Today my heart felt particularly heavy. I wrote my report for the aedile. It came easily, as written work does if you have been thinking about it for a long time. I kept my statement short and factual. I lacked energy for more. Besides, he might not be the only person reading it. Ultimately, this was aimed at the administrators of the Temple of Ceres.

I signed off formally, then found wax and sealed the report. I hoped Faustus recognised my seal: a worn old coin on a finger ring that showed a British tribal king in unkempt dreadlocks who looked as if someone had just told him a rather dirty joke. The wax was such high quality I was tempted to liberate some to take home. I thought better of it. After all I had lived through in a difficult life, it would be senseless to be caught removing stationery from an aedile’s office. Besides, if I sent sealed reports to Faustus, he might recognise it.

I wanted to say that if he needed to discuss details we could meet and talk. Better not. He was a magistrate. I was an informer he had favoured with work. That was all. I had done as he asked and he would pay me. Knowing him, he would send the fee without a reminder.

I knew in advance what would happen to those slaves. The temple would accept the legal judgement produced by the Camilli; the authorities would withdraw the right of asylum with no public comment, as if no one had ever believed such a right existed. Amaranta, Daphnus and Melander, discreetly reprieved, would vanish into society. It would not surprise me if in the end Melander did best, since he was quiet and had no expectations. Daphnus and Amaranta thought a lot of themselves but, together or apart, I could see them coming to bad ends.

The other slaves would be dealt with according to their crimes. I was sure Titianus would capture the boy Cosmus, because not even Titianus was a total incompetent. Cosmus, a slave who had murdered, would be executed. The boy was going to the beasts in the arena, his final unhappiness.