application to demeaning work. Justice has a price. In the informing community the price is at least twenty-five per cent; that is twenty-five per cent of all the condemned man's seaside villas, city property, farms, and other investment holdings. In abuse of office or treason cases, the Emperor may intervene; he can bestow alarger reward package, much larger sometimes. Since the minimum estate of a senator is a million sesterces -- and that's poverty for the élite - this can be a nice number of town houses and olive groves.
All informers are said to be vile collaborators, currying favour, contributing to repression, profiteering, targeting victims, and 1.working the courts for their personal advantage. Right or wrong, it was my job. It was all I knew -- and I knew I was good at it. So, back in Rome, after half a year away, I had to stick a dagger down my boot and make myself available for hire.
It started simply enough. It was autumn. I was home. I had returned with my family, including my two young brothers-in-law, Camillus Aelianus and Camillus Justinus, a pair of patrician wild boys who were supposed to assist me in my work. Funds were not flush. Frontinus, the British governor, had paid us only rock bottom provincial rates for various audit and surveillance jobs, though we did secrete away a sweetener from a tribal king who liked the diplomatic way we had handled things. I was hoping for a second bonus from the Emperor but it would take a long time to filter through. And I had to keep quiet about the King's gift. Don't get me wrong. Vespasian owed me plenty. But I wanted to stay out of trouble. If the august one called my double bonus an accounting error, I would retract my invoice to him. Well, probably.
Six months was a long time to be out of the city. No clients remembered us. Our advertisements chalked on walls in the Forum had long since faded. We could expect no meaty new commissions for some time.
That was why, when I was asked to handle a minor documents job, I accepted. I don't generally act as someone else's courier, but we needed to show that Falco and Associates were active again. The prosecutor in a case in progress had an affidavit to be collected, fast, from a witness in Lanuvium. It was straightforward. The witness had to confirm that a certain loan had been repaid. I didn't even go myself. I hate Lanuvium. I sent Justinus. He obtained the signed statement without bother; since he was inexperienced in legal work, I myself took it to court.
On trial was a senator called Rubirius Metellus. The charge was abuse of office, a serious offence. The case had apparently been going on for weeks. I knew nothing about it, having been starved of Forum gossip. It was unclear what part the document we fetched had to play. I made the deposition, after which I suffered uncalled-for abuse from the filthy defence lawyer, who made out that as an informer from a plebeian district I was an unfit character witness. I bit back the retort that the Emperor had raised my status to equestrian; mentioning Vespasian seemed inappropriate and my middle-class rank would just cause more sneers. Luckily the judge was eager to adjourn for lunch; he commented rather wearily that I was only the messenger, then he told them to get on with it.
I had no interest in the trial and I wasn't going to stick around to be called irrelevant. Once my job there was finished, I left. The prosecutor never even spoke to me. He must have done a decent job, because not long afterwards I heard that Metellus had been convicted and that a large financial judgment had been made against him. Presumably he was quite well off -- well, he had been until then. We joked that Falco and Associates should have asked for a higher fee. Two weeks later Metellus was dead. Apparently it was suicide. In this situation his heirs would escape having to pay up, which no doubt suited them. It was hard luck on the prosecutor, but that was the risk he took.
He was Silius Italicus. Yes, I mentioned him. He was extremely well known, quite powerful -- and suddenly for some reason he wanted to see me.