“Because he was afraid?”
“No, it wasn’t that. I just think, in a sense, he was never a boy. But he’s a good man and, trust me, he will solve this case however long it takes.”
“And the hunt for Fabia goes on?”
“It does. We’ve got every soldier and lictor we can spare visiting every inn and post house and village within fifty miles of the city. We’ve alerted the authorities in Prusa, Nicaea, Apamea. But it’s been four days. By now they could be anywhere. I suspect they’ve put to sea. If they make it across Propontis, we may never find them.”
“She killed him, of course. She and my brother.”
“He denies it.”
“Have you tortured him?”
“Pliny shrinks from it.”
“Your governor is too soft. Let me spend half an hour with him in your dungeon.”
“You almost frighten me, my dear. I should not like to be your enemy.”
She laughed. “Let’s hope you never will be.”
They were companionably quiet for a while, pleasantly drunk. Then Sophronia rubbed her foot against his and said, “I have a small problem you might help me with.”
“If I can.”
“There is a banker in the city who owes me money, a rather large sum that I deposited with him to invest for me. It’s been months now and he neither returns it nor tells me what he’s done with it. A typical Greek male; because I am who and what I am, he thinks he can safely cheat me. Balbus was going to get it back for me but then he died.”
“How much money are talking about?”
“Two talents.”
Suetonius looked at her in astonishment. “That’s a fortune! What were you thinking?”
She pouted. “Balbus thought it was a good idea. He said he trusted the man.”
“And who is this man?”
“A wretched little one-armed creature by the name of Didymus.”
***
“Didymus is his name.” Suetonius and Pliny were in the palace baths, soaking in the hot pool. Slaves stood by with armloads of towels. Suetonius knew that his chief was always more amenable to requests when he was warm and wet.
“I know the man,” said Pliny. He breathed in a lungful of steam and exhaled it slowly. “I brought him in for an interview two weeks or so ago, just after Glaucon was poisoned. He’s the family’s banker-the brother’s, that is. But it turned out that Glaucon also had invested money with him without his brother’s knowledge. I thought it was worth having a chat with him.”
“What did you learn?”
“Nothing, really. He struck me as honest, anxious to please. Said he would return Glaucon’s deposit to the family.”
“They’re an important family. He doesn’t seem to feel equally obligated to Sophronia, a foreigner, a brothel keeper. And as a woman she can’t take him to court.”
“You’re quite her champion, aren’t you?” Pliny cocked an eyebrow.
“Well, I mean she has been helpful to us. I think we owe her something.”
“All right. Calm down, my friend. I can’t officially take sides in a private dispute but I am curious about him-more than curious. Interesting that he’s Glaucon’s banker and Sophronia’s too.”
“On Balbus’ advice.”
“And Balbus said he would get her money back for her and soon after that he was murdered. With so much smoke I think there is bound to be fire. I will pay him a visit.”
“On what pretext?”
“Actually, he invited me to visit his premises. He seemed anxious to help me invest my money. I wonder if he did the same for Balbus.
***
Galeo had been a lictor for twenty years. His father had been one before him, and his uncle and his grandfather as well. In fact, the men of his family had attended Roman magistrates going back to the reign of Augustus. It was an honorable profession: to march beside a magistrate, or the emperor himself, clad in a red tunic and white toga, bearing on one’s shoulder the heavy ax bundled with rods, emblematic of the power to chastise and execute, ordering the crowd to make way. In his time he had served a dozen or more officials, been entrusted by some of them with important assignments-carrying messages, guarding prisoners. Once he had even deflected an assassin. The profession didn’t pay well but the gratuities added up, and the ladies were always impressed. Gaius Plinius was his first provincial governor. He had rejoiced when the lottery selected him from the pool of lictors; a chance to see a part of the world he had never visited.
But Galeo was not happy. For a week he had ridden along the coast north of Nicomedia in every kind of vile weather, for winter was upon them; sores on his backside, legs splashed with mud, inquiring in every town and hamlet if anyone had seen a big woman with a sickly boy. This was work for soldiers, not a person of his standing.
Nightfall found him in a tavern, or what passed for one in this piss-poor village, hardly more than a loose construction of boards and thatch that threatened to collapse in the buffeting wind. He stood at the bar, bracketed by a couple of leather-skinned fishermen. Galeo’s family were Greek-speakers from southern Italy, nevertheless he struggled to understand the local patois.
He lifted his arm to pour the last dregs of undrinkable wine down his throat, when over the rim of his cup he saw the man coming through the door. The size of him! There was no mistaking him: the monster who had confronted him and his fellow lictors when the governor invaded Fabia’s house.
And, at the same moment, the man saw him. Unlikely that he recognized him, but he was a stranger to the village and that was enough. The man turned and fled. Galeo tossed his cup aside, lowered his head, and charged after him into the wild night.
Chapter Thirty-four
The 11th day before the Kalends of December
Didymus’ round face beamed with delight. The little man bowed, folding himself nearly in two, as he greeted Pliny at the door. “What a pleasure to see you, Governor! We’re honored by your presence. I felt when we last spoke that I might have interested you in investing with us. You won’t be sorry, sir, you won’t be sorry.” He put out his left hand to touch Pliny’s shoulder confidingly; the stump of his right arm pointed the way within.
The bank occupied the ground floor of an undistinguished brick building on the waterfront. The upper story, Pliny assumed, was the family’s apartment. Nothing about it advertised the fortunes concealed in its vaults, the prominent names recorded in its ledgers.
Inside, half-a-dozen clerks hunched over tables, counting sums with their fingers. A rack of scrolls occupied one wall. It was in every way a smaller version of the counting room in the treasury building.
Pliny was ushered into an inner office, seated in a comfortable chair, and offered a cup of wine by a young slave. Didymus stood, rocking on the balls of his feet, his eyes gleaming, his feathery brows going up and down. Of course there would be no more investments in ships’ cargoes for the next few months, he said, but there were many, oh many, other attractive opportunities in the meantime-luxury goods brought overland from the East; slaves, always a sound investment. Was there something the Governor was particularly interested in? Pliny was noncommittal. For a while they discussed interest rates and the deplorable waste of funds on ill-advised building projects, to which Didymus nodded in vigorous agreement. Pliny wondered if Didymus’ vault was quite secure. Oh, Absolutely! Would the Governor care to inspect it?
The little man led the way back into the counting room, pulled aside a drapery at one end of it, revealing a heavy door, and produced a large key. As the door swung open, a big brown rat raced across Pliny’s foot.