“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