The Folding Knife (26 page)

Antigonus nodded slowly. "I'll say this for you," he said. "You're not short on self-confidence. Change the nature of the Republic for ever, just so you can have your shipyard."

"My monopoly on shipbuilding, you mean."

"Exactly. No lack of belief in yourself." Antigonus paused to catch his breath. It didn't take much, these days. "There's one thing you may not have considered."

"Well?"

"If your wonderful scheme goes ahead, that'll mean I'll be a citizen too."

Basso felt as if he'd just walked into something in the dark. "That's something you want."

"Yes, as it happens."

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

"It's not something that someone like me asks for." Antigonus made a vague gesture with his hand. "Don't worry about it," he said, "I certainly don't hold it against you. It's just a silly notion of mine. Like you," he added, "wanting to be Basso the Great."

"I wish I'd never opened my mouth," Basso said sourly. "Anyway, I'm happy for you, and you deserve it. Like Aelius; bloody stupid that a man like him--and you, of course--should be a second-class human being in the eyes of the law."

Antigonus looked at him; you made Aelius a citizen, he didn't say. "Fortunate," he said, "that righting a social injustice should fit in with your plans. Like the free bunch of grapes you get when you buy a bushel of olives."

"Does it matter?"

"No." Antigonus shrugged. "You have the knack of being able to do what you want, and then finding excellent reasons for it afterwards. No, that's not it; you do something for
your
reason, and it turns out that it was the right thing to do anyway. Why are you doing this, by the way? It's not because of the shipyard, and it's not for the public good." He paused, then added, "Or can't you tell me?"

"No," Basso said. "Does that matter?"

"Of course not. What matters is the outcome, not the intention. You produce very good outcomes, so who cares?" He smiled, and Basso knew that he'd given offence and been forgiven. "I've got a name for you, though. Basso the Lucky. Will that do?"

"Perfectly."

The Lady Tertullia Placidia was late for the appointment.

"I was playing dice with the Sulpicii sisters," she explained, taking off her gloves. Her hands were long and pale. "Renzia needed double five to go out, but she couldn't make it." She sat down on the straight-backed gilded chair his mother had always favoured, and smiled at him. "This is rather unusual, isn't it?"

He sat down opposite her. There wasn't much in the way of cover: a small table with a potted fern on it, a tall wrought-iron lampstand his grandfather had brought back from Eschia. Aelius, he felt, would approve. Fight your pitched battles in the open, he'd once heard him say.

"This isn't your usual sort of marriage," he said. "Given the circumstances, I thought it'd probably be just as well if you got a good look at me before we take things any further."

"Ah." She nodded; conceding that he had a point, though she didn't necessarily agree. "Well, my father's quite keen..."

"I know," Basso said. "But that's all politics and business. I thought you might like to make your own mind up. If you decide you'd rather be dead in a ditch, I'll break off the negotiations. Tactfully, of course."

"It's not up to me," she said; then she fell silent, aware that she'd spoken before thinking about her choice of words. "I mean, naturally I rely on my parents' judgement. They wouldn't marry me off to a monster, after all. I'm their daughter."

Basso shrugged. "My father married my sister to a drunken idiot who sniffed round anything in a skirt," he replied. "He needed the money. Your father needs money. Or didn't you know that?"

Her face answered for her. "I have no idea," she said. "That's none of my business."

"And my parents married me to a whore," he added pleasantly. "Two disasters out of two. Which is probably why I don't have as much confidence in the system as you do."

She was looking at him. Probably, he decided, just as well. Plazidio was a political ally and a sort of a business partner; he always reminded Basso of the little birds who make their living by picking the teeth of crocodiles. His daughter, fortunately, took after her mother in appearance. The disconcerting thing was, he'd had a crush on Hostilia Tertullina when they were both fifteen. Being married to her daughter, who looked so very like her, would be rather bewildering.

"Mother says you and she were great friends once," she said.

"That's one way of putting it," Basso said. "I seem to remember her saying to me once that she wouldn't go to the Ascension Ball with me if I was the last living creature on earth. I could see her point," he added quickly. "I wasn't much to look at even then. Also, I'm deaf in one ear and your mother's very softly spoken. She got sick to death of having to say everything twice."

"Are those honey-cakes?" she said in a very clear voice, looking past him to the table next to the wall. "I adore honey-cakes, and it's so hard to get proper ones, with cinnamon."

He stood up and fetched the plate. She took two. He tried to take one for himself, but he used his left hand. It slipped through his fingertips and landed on the floor. She tried to look as though she hadn't noticed; and he recognised that look. So her father drinks, he thought, I must remember that.

"I'm afraid this hand's not much good for anything," he said. "It got cut up in a fight when I was young."

"Poor you," she said. "It must be terribly inconvenient."

"Most of the time, no," he replied. "Just occasionally, like then."

"You've learned to adapt."

He smiled. "People can adapt to most things," he said. "Which doesn't mean they should have to. There's no merit in it."

She didn't reply to that, partly because her mouth was full of cake. She was very beautiful when she ate; just like her mother at her age. Last he'd heard, she'd got as fat as a pig. "Your brother," he said. "He's reading for the priesthood, isn't he?"

"That's right," she said. "In his second year."

"My nephew's at the Studium."

"I know." She nodded. "My brother's in the same class for Ethics and Accountancy. He's got the same name as you, hasn't he? Bassianus?"

"We call him Bassano in the family," Basso replied. "Less confusing."

"He's always top in everything, my brother says."

(And he thought: she's talking to the wrong Bassianus; though I don't suppose Bassano would be all that bothered. He'd want someone with a bit more flavour, even just for polite flirtation. What I ever saw in her mother I can't imagine.) "He's a smart boy," Basso replied. "But I don't see him as a priest."

"Oh? Why not?"

"He's too spiritual."

She wasn't sure if that was supposed to be a joke, and he couldn't blame her. "And he's lazy," he went on, "though I'm hoping that's just his age." No offence taken, by the look of it; she'd be, what, six months younger than him? "I believe he's the sort of young man who'll take a long time to settle to anything, but when he does, he'll do it well. I'm not like that. I started in business when I was younger than he is now. I couldn't see the point in youth."

"Oh." She looked at him as if he was one of those street preachers. "Isn't it supposed to be the happiest time of your life?"

"Maybe. I didn't think so. Couldn't wait to get rid of it, to be honest with you."

"It's different for men," she said gamely. Had to give her credit for making some sort of a fight of it.

"I suppose so," he said. "It's rather an unfair advantage, if you ask me. Women are only allowed twenty-five years to find happiness, if that. Men can take twice as long. But I couldn't see the point in wasting time like that. It's different for someone like my nephew, of course. He's got charm and good looks, so being young suits him." Like a girl, he didn't need to add.

"Can I have another one of those cakes? They're really good."

He managed to keep from smiling. A sensible young woman, he decided, after all; load up on the cakes while they're going, and the day won't have been completely wasted. "Help yourself," he said. "Our cook made them. I'll get him to send you round a couple of dozen."

The Twenty-Second Law of Bassianus Severus, more usually referred to as the Enfranchisement Act, scraped through the House like, as Basso put it, a fat dog squeezing through railings. To general surprise, the faction led by Tertullius voted against, whereas the law received unexpected support from Olybrias and his hard-core Optimates. The two surprises effectively cancelled each other out, and Basso won by a margin of six wards.

"Why?" he asked later.

The priest--Basso had taken the trouble to find out his name, since it seemed like they'd be seeing a lot of each other in the future: Chrysophilus--made his distinctive don't-blame-me gesture. "Your sister," he said, "felt that if you lost the vote, your government would probably fall."

"Unlikely," Basso interrupted. "But so what? She'd want that, surely."

"Not," Chrysophilus said, "under those circumstances." He hesitated, and Basso read the pause as "I owe her my loyalty, but I like you more than her." "To be blunt," he said, "she wants to be the sole author of all your misfortunes. If your government falls, she'd like it to be because she made it happen. I'm sorry," he added quickly, "but that's the way she thinks."

Basso nodded slowly. "I know," he said. "She's as jealous in hate as normal people are in love. Not your fault," he said brightly. "Have another brandy."

Chrysophilus hesitated for as long as he could; five seconds. "Thanks," he said, "I think I will. There are times when the wishes of my patroness..."

"Quite." Basso poured a large measure. "So she told Olybrias to save my neck, so she could have the pleasure of stretching it later."

"More or less," the young priest replied, after he'd swallowed his drink. "I believe her instructions were that he was to vote with you if there seemed like there was a serious risk that you'd fail. Otherwise, he was to vote against."

"Bless her," Basso said. "She's a bit like her mother. By and large a kind-hearted woman, but when she wanted to, she could spin out a grudge like a tramp with a drink in a bar. Talking of which," he added, lifting the decanter. Chrysophilus smiled and shook his head.

"You put up with a lot from her," he said.

"She's my sister," Basso replied. "I'd do anything to make her happy, except I don't think she's capable of happiness. Well, almost anything. I draw the line at cutting my own throat."

Chrysophilus smiled weakly. "One must draw the line somewhere, I agree. I can't help thinking, though, that your forbearance--"

"Forbearance has got nothing to do with it," Basso cut him off. "I ruined her life--not intentionally, in self-defence and maybe she's contributed to it a bit, but that doesn't matter. She's entitled to want to hurt me, which is why I let her do it. You don't think I couldn't stop her if I wanted to." He stopped talking, looked up at the ceiling. "There's a thing," he said. "You're a priest, and this room contains some of the finest examples of pre-Reformation religious art in the City. Had you noticed?"

"I'm not an art person," Chrysophilus replied. "Wasted on me, I'm afraid."

"We used to use it as a lumber room," Basso said. "Which is probably how it survived. If we'd ever come in here, we'd have redecorated, a hundred years ago, and now you'd probably have cheerful hunting scenes or tasteful shepherdesses on the walls instead of some of the most sublime expressions of the human spirit you'd ever hope to find. When I was a kid, my mother had a full-sized Advancing Victory by Sositheus smashed into gravel for the herb garden path. Waste not, want not, she said, and she didn't like old-fashioned ornaments. With the possible exception of my nephew and myself, my family..." He shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said, "I'm being embarrassing. You don't want to hear me moaning about my family."

"I understand," Chrysophilus said. "It's often easier to talk to strangers."

"I find it easiest to talk to my enemies," Basso said. "Of whom, technically, you're one. Which reminds me. Please be good enough to tell my sister that I'll be getting married at the end of the month."

"Congratulations," Chrysophilus said automatically, which made Basso smile. "So, you were able to find a suitable--"

"Not a suitable." A private-joke grin, width but no depth. "But she fits my sister's criteria. Which reminds me, I must remember to tell her. Another brandy before you go?"

"Why?" she asked.

Not a reaction he'd have expected from anybody else. From Melsuntha, it made sense.

"Personally," he said, "I'm very much a leg man, unlike my father and my two sons, all of whom belong to the mammary school of human beauty. My first wife--"

"Why?" she repeated.

"I haven't had sex since my wife died. It's been a long time."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "Maybe because you're one of the few women I've met who, on receiving a proposal of marriage from the First Citizen, who also happens to be the richest man in Vesania, would ask that question. Most women would say yes. Sensible women who know me or know about me would say no. But
why
puts you in a rather special category."