“Balbus was murdered on the morning of the fourth day before the Ides of October. Where were you?”
“At home or in the bank. Ask my wife and son, they’ll vouch for me.”
“Oh, I’m sure they will. It’s of no importance. We know where you were. You knew exactly where to intercept Balbus on his way to the cave.”
“I don’t know anything about a cave.”
“Let’s talk about Glaucon. Where did you get the poison you used on him?”
“I never!”
“His whole family died-wife, children, mother, the lot. Surely you feel badly about that?”
Didymus passed his hand over his eyes. “I didn’t poison anyone.”
Pliny drew another page from his folder. This is a question that Glaucon submitted to Pancrates’ oracle. Will I be punished for slaying the lion? Pancrates couldn’t understand it, but I do. Balbus was the Lion. It seems Glaucon was suffering remorse, perhaps even on the verge of confessing. I’m less clear about why you set a fire that killed Barzanes, the high priest of your cult.”
At the mention of Barzanes the banker sucked in his breath, he hooked a foot behind the leg of the stool and squirmed. “You can’t think I…I don’t know any Barzanes.”
“To kill that venerable old man, that was a desperate step. What did you think he might tell us?”
The night wore on. Pliny and Suetonius took turns firing questions at the banker with such rapidity that he hadn’t time to answer one before the next was asked, circling back again and again to the same points: How long had he belonged to this cult? What hold did he have over Glaucon? Where did he get the poison? Who helped him set fire to the tenement? How many initiates are in the cult? What did he do with the money he owed Sophronia? And again and again, who is the Sun-Runner? Through it all Didymus rocked back and forth on his stool, gazed here and there in the room, wiped his face with the back of his hand, and denied everything. The lamps guttered and had to be refilled. Towards dawn his cupid’s bow mouth contracted into a tight O and he stared at Pliny with unblinking eyes. Clearly he was done talking. Pliny summoned his lictors and had them take the banker away, this time to a cell in the dungeon. He and Suetonius regarded each other wearily.
Suetonius yawned. “I don’t know about Didymus, but I’m ready to confess to anything.”
Pliny made an effort to smile. “That should be amusing. We’ll save that for another day.”
“Is it possible he’s telling the truth?”
Pliny leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “He’s lying, I’m sure of it. But I have no proof and he knows it. And with the businessmen baying at my door I need an ironclad case before I proceed against him. I can’t hold him much longer or I’ll have a riot on my hands.
“What now?”
“Get some rest. We’ll have another go at him in a few hours. I have one trick up my sleeve. I’m reluctant to use it but if I have to, I will.”
***
Pliny slid under the covers, careful not to wake Calpurnia. He stretched his legs, arched his aching back, closed his eyes and was instantly asleep. He dreamed of rats. Rats running over his feet, up his legs. In a terror, he sat bolt upright. The first gray light of dawn sifted through the latticed windows.
“What is it?” Calpurnia murmured.
“Rats.”
“What! Where?”
“Not here, I didn’t mean here. I had a dream about them. Do you believe that dreams tell us things?”
“I suppose so.” She looked a question.
Pliny was out of bed and fumbling for his shoes.
“Where are you going at this hour?” she asked.
“To look for rats.”
***
“Galeo,” Pliny said to his lictor, “how does a rat happen to get trapped in a bank vault?”
“Sir?”
Pliny alighted from his litter in front of Didymus’ bank. Galeo and another lictor were with him. He told the soldier who guarded the door to unbolt it. The narrow lane was already crowded with foot traffic; a few passersby stopped to watch. Inside, he surprised the banker’s wife, a stout, pale-haired woman, who stared at him with anxious eyes.
“Forgive me, madam,” he said, “please go back upstairs and stay there. We have business here.”
“My husband-?”
“Is still my guest. Do as I ask.”
Pliny had confiscated the key to the vault and now he turned it in the heavy lock. The door swung open and two fat, brown rats scurried out. Galeo jumped back. They had come equipped with torches. Pliny stooped and entered the narrow chamber. In the flaring light more pairs of eyes glittered.
“I hate the damned things,” said Galeo, who came in behind him.
“Yes, but they’re telling us something. When I was first here and Didymus opened the vault for me, one of them ran over my foot. It didn’t occur to me then to wonder how it got there.”
“What are we looking for, sir?”
“I’m not sure. It could be I’m letting my imagination run away with me. Hold the torch nearer to the floor.”
Step by step they circled the room, shifting chests, peering in the dark corners.
“Sir!” Galeo whispered. “Over here.” He pointed to an iron grating set in the floor behind a stack of chests; a hole just large enough for a man to crawl through. As they watched, a frightened rat squeezed between the bars and disappeared.
Chapter Thirty-seven
If Pliny had slept little, Didymus looked like he had not slept at all. His eyes were red and there was a tremor in his one hand. His cheeks were covered with a day’s growth of beard and bits of straw clung to his clothes and hair. But his little mouth was set in a stubborn pout.
“This is an outrage. You Romans-”
“I know you’re uncomfortable,” Pliny cut him off. “Are you thirsty? Suetonius, pour our friend a cup of wine. We needn’t prolong this, you know. And you know I’m quite prepared to see you as the victim here. I don’t think you instigated any of this. I’d very much like to hear your side of it.”
Didymus waved the wine away. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I paid a visit to your bank this morning and what do you suppose I found? A tunnel, quite a well-made one, that runs under the street from your vault to a warehouse on the docks. My men and I searched it. There isn’t much in the warehouse at the moment, bales of cloth, innocent cargo. But in the tunnel we found a few of these.” Pliny held up a silver four drachma piece stamped with the emblem of Heraclea Pontica. “This is tax money, Didymus, conveyed to the warehouse in-I’m guessing, sacks of dried fruit? jars of oil? — and smuggled through that tunnel into your bank vault. Now, my friend, tell me why, tell me who was behind this. Help yourself while you still can.”
Behind Didymus’ back Suetonius raised his eyebrows in astonishment. He was hearing this for the first time.
“Tunnel? Oh, that. Been there for ages. I didn’t know where it went. You said a warehouse?”
Pliny lunged forward. “Stop this nonsense! I already know enough to convict you. Lying only makes it worse. You have one more chance to help yourself. Who dragged you into this mess?”
The little banker stared at the floor. When he looked up his face was white and wet with sweat. Pliny could smell the fear. “Balbus, of course. Who d’you think?” His lips twisted in a sneer.
Pliny leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Excellent! I’m glad you’re seeing reason at last. Now, if you would, tell me exactly how it worked.”
Didymus answered in a voice that was barely audible. “Four navy ships collect the money from the coastal cities-Heraclea, Sinope, Amisus, the others-and bring it here. One of those ship captains, I don’t know his name, was Balbus’ accomplice. Somewhere along the coast at night Balbus would meet him in a ship he owns and they’d transfer some of the money, disguising it, like you said, as innocent cargo and offload it at the warehouse, which Balbus also owns. The customs inspector never suspected anything or maybe he was bribed, I don’t know.”