‘You sure you haven’t heard it somewhere else?’ said Cassius. ‘We’ve been through a lot of cities, heard a lot of tunes.’
Eyes now wet, Indavara whispered something to Simo.
‘What?’ asked the Gaul.
‘Ask her to stop. Tell her to stop.’
Simo did so.
Cassius took a sesterce from his money bag and dropped it into the hat. The old woman bowed to him.
Indavara seemed frozen to the spot. He was still looking at her but had wiped his eyes before the tears fell.
‘Do you remember something more?’ asked Simo.
‘I – I thought so, but …’
‘Simo, ask her where the tune is from.’
The attendant had to think for a moment about his Aramaic. Despite his best efforts the woman couldn’t help. ‘Her mother taught it to her but she doesn’t know where it comes from.’
‘Damn it,’ said Cassius. ‘Tell her to keep playing. Loudly.’ He turned to the passing crowd and spoke up. ‘Anyone here know this tune? A denarius to anyone who knows it.’
At the mention of money, several people stopped and listened.
Indavara put up a hand. ‘Corbulo, don’t. There’s no point.’
‘Nonsense. We might learn something more. You need to know.’
He repeated his announcement and soon a dozen people had gathered. When the flautist stopped for a moment Cassius yelled at her to continue.
An old man with a walking stick came to the front and spoke in Latin. ‘I don’t remember the name but I know where it’s from. My neighbour used to play it on his flute. He was a Gaul and he said his province had the best music in the world.’
‘You’re sure?’ said Cassius.
The old man listened carefully. ‘Certain. I always liked that tune.’
Cassius addressed the small crowd once more. ‘Anyone know the name? Anyone?’
When there was no reply, he gave the old man his denarius and turned to Indavara. ‘Gaul. Do you think you heard it there? Do you think that’s where you might be from?’
‘I – I don’t know.’
‘Let’s get to that tavern. I reckon you could do with a drink.’
Indavara said little over a brief (but good) lunch and Cassius left him with Simo in the garden when they returned to the basilica. Dominicus was already in the waiting room and escorted him to a small office where he could work undisturbed. The assistant procurator gave him a papyrus rolclass="underline" the land register showing the largest transactions for the year. Politely asking Cassius to look after it, Dominicus left, shutting the door behind him.
Upon the office’s table were a bronze pen, a pot of freshly mixed ink and some blank paper. Holding the wooden roller with one hand, Cassius unravelled the paper with the other. Once he could see it all, the roll was almost a yard long. Unsurprisingly, the ink was brightest at the bottom. The land register listed the location of the plot, its size (plus a description of number and type of buildings), the buyer, the seller, the date of sale, the price and tax paid. There was also a reference number for a more detailed report.
Cassius found a sale from around two months earlier and rolled up the papyrus so he could focus on transactions after that date. There were nine sales in total, most of them to a single buyer, a few to partnerships. Cassius filled up the pen and started writing. Next to the buyer’s name he noted the date and location. He began to wonder how much real use the information might be but he wanted to get started; and as Quentin hadn’t considered this angle it might not be a complete waste of time. The treasury agent had sent a message to the inn that morning; one of his clerks would deliver a summary of their interviews with the casters later in the day.
Once the list was complete, Cassius rolled up the register and put the page of notes in his satchel. The servant waiting outside went to fetch Dominicus, who escorted him out. When they stopped at the rear door, Cassius thanked the assistant procurator, who cordially asked whether he could offer any more help.
‘There might be one more thing – purchases of gems and precious metals. Would there be any record of those?’
‘Not here. Such transactions are private – conducted between traders and private individuals. No tax is paid unless the valuables are moved through toll gates.’
‘As I thought. Thank you again. Good day.’
‘Good day.’
Three hours later, Cassius was awoken from a mid-afternoon nap by Simo, who had a mug of milk for him.
‘Any good?’ he asked as he sat up.
‘Very, sir. Fresh this morning, according to Neokles. There is a man here waiting for you. On behalf of Master Quentin.’
‘Ah.’ Cassius was so thirsty that he drank the milk in one go. ‘That is good.’
He had been sleeping only in a loincloth. As he stood and yawned, Simo picked up his tunic.
‘How’s Indavara?’
‘Not saying much, sir.’ Simo lowered the tunic over his master’s head.
‘And in the garden? When you were alone?’
Simo straightened the tunic, then handed Cassius his belt. ‘He didn’t say so but I think he remembered something more than the tune. Perhaps someone.’
‘Gods, no wonder it upset him. I still find it hard to imagine what it must be like to remember nothing of the past.’
Simo shook his head. ‘I have prayed many times for him, asked the Lord to give him a sign.’
Cassius buckled his belt. ‘You believe that was it?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Well, at least we know more than we did. Perhaps he’ll remember more over time. Where is he now?’
‘He left about an hour ago. Barefoot.’
‘Ah, a run – to clear his head. Probably not a bad idea. Right, let’s see what Quentin’s man has for me.’
The clerk was named Segestes, a young man of around twenty. Cassius found him laughing along with Kitra and gruffly ordered him to accompany him back to his room. Simo cleared a few things off the table and they sat down. Segestes was carrying a lightweight wooden box which he slid across to Cassius.
‘We finished the interviews this morning, sir. Our notes are summarised here. Master Quentin said you needed them immediately so he had Arruntius’s scribes copy them out for you.’
Cassius opened the box. Inside was a pile of papers with names at the top and notes written in two different hands.
‘Good. Anything stand out?’
‘Not particularly, sir.’
‘How many men did you interview?’
‘All sixteen we were asked to. Eight currently employed at the mint, eight who used to be.’
‘What did you ask them?’
‘Firstly, if they were involved in counterfeiting.’ The clerk said this with a straight face.
‘Oh, very subtle.’
‘You know, sir – to test their reaction.’
‘Mmm. Anybody seem particularly anxious?’
‘Most, really. Especially the ones that still work there.’
‘Understandable, I suppose. What else did you ask?’
‘If they had ever passed on any information regarding the mint and the manufacture of currency; if anyone had ever approached them; if they had seen or heard anything about fake coins; if they had travelled much recently-’
‘About being approached – any of them say they had?’
‘Most. A few said they never had been, which we thought might be a bit suspicious.’
‘Those that had – any names come out of that?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Hardly surprising. Anything else strike you? Gut reaction?’
Segestes looked down and realised that his amulet – a red stone rendering of Mars – was hanging outside his tunic. He tucked it back in before answering. ‘One of the retired men had a very nice villa by the coast. These casters do quite well, but not that well, and he’d only left the mint a few years ago.’
‘What does he do now?’ asked Cassius.
‘Property, he said.’
‘I would be more inclined to suspect the man concealing his wealth than the man displaying it.’
‘It’s funny you should say that, sir. What was his name? Eryx – one of those who said he’d never been approached about counterfeiting. He wore very plain clothes – and not a single ring or bracelet.’