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inspector in the town. That’s lucrative enough. And he married well. His wife brought a large estate with her as a dowry, too.’
    I found that I was grinning. Everyone knew the ageing, grim-faced officer who sat each day in a little niche inside the forum wall, with his steelyard and his weights and balances, ready to deal with any coins not issued by the state. The idea of his expending money on public spectacles was so incongruous it made me smile. Numidius was a very careful man.
    Of course, he had to be. It was a post of honour. There were often foreign-minted coins around, and some old tribal ones, but the coin officer would weigh them, determine the amount of gold or silver used and so assess the value there and then, so that traders, even from outside the Empire, could buy and sell with ease. I have used his services in that regard myself.
    But that was not the lucrative aspect of the job – that came from settling marketplace disputes. Roman gold currency itself was often brought to him by suspicious stallholders, and weighed to ensure that no rogue had filed the edges off and kept the precious metal for himself. Conversely, if a buyer of dry goods believed that he’d not received full measure from a certain stall, his purchase could be checked against a volume-stone: a large block of stone with a series of variously sized holes in it. All for an unofficial fee, of course. The coin inspector gets a small retainer from the state, but it is important for local traders to have him firmly on their side. No wonder that Numidius Tiberius was rich.
    ‘But surely,’ Marcus said, voicing my own thoughts, ‘Numidius is not the sort of man to have a son in jail, especially not on a charge of robbery like this? Dozens of people in the town are named Tiberius. What makes you suppose that there might be any connection here?’
    He sounded irritated and dismissive, but the wizened old physician stood his ground. ‘Excellence, I might be wrong, of course, but I rather think it might be the self-same family, because the story fits. Numidius’s wife was called Lallia – I heard him mention it – and there was a son, named for his mother because she died in giving birth to him. You recall there was a fashion a few years ago for calling sons some version of the mother’s name – so Lallius Tiberius would make sense.’
    Marcus hurrumphed. ‘A tribute to his wife? It sounds uncharacteristically sentimental of the man, from what I know of him: but it is possible, I suppose, since she brought such a dowry with her. And her child would have been born within the walls, and so been a citizen although his parents weren’t. That also fits. How do you come to know all this, in any case?’
    ‘Numidius was calling at the house – paying court to my employer’s niece. As I say, this Lallia was dead. Numidius had lived alone for many years, but had decided it was time to wed again. And provide himself with another heir, I rather think. I was asked to check that the girl had no disease. Her father thought it would be a splendid match for her, although there is a difference in age, of course. The coin inspector is a wealthy man.’ He closed the lid and swept the table clean with his toga sleeve. ‘Numidius did speak about his son, as I recall – though not with great affection. The lad was causing trouble even then.’
    Marcus was nodding thoughtfully. ‘And now he is bringing shame on the household once again. Yet it seems that they planned all this to ensure his release.’
    I thought about what Philades had said. My brain was working only sluggishly, but something had at last occurred to me. ‘We can’t know that,’ I objected. ‘If the doctor’s right, this family seem unlikely candidates to plan a ransom note.’
    My patron stared at me. ‘Well, who else could it have been?’
    My inspiration failed me and I shook my head. ‘Perhaps the young man has associates, and wrote to them from jail? I don’t know. It’s just