Ode to a Banker (Marcus Didius Falco Series #12)by Lindsey Davis, Christopher Scott
"Can a tough detective have the sensibilities of a poet? When street-smart Marcus Didius Falco is coerced into a public reading of his satires, he couldn't feel worse. Yet his scribbling is met with rousing applause...and an offer by Chrysippus, esteemed banker, patron of the arts, and scroll merchant, to publish his work." "Et tu, Brute! A euphoric Falco then… See more details below
"Can a tough detective have the sensibilities of a poet? When street-smart Marcus Didius Falco is coerced into a public reading of his satires, he couldn't feel worse. Yet his scribbling is met with rousing applause...and an offer by Chrysippus, esteemed banker, patron of the arts, and scroll merchant, to publish his work." "Et tu, Brute! A euphoric Falco then discovers that Chrysippus expects to be paid for putting the budding author's work on papyrus. Falco is no Horace, but he has his pride. His ensuing altercation with the publisher makes him a suspect when Chrysippus is found brutally murdered - a classic body in a library. Fortunately Falco has an alibi, and thanks to his friends in the Watch, he also lands the job as the homicide's official investigator." "Murder, no matter how foul, is something Falco can handle even when he's up to his stylus in outraged authors and crafty bankers. But caught between family demands and pressure to wrap up the investigation, Falco relies on a time-honored method: He assembles all the suspects in the same room. He will need all his instincts and skills to find the one crucial clue that can break the case."--BOOK JACKET.
"Her witty and literate Falco novels are models of the genre." – Times
"One can only hope that Falco will be around for as long as Flashman." – Time Out
"A rollicking narrative… its award-winning author [is] in excellent form. – Frances Fyfield
Read an Excerpt
Mid July-12 August, A.D.74
"A book may be defined ...as a written (or printed) message of considerable length, meant for public circulation and recorded on materials that are light yet durable enough to afford comparatively easy portability."
"[The creditor] examines your family affairs; he meddles with your transactions. If you go forth from your chamber, he drags you along with him and carries you off; if you hide yourself inside he stands before your house and knocks at the door.
"If [the debtor] sleeps, he sees the moneylender standing at his head, an evil dream....If a friend knocks at the door he hides under the couch. Does the dog bark? He breaks out in a sweat. The interest due increases like a hare, a wild animal which the ancients believed could not stop reproducing even while it was nourishing the offspring already produced."
Basil of Caesarea
POETRY SHOULD HAVE BEEN SAFE.
"Take your writing tablets up to our new house," suggested Helena Justina, my elegant partner in life. I was struggling against shock and physical exhaustion, acquired during a dramatic underground rescue. Publicly, the vigiles took the credit, but I was the mad volunteer who had been lowered headfirst down a shaft on ropes. It had made me a hero for about a day, and I was mentioned by name (misspelled) in the Daily Gazette. "Just sit and relax in the garden," soothed Helena, after I had rampaged about our tiny Roman apartment for several weeks. "You can supervise the bathhouse contractors."
"I can supervise them if they bother to turn up."
"Take the baby. I may come too-we have so many friends abroad nowadays, I ought to work on The Collected Letters of Helena Justina."
What-by a senator's daughter? Most are too stupid and too busy counting their jewelry. None are ever encouraged to reveal their literary skills, assuming they have them. But then, they are not supposed to live with informers either.
"Badly needed," she said briskly. "Most published letters are by smug men with nothing to say."
Was she serious? Was she privately romancing? Or was she just twisting the rope on my pulley to see when I snapped? "Ah well," I said mildly. "You sit in the shade of a pine tree with your stylus and your great thoughts, fruit. I can easily run around after our darling daughter at the same time as I'm keeping a check on a bunch of slippery builders who want to destroy our new steam room. Then I can dash off my own little odes whenever there's a pause in the screaming and stone-cutting."
Every would-be author needs solitude and tranquillity.
It would have been a wonderful way to pass the summer, escaping from the city heat to our intended new home on the Janiculan Hill-except for this: the new home was a dump; the baby had embarked on a tantrum phase; and poetry led me into a public recital, which was foolish enough. That brought me into contact with the Chrysippus organization. Anything in commerce that looks like a safe proposition may be a step on the route to grief.
Copyright (c) 2001 by Lindsey Davis
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