‘Maybe they knew, though I think it was an extraordinary coincidence. Aviola and Mucia had been killed – for whatever reason and by whomever; we don’t know yet. The slaves went into the oecus to decide what to do. They may have known that if they stayed outside in the courtyard people like Fauna and Lusius, the neighbours upstairs, could hear what was going on. While they were indoors, Roscius broke in. He never saw the slaves, but perhaps they saw him. They all kept quiet. Once the burglars fled, some quick-witted slave – or Polycarpus – worked out that this was their deliverance. They could blame these robbers for everything – murders included.’

‘So that was when, and why, the slaves first concealed the silver?’

‘Yes, I bet it had been in the kitchen. Roscius never went in there. Polycarpus had the wine set washed by his own people, after the slaves who came with Gratus had all gone home. Everything was probably upside-down on a draining board, drying.’

Faustus sat quiet for a while. ‘It was a good try. But with the cover-up, the slaves have only made things worse.’

‘That will be your problem,’ I told him, sympathetically. ‘I shall show what happened; you must advise the authorities at the Temple of Ceres how to respond. My uncles may provide a legal steer.’

‘Thanks for landing me in it!’ Faustus growled, yet sounded lenient.

‘Nothing has changed since we started; it’s the slaves who have caused your problems.’

‘Do you have any idea who committed any of the murders?’

‘I have a few thoughts.’

‘Was it Myla?’

‘I doubt it. I want to have one last attempt to urge the fugitives into a confession. One tell-tale would be enough. Is there any chance you could offer an amnesty, if I make someone sing out the real song?’

Faustus frowned. ‘I disapprove, but it has been talked about in official circles.’

‘It would be in the style of our beloved emperor,’ I reminded him. ‘Buying evidence. Making prosecutions look good. Ensuring the outcome of trials …’

‘So modern! Give out a big reward and set the informant free.’

‘Is that what I can offer?’

‘I suppose so.’ He sighed.

‘Right. I’ll see what I can do with them.’

‘Make it tomorrow morning. You need to be sober.’

That was what I had intended. I looked sullen.

‘Sorry!’ said Manlius Faustus, rather unexpectedly.

He was learning to read me.

Faustus sat leaning his chin on one clenched fist. Looking over his knuckles, his eyes went to Dromo, still standing with us unnoticed.

‘Sit, Dromo. Sit and join the family.’

Dromo looked as startled as I was. But why not? A man’s slaves formed his familia, his wider household. You may wonder why would Manlius Faustus choose to extend the privilege to an idiot, but how many people have real blood relations who are idiots or far worse?