The chosen necropolis was the nearest to the Esquiline Gate, but since the city boundary had shifted with time, we had to go out, cross the Fifth Region, and pass onto the Via Praenestina. As the bier passed the Second Cohort’s station house, Titianus and a group of his men marched out and joined us, looking sombre. It was neatly choreographed. They must have had a watchman looking out for the procession. The vigiles like going to funerals. It’s a day out. Titianus was not the type to come in the hope of spotting something useful.

I was constantly looking for clues, of course. However, I never noticed any, or none I could interpret. At least I knew I tried.

We sent Polycarpus in a haze of myrrh to whatever gods he had honoured. He may have had none at all, but everyone has gods imposed on them at their funeral. This is the divinities’ revenge for lack of belief.

When at last the flames died down, the ashes were gathered by none other than Marcus Valerius Simplicianus. Initially surprised, I realised it was proper. Aviola’s long-lashed son and heir had assumed the position of head of household; that made him patron to his father’s steward, and under his mother’s eagle eye, he carried out the necessary formal duties. He did it with due care. He conducted a sacrifice on a portable funeral altar. He made a polite speech, perhaps written by Sextus Simplicius for him, judging by the anxiety with which the cousin listened to its delivery.

I thought Sextus Simplicius was itching to take over. But this was Rome. A man of twenty-five inherited the paternal role even if he was a swine or an idiot. Valerius did tell a story of Polycarpus carrying him around on his shoulder when Valerius was a child and Polycarpus not yet a freedman; it made a touching anecdote, which the young man recalled with apparent sincerity. I started to have more feeling for these people as a long-established family, a family crushed by the tragedy of having three members murdered.

In theory it was four members, but I knew I was the only person here who gave a thought to the battered door porter.