Faustus set off alone on the long haul back to the Aventine. I walked to the Aviola apartment. The streets were quiet, towards the end of lunchtime. The sun was hot, so even though it was not far I went slowly, keeping to the shady side. Dromo plodded along behind me, apparently too tired even to be distracted by pastry stalls. When I took a drink from a fountain, he did. When I set off again, he trudged behind obediently. I had to trust him to keep an eye out for trouble, because I was too deeply preoccupied with what Roscius had said.

At the apartment I flopped in a chair in my room, chin down, fanning myself with the top of my tunic. This only stretches the neck of the garment. It never cools you. I needed to jump in a freezing cold fountain, nude, then come out to high-class attendants fanning ostrich feathers …

I had gathered my previous note tablets though felt too drained to begin on them. I was no stranger to starting all over again on a case, but it is dreary. For once, Dromo went to the kitchen and brought me a tray of lunch. It was only because he could see I had no interest in fetching my own; he knew that unless I had something, there would be nothing for him. I accepted the tray and remembered to thank him, at which he found the energy to mime being startled.

Revived, I read up my notes. While I was going over the old interviews, voices disturbed me. Galla Simplicia and Sextus Simplicius – Aviola’s ex-wife and his executor – had heard about Polycarpus. She had come with condolences for Graecina; he no doubt accompanied her out of curiosity. I thought I had better be present, though I kept out of sight to begin with.

Galla had sent Myla to fetch down the widow. When Graecina came, Galla embraced her with every sign of affection. Grief had now descended on Graecina. The poor woman occupied her own, newly terrible world. I was impressed by the steady way Galla Simplicia talked to her and consoled her. She asked questions about how Graecina was coping and how she would manage in future; she made suggestions about the funeral, offering help. For once, I saw an extended Roman family operating properly: the mistress (a role Galla had taken up again with alacrity) kindly looking after the wife of one of their freedmen.

I could not fault her. And this was the woman people said had wanted to murder her ex-husband and his bride. Unintentionally, Galla Simplicia did herself some good with me that afternoon.