have, at the moment, four suspects. Silvanus hated and feared Balbus after he caught him stealing, although frankly I don’t think the man is capable of murder. Fabia and Argyrus, either together or singly, both stood to lose if Balbus divorced his wife and married Sophronia. In that case I suppose that Fabia’s muscular slave, Lurco, was the actual killer. Unfortunately, he gave my lictor the slip and we have yet to find him. Finally there is the banker, Didymus.”
“That little one-armed runt,” Nymphidius snorted. “He couldn’t kill my old mother.”
“I’m assuming Glaucon did the actual killing. Didymus must have had some influence over him. They knew each other, that much is certain. He wouldn’t even have to be there in person.”
“And the motive?” Marinus asked.
“A dispute over money. If, that is, Didymus is the Persian that Balbus complained of to this Sun-Runner, whoever he is. The same Persian who later poisoned Glaucon to silence him, and burned up Barzanes in his house too, I imagine.”
Zosimus spoke up, diffident as always. “Money? Is that reason enough to make a provincial risk murdering a high Roman official? Surely Didymus could have found the money somewhere to pay Balbus back. He is a banker with banker friends.”
“And speaking of his banker friends,” Pliny said wearily, “a delegation of them has been clamoring to see me ever since we brought him in. His arrest has hardly gone unnoticed. Bankers, merchants, and assorted grandees with none other than our friend Diocles at their head, all demanding that I free him. Precisely the people that I do not want to antagonize. Unless I can prove something against him soon I’ll have to let him go.”
“The little banker worshipping Mithras in a cave?” Suetonius put in. “I just find that hard to picture.”
“I find the whole thing hard to picture,” Pliny sighed. “And that is the crux of the matter, isn’t it? Who are these people and what are they up to? And we’re no closer to learning that than we ever were.”
“The cave,” said Aquila. “The blasted cave! I’ve had my men out searching for it for weeks now. They’re so tired of tramping through those hills, climbing in and out of one dark hole after another I’m half afraid they’ll mutiny soon. And what if we do find it? What’ll we learn?”
“It would be pleasant to imagine we’ll find a list of the initiates, although probably not.” Pliny smiled bleakly. “Anyway, keep them at it.”
“Where does this leave us, then?” said Suetonius.
“It leaves us,” said Pliny, “with our little banker. I’ve let him cool his heels for three days while we dealt with Fabia and Silvanus. Let’s see if he’s ready to talk to us. We’ll start on him this evening. Get some rest now, my friend, it may be a long night.”
***
Timotheus tapped his foot, unrolled and rerolled his scroll. The damned woman was late again for her lesson. But, of course, no one in this household minded wasting his time, no one bothered about his convenience. A Greek tutor in a Roman household was a creature to be pitied. He might wear a scholar’s cloak and long beard but in fact he was little better than a slave; a monkey with a collar around its neck, expected to be amusing at the dinner table though fed on scraps of food and bad wine; expected to flatter and praise the master’s modest poetical efforts, expected to teach the rudiments of Greek to the master’s wife, and to know that while they smiled at him they secretly despised him for a miserable Greekling. These Romans! But Diocles, who was his patron, wanted him here and here he would stay.
He blew out his cheeks. His stomach was hurting him again. He was forced to admit that the lady exhibited some shreds of intelligence—for a woman and a Roman, although she often seemed half distracted. She claimed to know something about art but her taste in literature was execrable. He had given up trying to drag her through Homer and finally consented to read a romantic novel of her choosing. Absolute trash! Pirates, kidnapped brides! Pure torture for a man of his sensibility. And the expressions she came up with—the Greek of the alleys. Where was she learning them? From that slut Ione, he supposed. A thoroughly bad influence.
The library door flew open and Calpurnia rushed in, murmuring apologies.
Timotheus scowled. “Today, madam, I think it best to begin with the finer points of the Greek verb.