Once they had finished, Cassius thanked the guildsmen effusively and reiterated his promise to speak to Dominicus about military billeting. Once back in his room, he sat down at the table.
‘Here, sir.’ Simo put the notes down in front of him.
Cassius was more interested in what he’d copied down at the basilica. Despite his supposed financial difficulties, Numerius Afer had purchased no less than four hundred acres of land north of Tripolis. It was both the most recent purchase and the most costly; almost thirty thousand denarii.
‘Anything useful, sir?’ asked Simo as he prepared his master’s bed.
‘Maybe, Simo. Maybe.’
VIII
‘Sir, sir, wake up. Sir!’
‘Yes, yes.’
Cassius was in the middle of a very pleasant daydream about Kitra. In fact the object of his desire was a composite: Hanina’s face and Kitra’s body. In any case, it took him a moment to remember he was sitting on a bench in the basilica garden.
‘There, sir,’ said Simo, pointing at the path.
Deputy Procurator Dominicus was striding along, a dozen subordinates in his wake. Still dozy, Cassius staggered as he stood up, then jogged between two sprawling bushes towards the path.
‘Deputy Procurator.’
Dominicus stopped and turned so abruptly that some of his men collided with each other. The administrator could not hide his annoyance that he was being dragged away from his daily work once more.
‘Good day, Officer,’ he said with a thin smile.
‘Good day. I have a couple of questions for you.’
Dominicus barged his way through his men and led Cassius into the shade of the basilica wall. ‘Yes?’
‘There are two individuals I need to know more about. One is named Vesnius Isatis. I gather he has had some difficulties of late.’
Dominicus flicked away a fly that was circling his head. ‘That’s something of an understatement. He’s a notorious womaniser. A few months ago, his long-suffering wife finally reached the end of her tether. She put a list of his conquests outside the forum for all to see. Apparently it was only the recent ones but it still filled a page. The scandal ruined his reputation in Berytus – he managed to offend just about everyone who mattered. I used to know him quite well – only socially, you understand. He doesn’t have the initiative to be involved in some criminal scheme, nor the time for that matter.’
‘I see. The other man is Numerius Afer.’
‘I believe he’s had his own difficulties,’ said Dominicus, ‘financial, that is.’
‘Apparently. Him I am definitely interested in.’
‘What do you need?’
‘Anything really – business interests, property, family, employees.’
Dominicus pointed at the basilica. ‘I’ll lend you one of my clerks, Planta, for the morning. He’s worked here for more than twenty years, knows everyone in Tripolis.’
‘Thank you.’
They walked towards the entrance. ‘Officer Crispian, on behalf of the procurator and the magistrate I must ask you to tread carefully. I asked the same of Quentin. You may be operating with the authority of Marshal Marcellinus himself but even the suggestion of involvement in a criminal plot could be very damaging for one of our citizens.’
‘I understand.’
‘Come, I’ll have someone find Planta for you.’
Despite possessing only one arm, the clerk soon proved himself to be both enthusiastic and capable. Cassius spoke to him in the same office he’d been assigned the previous day and Planta immediately confirmed that Numerius Afer had indeed fallen on hard times. Afer did not hail from one of the local families; he was in fact Sicilian, though Planta reckoned he had been in Tripolis for more than a decade. The clerk then suggested finding out what he could from the local census completed the previous year. Cassius asked him to do so, then took a walk around the basilica. He belatedly realised he had failed to pass on the concerns of Neokles’s guild about billeting. Then again, he’d only mentioned it to secure their cooperation and – judging by their clothing and jewellery – Theopropides and friends weren’t exactly struggling.
He found the other two waiting in the garden. Simo was reading (a religious tract this time) while Indavara was sitting with his arms crossed, looking rather depressed.
‘I’m starting to wish you’d taken that Egypt job instead.’
‘Not me,’ said Cassius as he sat down.
‘Reading all that stuff, talking all bloody day. Don’t you get bored?’
‘This is proper investigative work. A cerebral exercise and – to be frank – something I seem to be rather good at. Let’s hope that Service man in Siscia is good at it too; he might find out something more for you.’
Cassius had sent the letter to the army way station first thing that morning. There was no quicker way to get a message across the Empire. More than a thousand miles separated Tripolis and Serdica but, with a bit of luck, Abascantius’s contact might be reading it within two weeks.
‘And I’ll tell you something else,’ added Cassius. ‘If I can find this gang I might even impress Marcellinus enough to free myself from Abascantius’s grip.’
‘What are we waiting for now?’ asked Indavara.
Cassius was looking at the path. ‘Him.’
Planta was a bulky man with a peculiar gait. The left side of his tunic was sewn up, presumably to hide some ugly wound or withered limb. Despite his disadvantages, he had a youthful face and a hearty manner. Cassius had also taken to him because – unlike many easterners – he used Latin, not Greek.
‘There you are, sir.’
‘What have you got for me?’
‘The relevant pages.’ Planta was carrying a writing block and some papers with holes in one side. Evidently he had physically removed them from the census.
Simo stood, allowing Planta to sit on Cassius’s left, between him and Indavara. The clerk nodded politely to the others. ‘Good day.’
‘Good day,’ said Simo.
‘Good day,’ said Indavara. ‘What happened to your arm?’
Simo tutted but Planta didn’t seem to mind answering. ‘It happened when I was a lad. I was helping my father replace some tiles when I slipped and fell. The arm was so badly crushed it had to be removed.’
‘Surgeon?’ asked Indavara.
Planta gave an ironic smile. ‘My father. He had been a soldier. He did it with a wood axe, then sealed the wound with pitch.’
‘You were lucky,’ said Indavara.
‘Very,’ said Planta. ‘Though I didn’t think so at the time.’
Cassius frowned at them. ‘If you’re quite finished.’
‘Sorry, sir.’ Planta put the writing block on his lap and showed Cassius several pages. ‘As you can see, the census was conducted in June of last year. This first page lists the acreage of Afer’s estate, land use, buildings and so on. This second page concerns financial dealings: interests, holdings, taxes. The final page concerns household staff and other employees.’
Cassius put the second page on top but it was hard to make out the words. ‘Bloody sun. Simo, give us some shade.’
The Gaul walked around to the back of the bench to shield him.
‘That’s better. Some big numbers here. This time last year Afer was a very, very rich man.’
Simo’s hand suddenly appeared over the writing block. ‘May I, sir?’
‘Yes.’
The attendant pulled the paper down so he could see the third page.
‘Ah, I thought so.’
‘What is it?’
‘Here, sir.’ Simo pointed to a name on the list of Afer’s employees.
‘C. Varius Micon,’ said Cassius. ‘One of the ex-casters from the mint.’