Roman Dusk by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro Page A

first hour after dawn. He said he’d met you with Septimus Desiderius Vulpius. He had a few questions for me regarding your business and property, and he hinted that there would be fewer questions, and fewer delays, if you would double his four percent fee for your transfer of residence.”
    “Did he?” Sanct-Franciscus was not surprised. “What kind of questions is he asking?”
    “Mostly how much money you have outside of Roma, beyond the villa and the vineyard and the horse-farm, and how many ships you have plying the seas,” said Urbanus. “I told him he should consult with your agents in Ostia about your shipping interests. Your agents there know more than I, and they have worked with you much longer than I have.”
    “An excellent response,” Sanct-Franciscus approved.
    “He wouldn’t have agreed with you. I doubt he wants to divide his commission with any of the decuriae in Ostia, and that should serve to limit his searches to Roma,” said Urbanus. “I suggested he wait until you are settled here and then audit your records for the Senate.”
    “And what did he say to that?” Sanct-Franciscus asked. He rounded suddenly on three slaves tugging at a chest in the cart. “Be careful with that. The contents are breakable.”
    “Sorry, Dominus,” said the largest of the three. “It’s pretty well wedged in.”
    Sanct-Franciscus sighed. “Then fetch a lever,” he said. “The contents of that chest would be hard to replace.”
    One of the slaves paled, and all three touched their collars to show their compliance with his order.
    Knowing the three were now nervous, Sanct-Franciscus said, “Have one of your fellows help you.”
    “Yes, Dominus,” said the largest again, and motioned to the youngest to go find help.
    Sanct-Franciscus turned back to Urbanus. “Pardon me.”
    “You are Dominus here, and by right you command,” said Urbanus. “We are here to serve at your pleasure.” He regarded Sanct-Franciscus a moment. “Was I wrong to make such a suggestion to that decuria? He was most insistent and curious. I thought he was looking for some excuse to confiscate your property, so I thought I should—”
    “You did the right thing, Urbanus,” said Sanct-Franciscus, wondering why Telemachus Batsho was so interested in him.
    “You have some powerful friends who could require this Batsho to desist,” Urbanus said speculatively.
    “It would only increase his curiosity,” said Sanct-Franciscus. “Why give him cause to investigate all my dealings.” He did not add that Urbanus was privy to less than a quarter of his ventures, and that he hoped to keep it that way.
    “Very well,” said Urbanus, stepping back as the four slaves lugged the large chest away. “Shall I inform you of his requests?”
    “If you would,” said Sanct-Franciscus, shading his eyes from the rays of the westering sun as the first of six crates of his native earth was borne away to the apartments he would occupy.
    “And should I apprise Batsho when I send word to you?” Urbanus asked.
    “I think for now a regular report will suffice: one to him and one to me. You are a man of good sense, Urbanus; I rely upon you to know how much to reveal; I prefer you not lie, for that might come back to weigh on me.” He held up his hand. “I will soon come to your office and review all the figures Aedius has supplied, and I will give you an official authorization in regard to which intelligence you may release without first obtaining my specific permission.”
    Urbanus offered Sanct-Franciscus a civilian salute, then started for the gate. “I will expect inventories from you in four days’ time, if you think that will suffice? Better to do this quickly than to delay—that appears questionable.”
    “If I need more time, I will let you know, and the reason for it, so there will be no opportunity for uncertainty; I thank you for your attention on my behalf,” said Sanct-Franciscus, and waited until the clerk had left before he