I had to lie on the ground to take hold of the rope safely. I was still wobbly. Standing, I could easily have tumbled in head first. Ropes are heavier than you expect and this one felt as if it held a lead bucket. Drawing it up was so difficult, I dropped it once, but it was still safely tied to the hook so I started again, keeping a more careful hold of the rope. In the end I managed to extract the bucket, along with its not-unexpected contents. It was wooden, but it contained a sack, which was what had been heavy. I hauled the sodden bucket and sack onto land, collapsing in a warm heap beside them. At least there was plenty of cold water trickling off, which I could smear over my face and neck to cool myself down.

Stiff wet twine tied the neck of the sack, then also tied the sack to the bucket to prevent it falling out. This posed a challenge for my tired fingers. But again, I was not defeated. I brought out the contents, drained them of well water, then set about arranging them like a diligent housewife.

When Manlius Faustus and the boy strolled back into the courtyard, I had cleared away the debris of our drinking bout. I was sitting in one of the chairs, half asleep. I opened my bleary eyes just in time to see them take in the glittering spread I had organised to welcome them.

Covering the tops of two small portable tables, their metal shining as they dried in the sunlight, were jugs, drinking cups, coasters, strainers and even spoons: a distinctive array of high quality decorative silverware. The ‘stolen’ silver that Roscius had said he could not find. The silver that was supposedly the cause of all that happened to Valerius Aviola and his bride, their door porter and probably their steward too.

52

The aedile strode across the courtyard, stood and looked down the well. ‘I’ve seen you do some things, Flavia Albia, but this beats everything for stupidity!’

‘It worked. Look what I found.’ I waved an arm over the silver. ‘So much for praising my brilliant perspicacity.’

Faustus came back and sat down with me. ‘Stop it!’ I thought he was talking to me, then realised he was admonishing himself. He turned to me, appealingly. ‘Albiola, you terrify me. I could have come back and found you drowned in that well.’

‘You love to accuse me of behaving badly!’

‘Don’t do it then.’

To look reasonable, I made a sketchy apology. ‘I ought to have waited. Still – congratulations?’

‘I might go that far.’ He sounded sombre, but that was better than his punishing mode.