The argentarii — the money-changers, the timid clerks of empire — have frozen the cards. No hearing. No cause named. Every civilized road is closed.
The work burns CXI dollars a day — one hundred and eleven, every day, rain or triumph. It does not stop. It will not stop.
So go past them. Carry your coin over the river and pay the treasury directly — the real bank, the one with a temple.