The Bull Slayer

CHAPTER Thirty-six

The 7th day before the Kalends of December

Pliny had expected that three days of confinement would unnerve Didymus. He realized as soon as the man was brought into his office that he had miscalculated; waiting seemed to have had the opposite effect. Gone was the fawning, anxious-to-please demeanor. In its place, was an expression of stubborn defiance.

“Sit him down.” A stool was placed in the center of the room. The lictor who had brought him in forced Didymus onto it.

Pliny sat behind his desk, on which he had placed a thick folder of papers. All but two of the sheets had nothing to do with the case at all but made the folder impressively thick. Didymus couldn’t take his eyes off it. Pliny opened it and began slowly to turn the pages. The only other persons in the room were Suetonius and a shorthand writer, both seated to one side, beyond Didymus’ line of sight. Outside, the night was pitch black and only the uncertain, sickly light of oil lamps, one on the desk, the other hanging from a stand above Didymus’ head, illumined the scene.

“How much longer do you think you can keep me here?” The banker’s voice was truculent. “I have influential friends, you know. They won’t stand for Roman bullying.”

“Indeed,” said Pliny mildly, “I’ve had a look at your books, I’m impressed by your clientele. Now this needn’t take long at all if you’ll cooperate with me.” He drew a sheet from the folder and held it to the lamp. “This is a letter from the Sun-Runner to the Lion. It was found among Balbus’ papers. The Lion, it appears, had complained that another member of the cult, someone known as the Persian, owed him money and was refusing to repay. The Lion wanted him punished by expulsion. The Sun-Runner is unwilling to do this. ‘You are both too important to our enterprise,’ he says. And the letter is dated only a few days before Balbus was found dead.”

He slipped the page back into the folder and fixed his eyes on the banker. “Vibius Balbus was the ‘Lion’ in this illicit cult to which you belong. You are the ‘Persian’ he refers to. You and he quarreled over a large sum of money, he complained about you, perhaps he threatened you physically, we know Balbus was a violent man, quick to use his fists. I sympathize with you, Didymus. You were frightened, anyone would be. Finally, you saw no way out except to kill him. You recruited Glaucon to help you. These facts are not in dispute. I’m giving you a chance to tell your side of the story. It can only help you. Fill in the details for me. Who is this Sun-Runner? Who are the other initiates? Where is the cave where you worship Mithras? What purpose brought you all together? You’re a small fish, Didymus. Give me the bigger fish and you may yet save yourself. Unless we can conclude this quickly I will have to leave you in prison for several weeks, even months, while I resume my tour of the province. You don’t want that, do you? Come now.”

There was a long moment of silence. Outside, a distant trumpet call signaled the changing of the guard. The banker picked an invisible speck of lint from his tunic, shifted slightly on his stool. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Governor. I’m an honest man. I have nothing to do with any secret cult. I worship the same gods as everyone else. And, as I’ve already told you, I never had business dealings with the procurator. You say you know I killed him? You don’t know any such thing.”

“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.