I tried to sound neutral. ‘Once you decided to use the silver to make it look like a robbery gone wrong, was it anyone’s intention to keep the valuables afterwards?’

Their eyes flickered towards one another, but they both denied it. I could imagine what would have happened; if they had got away with it, escaped any accusation, then some time later – probably too soon to be wise – a cloaked figure would start visiting a pawnshop where no one ever asked too many questions, on each visit taking some new closely wrapped bundle … one by one, the wonderful items in the wine set would have been sold. The slaves would gain a tiny fraction of the pieces’ real value. But perhaps to them it would seem more.

Daphnus had played his part in what happened next. This was the incident that had always bothered me. Daphnus had suggested how to make the fake robbery look good: they should give Nicostratus a black eye and pretend the home-invaders rushed him. Nicostratus was willing to be tied up and shut in the mop cupboard, but that was not colourful enough. He was less keen on being battered about, but Amaranta and Daphnus persuaded him.

‘Who hit him?’ I sounded as neutral as possible.

‘The first time, I did,’ Daphnus admitted. ‘I admit I lacked practice, so my punch made no marks. Nicostratus had already had enough of it, though. He said to stop there and we would just have to hope a few bruises came out on him next day.’

‘But?’

‘Phaedrus came up behind him suddenly, carrying a plank from the well. He swung it and cracked open his head.’

‘He never meant to kill him,’ Amaranta put in quickly.

‘Phaedrus and Nicostratus had never got on?’ I checked.

‘No, they were sworn enemies.’ She went slightly pink.

From what Gratus had told me after Polycarpus’ funeral, Phaedrus had had a liaison with Amaranta. I wondered if Nicostratus was another, or wanted to be? That would explain the quarrels between the porters – and why Phaedrus hit him so hard. If so, this pert young woman had much to answer for. She liked to look neat and demure, but she was a free-wheeling heartbreaker.

‘I saw the results of the beating on Nicostratus,’ I said dourly.

‘Phaedrus went mad,’ Daphnus told me, sounding subdued. ‘He had had a drink earlier. Afterwards he blamed his German heritage. It turned him into a maniac, he said.’

I realised why Amaranta chose to dump Phaedrus. She saw him as too dangerous a partner. Amaranta would never be a woman who teamed up with a man who thrashed her, and then claimed ‘he never means it and he’s always sorry afterwards’. She flew straight to Daphnus.

‘Did you help out?’ I asked Daphnus. ‘Did you hit him again?’