Pliny made a temple of his fingers and rested his chin. “There’s death, Didymus, and then there’s death. I can spare your family the ignominy of a crucifixion. I can omit confiscating your property. You can’t expect more than that.”
“Can’t I?” The little man was on his feet, spittle flying from his lips. “Will you have me strangled in the dungeon? That’s a nice example of Roman justice! Or will you put me on trial and have it all come out, how your procurator has looted the province for two years? I’m sure your emperor will congratulate you for that!”
“Lictors!” Pliny shouted. Suddenly, he couldn’t bear the sight of this man. Galeo and two others who had been waiting in the antechamber rushed in. “Get him out of here!”
Suetonius crossed the room and put a hand on Pliny’s shoulder, easing him back in his chair. He could feel his chief trembling.
Chapter Thirty-eight
“A modest celebration,” said Pliny, touching his napkin to his lips, “seems in order.”
“Hear, hear,” Nymphidius said, lifting his glass, and was echoed by the other staff officers, and Zosimus, and Calpurnia, all reclining round the remains of a frugal luncheon.
“So the banker is the murderer after all?” said Calpurnia. “Who could have imagined it?” She gave her husband a smile that did not rise to her eyes. Tired eyes. The eyes of someone to whom sleep was almost a stranger. “What will you do with him?”
“For the moment, nothing. I will write the emperor for instructions, lay out everything I’ve discovered. I don’t relish it. In the meantime, I intend to issue a statement and have it read out in the assemblies of all the cities that Didymus has confessed to the murder of Balbus because of a personal grudge and is being held for trial. I will say nothing about Balbus’ involvement with stolen taxes. I’m not ready to make that public yet. Eventually we must tell the cities how they were cheated and make restitution, but I will happily lay all that in Trajan’s lap. I have sent a dispatch to Gavius Bassus, the Prefect of the Pontic Shore, in Sinope to place all our ship captains under house arrest until I have the leisure to interrogate them. Meanwhile all of you will say nothing about this to your subordinates or your wives. Is that understood?”
Suetonius gazed glumly into his wine cup. “Sophronia almost certainly knew about Balbus’ stealing tax money and had good reason to suspect Didymus of killing him, but she preferred to see her brother Argyrus go to his death for it rather than tell us the truth.”
Pliny agreed. “I’ve already ordered Argyrus’ release. We will leave that charming pair to their own devices.”
“Worse luck for you,” Marinus leered maliciously at Suetonius, whose dalliance with the lady was the subject of gossip among the staff. Suetonius ignored him.
Aquila gestured with a chicken leg. “Couldn’t we just blame it all on Silvanus? We’re going to execute him anyway. Wouldn’t look as bad as a corrupt procurator.”
“An unworthy suggestion,” Pliny frowned. “No, this province has seen two corrupt governors already in the past ten years. We will survive a corrupt procurator too when the time comes.”
“How long can it be kept secret?” Marinus said. “Young Aulus already has some suspicion, and I’m not convinced Fabia doesn’t know something about what her husband was getting up to.”
“Maybe, but they are the least likely to talk about it. I dread the day when it does all come out and Aulus has to endure the public humiliation.”
“You care for the boy, don’t you?” Calpurnia said.
“I do. He has courage. When I told him I wanted him to confront his father’s killer, he didn’t hesitate for a moment, even though it might bring on a seizure.”
“Which it did,” Marinus said. “A bad one. He’s still sleeping it off.”
“I’m fond of him too,” said Calpurnia. “I’m glad you brought him to my lesson, although he sat there the whole time staring either at his feet or at me. I’m afraid poor Timotheus was quite disconcerted.”
Pliny’s heart leapt. Was there something here at last that they could agree on? Some small opening for rebuilding a relationship strained to the breaking point? He covered her hand with his; he didn’t risk speaking.
“The money,” Caelianus protested with the outrage of a born accountant. “Where did it all go?”
“When we know that,” Pliny answered, “we will know everything. Balbus’ murder has done no more than lift a corner of the veil that covers his crime. In general, there’s no doubt where it went. Didymus was merely a conduit for money which has found its way into the hands of rich men to invest in building schemes out of which they make even more money. Once the money’s spent it can’t be traced. It’s like-like…” he paused, searching for an image.”
“Like sending a soiled toga to the fullery?” Zosimus suggested with his customary diffidence. “It goes in spotted and comes out clean.”
“Brilliant, my boy!” said Pliny. “Like laundering money! A very apt metaphor indeed.”
“And,” said Suetonius, “one could easily make a list of the likely recipients. But proving it is another thing.”
“Is there no way to make Didymus talk?” Calpurnia asked.
Pliny gave a helpless shrug. “If the man is willing to die rather than expose his family to the wrath of the others, and the Sun-Runner, I don’t know what I can do to change his mind.”
“With good reason,” Suetonius added. “If Didymus didn’t murder the high priest Barzanes then there’s another murderer out there and he must be desperate, thinking what the banker might tell us. I trust he’s safely stowed away where even this mysterious Sun-Runner can’t get at him?”
“I’ll double the guard on his cell,” said Pliny. “Mehercule, I almost feel like we’re fighting a ghost!”
“And you must be careful too, Gaius. I’m afraid for you.” Calpurnia touched his arm.
“Now, now, nothing at all to worry about, my dear.” And again his heart leapt.
“So now we just wait to see what will happen next?” said Nymphidius without enthusiasm.
“What I propose to do,” Pliny replied, “is resume my tour of the province.”
“What?” Marinus was alarmed. “You’re exhausted, man. As your physician I can’t-”
“Nonsense. Do me a world of good to get back to my proper work again. The weather’s turned unseasonably mild again and I shall take advantage of it. Look, we’ve solved Balbus’ murder and that’s all anyone outside this room needs to know. If I continue to hang around Nicomedia people will start to wonder why. No, I’ve made up my mind to set out tomorrow, in fact. Suetonius, as before, I leave you in charge of things here. ’Purnia, I hope you’ll keep a kindly eye on Aulus, he-I say, ’Purnia…”
***
The next morning
Calpurnia sat at her dressing table while Ione brushed her hair with long, vigorous strokes.
“’Purnia, this is your chance! But no more hanging about the temples, please. I’ll take him another letter if you want.”
“Oh, Ione, I’ve given up. It’s over,” she lied. She’d been badly frightened when she learned that Zosimus had spoken to her husband about Ione. Maybe the girl would never let anything slip, but the less she knew now the better.
“You don’t mean that.” There was an edge to Ione’s voice; something almost accusing in her tone.
“I’m afraid I do.”
“But-“
“I’m actually not feeling very well today, dear. I’ll spend the day alone with a book. You may leave me now.” With her back to her, Calpurnia could not see that look that passed over Ione’s face. And if she had, could she have guessed what lay behind it?
“As you wish, Mistress.”
Calpurnia had lain awake most of the night while Pliny snored peacefully beside her. In the past month, since she had seen him for that brief moment in the temple of Zeus, she had, indeed, struggled to forget Agathon, had almost persuaded herself that she could. How foolish! She was powerless-a weak, foolish woman, a slave to her love, her need. She must see him again, only once, she told herself, just once so that they might part friends. But she knew this was a lie. She would send him another message. Not like the last one, complaining, threatening-of course, he hadn’t answered her. No, she would be dignified, reasonable-but not cold, no, she would tell him how much she loved him, she would ask him to spare her an afternoon, an hour even, to be with him. But who would deliver her note? If not Ione, then who? One of the household slaves? Could she trust any of them to keep her secret? They were Pliny’s slaves, not hers. She thought for a long time and then she knew whom she would entrust it to. She’d never asked him for a favor but why should he refuse? People like him were useful for this sort of thing. Of course she was taking a risk, but that would be true no matter what she did. She would go out of her way to be charming to him today.