London - Edward Rutherfurd [33]
When Sextus first proposed this illicit business to his young friend, Julius had been doubtful. “Isn’t it a bit risky?” he had demanded. But Sextus had only stared at him from under the ledge of his brow. “Lots of people do it. You know why?” He had grinned. “Not enough coins.”
This was only too true. For more than a century, the entire Roman Empire had experienced an ever-increasing rate of inflation. As a result, there were not enough coins to go round. Since people needed coins, there were many forgers. The private minting of cheap, bronze coinage was not technically an offence; however, forging high-value gold and silver was a serious crime. Yet even that did not deter the illicit trade and as a result nearly half the silver coins in circulation at this date were probably counterfeit.
Sextus obtained and melted the metal; Julius made the moulds and poured the molten ore into them. Although Sextus had showed him how to do this, the older man was not in fact very good at these operations. He was always making mistakes: either the ore failed to flow into the moulds properly, or he could not break his moulds off cleanly afterwards. Several times he had mixed up the two halves of the moulds when he put them together so that coins would come out with an obverse that did not match the face. Despite his webbed hands, Julius did the work neatly and precisely and thanks to him the quality of the coins had improved dramatically.
“But how do we make them really look and feel like silver?” That had been Julius’s second question when they began. At this, the rocky terrain of his friend’s face had seemed almost to crumble as he chuckled: “They don’t need to. There’s little enough silver in the real ones.”
For in trying to supply even part of the coinage needed, the imperial mints had run so short of precious metal that they had debased their own currency. The valuable silver denarius nowadays contained as little as 4 per cent of actual silver. “I use a mixture of copper, tin and zinc,” Sextus had told him. “It looks fine.” But the exact proportions he would never divulge.
On the table before them now lay a pile of coins, each silver denarius representing a small fortune to the young man who unloaded boats for a living. Up to now, being cautious, they had made mostly bronze coins and a few silver, since any show of sudden wealth might look suspicious. But there would be a huge amount of betting and gambling at the games tomorrow, and the possession of a few silver coins could be more easily explained. Today, therefore, they were acting boldly. His one-third share would be enough, Julius reckoned, to set him up in a small business of some kind.
There was only one problem. How would he explain the money to his parents? Already they were both suspicious of Sextus. “You stay away from that one. He’s up to something,” his mother had said, having taken a special dislike to his friend.
Well, that was a problem to be solved later. Julius at this moment knew only one thing. The very next morning, before the games began, he was going to buy the girl a gold bracelet with his new-found wealth.
And then? It was up to the girl. She had had his letter.
There was, besides, one further consideration of a more serious kind. It had come from his father, Rufus.
For some months, that cheerful man had secretly been concerned about Julius. At first, he had hoped the boy would be a legionary, as he had been. It was still the best and most secure employment in the Roman Empire. You retired young with a good position and some stake money to start a business. But when Julius had failed to show any