As Chrysodorus left the room, two other people solved my dilemma of who to see next. Amaranta and Daphnus sidled in together. They said they wanted to speak to Faustus, but as he was not here could I act for him? I said being an honorary aedile, plebeian or otherwise, was an interesting concept for a female freelance. If they wanted to try me, I would certainly give them advice. Possibly I could intercede.

I did not imply in any way that the aedile might allow me special favours. I doubted he could be swayed on a professional matter.

Nevertheless, I took his gilded stool of office, the stool with heavy curved legs that represented his authority, shifting about on his purple cushion until I squashed it into the best shape for my own posterior. Next time he turned up at the office would he start roaring, ‘Who has been sitting in my curule seat?’ Or maybe one of the public slaves who tidied up would fluff out his cushion before he noticed.

As they came in, Amaranta and Daphnus both glanced over their shoulders as if they were anxious about the others spotting them. I suspected these two had now joined in a partnership that set them apart from the rest. So it proved. They said Manlius Faustus had let it be known he had been given legal advice to make arrests, though in the right circumstances, he might grant an amnesty. They wanted to claim it, then run off together.

‘Would this reprieve be for everyone?’ Amaranta asked me. I suspected not all the slaves were willing to own up. Chrysodorus, for one, had opted out.

‘I doubt it. Faustus has to demonstrate that justice has been done.’

‘Could we two make a deal?’

‘How blunt! What are you bringing to the table? I don’t need to be told that Cosmus killed Aviola and Mucia. He killed Polycarpus too. The vigiles are out looking for him, and once they catch him they will put him to torture. Once they start on him, trust me, Cosmus will confess. He committed the murders but that leaves the rest of you guilty of failing to help your masters. Manlius Faustus may also want to consider that if you had all told the truth, it might have saved the life of Polycarpus, a third Roman citizen senselessly killed.’ I dropped my voice, which had been firm and level. ‘What did you have against the steward?’

‘Nothing,’ said Daphnus. ‘He was one of us.’

‘And I think he cared a lot for all of you … Did he work out your action plan?’

Amaranta interrupted. ‘Albia, we have nothing to say without a promise.’ That interruption reinforced my idea that she had always been a ringleader.