Chapter 21 #2
Wise of Mena. Using different messengers meant that none might be employed long enough to catch on to what was happening. The messenger didn’t pay Xerxes directly, because Mena would have to trust a man not to simply pocket the money and walk away.
Would a banker realize, or care, that a different Xerxes had begun collecting the money? Or did he simply honor the papyrus with Mena’s mark on it? “Xerxes” might be the name of a coalition, for all the banker knew.
“In any case, the Parthian trader sold his business about six years ago to Mihrdat, who is as tough as they come,” Mena went on.
“The shipments dried up, and I thought that our lucrative business was over. Then Xerxes contacted me again, about a year later.” He shrugged.
“I assumed it had taken him some time to negotiate the scheme with Mihrdat, who probably wanted to charge more to ship the silk. But then we continued, and I did well out of it.” Mena scrunched up his face.
“I tried importing some of it myself, bypassing Mihrdat, using money I’d borrowed from Seneca. You witnessed the result of that.”
“So, you don’t know who the new Xerxes actually is?” I asked impatiently.
“I didn’t know the first one.” Mena shrugged his large shoulders. “It makes no difference to me, does it? Mihrdat probably knows. He’d have to deal with him directly.”
Mihrdat hadn’t been very impressed with me when I’d approached him in the Porticus Aemelia. I’d have to think of an excuse to corner him again, one that would get me past his guards.
Lucius, restless, jumped to his feet. “Let us go find him, then.”
“Later,” I growled. Lucius glared at me then sat down again in resignation.
I fixed Mena with the stare I’d terrified new gladiators with. “You will swear an oath that you never met or spoke to the Xerxes who was my friend, and that you did not make certain he was poisoned before the games to make him lose?”
“Is that what happened?” Mena asked in amazement.
“Of course I’ll swear an oath. In court, if you like.
I’d never have nobbled Xerxes before the games.
I just told you I wagered on him in that match.
Anyway, employing poison to fix a bout would be dishonorable.
” He finished in shock that anyone would think of such a thing.
I contemplated Mena, while he twitched nervously. He’d confessed to being a smuggler, in cahoots with Xerxes and a Parthian trader. Seneca might have been justified taking Mena’s shipment if Mena had been remiss in paying back a debt.
But was Mena a murderer? Directly or indirectly?
Xerxes would not have been a threat to him. Once Xerxes had backed away from his venture with Lucius, he’d done so thoroughly.
Xerxes had never made any sign that he’d ever traded in silk. He’d never spoken of his brother—he had cut himself off entirely.
Once Xerxes had met Marcella, his visits to wealthy women had completely ceased. None that I knew of had pestered him for more of the silk he provided, so they must not have minded switching their allegiance to the false Xerxes.
Xerxes had begun staying at Marcella’s farm as much as he could, experiencing happiness there that most of us never found. Any money he’d made from the silk venture he must have given to Marcella or spent on maintaining the farm and feeding his growing horde of children.
Just when Xerxes had found life sweet, someone had killed him.
I rose. “Thank you for explaining.”
Mena lifted a cloth from his desk—silk—and dabbed his sweating face with it. “I have decided to finish with the trade. More fool me for ever getting into it.”
However, he’d been able to purchase a home on the most coveted hill in the city and had clients willing to wait hours to see him. Silk must have been good to him for a while.
Lucius had jolted to his feet with me, and now he followed me from the tablinum.
As we stepped down into the atrium, Mena called out behind us.
“Do send your architectus friend to me, Leonidas. This house is a wreck. I will make it worth his while.”
“Are we going to speak to Mihrdat?” Lucius asked as we strode down the hill.
The tall pillars of the Temple of Castor rose before us, shading the spring before it that was purported to hold healing properties. A priest with a thin cloak draped over his head escorted an elderly woman down into the pool, where she eagerly laved her arms with the warm water.
Without answering Lucius, I turned and headed south, my steps taking me beyond the Circus Maximus and the Aventine to the Emporium. Lucius jogged to keep up with my swift pace.
At midmorning, the Porticus Aemilius was as busy as it had been in the middle of the night. Only after midday did most of the traders vanish, leaving the lowliest workers to finish the menial tasks.
I found the Parthian traders where I had last night, under one of the middle barrel vaults of the building. The man I now knew to be Mihrdat stood surveying his men and the slaves who swarmed around him.
Mihrdat again wore a long-sleeved tunic, this one in flowing blue silk, over wide pleated leggings of a golden color.
They were beautiful garments that I wouldn’t risk staining or tearing in a dusty warehouse.
The fact that Mihrdat walked among his workers, unworried, meant he could afford to replace any clothes he ruined without a qualm.
One of the Parthian guards spotted me and gestured to Mihrdat. Mihrdat turned and watched us approach, his expression calm.
Before we reached him, a Parthian guard stepped in front of Mihrdat and folded his arms. The man wore a full beard and had long, wiry hair, another sign his home was far from here.
“He’ll not speak to you today,” the Parthian informed us.
“I haven’t come to ask for work,” I said. “I want to talk about Xerxes.”
The guard’s brow furrowed in puzzlement, but Mihrdat went rigid. He barked an order to his man, who now became belligerent.
“Be gone,” the guard said flatly.
I didn’t move. “I need you to tell me where I can find Xerxes.” I directed my words around the bearded man to Mihrdat.
Mihrdat made a stiff-handed signal. Abruptly, five more men surrounded Lucius and me.
Before I could face them, three grabbed me. I instinctively spun, jerking from clutches and drawing my knife, but more guards joined in to subdue me.
This part of the warehouse was filled with Parthians and slaves. None did more than glance up at the sudden commotion and then go resolutely back to what they’d been doing. No help would come to us here.
I fought savagely until Mihrdat barked a command, and I heard Lucius yell.
I risked a glance around and found Lucius pinned by four of Mihrdat’s men. One had yanked Lucius’s head back by his hair and now put a wicked-looking blade to his neck.
“Cease,” Mihrdat commanded me. “Or he will die.”
“I am a Roman citizen,” Lucius spluttered. “You’ll be executed in the arena if you murder me.”
Mihrdat did not look impressed. “No one would find you, Roman. Surrender, gladiator, or watch him bleed.”
I growled under my breath and dropped my knife, which a Parthian picked up and tucked into his belt. Several more men grabbed me and hauled me, the ones with Lucius following, deep into the bowels of the warehouse.