in Italy. It was a marriage of convenience. He talked about his boyhood in North Africa, about his ambition to make his mark in literature. Finally, he even told her about his monograph. She laughed and made him promise to send her a copy when it was done.
They had far exceeded the quarter of an hour she had said she would allow him.
“I’ve taken enough of your time, Sophronia,” he said at last. He made to get up. “Thank you again for seeing me. I can find my way out.”
She looked at him under her heavy lashes. “You needn’t go,” she said.
Chapter Twenty
The day before the Kalends of November
The following morning, Suetonius located Pliny several miles beyond the city. With an architect and surveyor at his heels, the governor was inspecting the ruined arches of an abandoned aqueduct. It was a cold, clear day. Suetonius had ridden out on horseback and found that the sharp air revived him a little. He hadn’t had much sleep.
“Five million sesterces gone to waste!” Pliny was scowling. “And into whose purse did it disappear? I aim to find out. Meanwhile the city is starved for water. As long as the Balbus case keeps me in Nicomedia, there’s plenty to do here. We’re trying to see how much of the old brickwork is salvageable.” He signaled to his companions to take themselves out of earshot. “I expected to hear from you last night. You spoke with Sophronia?”
“The conversation went on, ah, a little longer than I had planned. You’d gone to bed by the time I got back.”
“Really.” Pliny raised an eyebrow. “You found her company agreeable?”
“Yes, well, I mean—”
“But not too agreeable, I hope.” He gave his friend a penetrating look.
“No. We discussed my monograph. She was most informative.”
“I can imagine. You know we need to be impartial dealing with these people. No entanglements. You do understand that.”
“Yes, absolutely. Yes.”
“Well, and what did you learn?”
Suetonius recounted their conversation.
Pliny’s eyes lit up. “Extraordinary! We guessed right on every count! Argyrus just might be our man.” He clapped Suetonius on the back. “I’ll be the rest of the morning here. You ride back and tell my lictor Galeo to bring Argyrus in. Where will he be, at the brothel?”
“Possibly, but I advise against arresting him there. Cause too much of a stir. Best we pick him up at home even if we have to wait. Sophronia can tell me where he lives.”
“Right you are.”
“Where do you want to question him? We can use the tavern again, keep things hush-hush.”
“Hmm. I see your point, but no. Have the lictors take him down to the dungeon and leave him there for a few hours. I want this man thoroughly frightened.”
***
Afternoon
The ancient kings of Bithynia had equipped their palace with a warren of airless underground cells, where generations of nameless and forgotten prisoners had dragged out the last years of their lives. The walls were covered with their desperate scribblings. A larger area served as guardroom and torture chamber. It was a place to unman even the bravest.
“Is this how honest citizens are treated now? Hauled out of bed by Roman bullies? My wife’s not well, they left her in hysterics. I have important friends, this won’t go unnoticed, I promise you.”
Though it was cold in the dungeon, Argyrus was sweating and his color was high. He was a ferret-faced man of about fifty, with a pointed nose, a receding hairline and a mouth full of bad teeth. He mopped his face with his sleeve.
“An honest citizen,” said Pliny, looking at him severely, “has nothing to fear.”
The stone walls of the chamber were damp and encrusted with niter. Outside the iron-bound door, two brawny guards, took up their post. A shorthand writer sat in a corner of the room, his stylus poised.
“And just what does that mean?” Argyrus was more angry than frightened.
“Vibius Balbus, the procurator, was last seen alive the morning of the fourth day before the Ides of October. Where were you during that day and the following night?”
“Balbus! What does he have to do with me?”
“Answer the question, please.”
“I don’t understand your Roman dates.”
After a moment’s calculation, Suetonius offered the equivalent in the local calendar.
“What, twenty days ago?” Argyrus protested. “Don’t be absurd! How do I know where I was? D’you know where you were?”
“I advise you to think.”
Argyrus retreated into a sulky silence that lasted some moments. “Well, at Elysium, I suppose, my sister’s place. Like I said, my wife’s practically an invalid, we don’t