Amethystus and Diomedes, those sturdy toughs who had helped set upon Nicostratus, might be sent to the mines as punishment. Phaedrus, the tall good-looking blond, might well find himself gladiating, where he would probably become a heartthrob. With his aggression, he could even survive enough fights to be freed. He had murdered a slave, but who cared about that? Only the slave’s master, and he was dead as well. I had few hopes for the philosopher; philosophers were seen as dangerous subversives in Rome. If Chrysodorus was wise, he would will himself into dying – maybe starve himself to death – before the physical cruelty he dreaded could be imposed on him. Libycus? Of them all, I suspected Libycus might escape. Friends like Myrinus and Secundus would help and hide him. He could disappear among the foreigners in the Transtiberina, maybe find his way back to Africa. Or he had skills. He could find a new master, if he went about it right; offer himself to an old centurion, someone fastidious about his person but who didn’t care a toss about a servant’s past background.

I yearned to believe they would spare Olympe, who only wanted to be happy and play music. But a fifteen-year-old virgin offered too much sport for amphitheatre crowds. And she was pretty. Olympe, who had probably had no real idea what that night at the apartment was all about, stood no chance now.

As for me, when my client failed to show that afternoon, I left.

I could not bear the thought of carrying my luggage. Dromo had gone home, but I asked to have the bundle taken to Fountain Court tomorrow. I seemed to have no strength.

Leaving, I could hardly drag my weary feet along the pavement. I had rarely felt so drained of spirit and energy. Everything seemed to have changed from when I came back from the Esquiline and felt so much at home. People knocked into me, then muttered curses with unnecessary hostility. The Vicus Loretti Minor and Vicus Armilustrium, my streets, were full of hard faces.

When I finally reached the end of our alley and could see my building, I stood still and thought I would never walk any further. What was wrong with me? A case never normally whacked all the vim out of me like this. I had solved it. My client would be pleased with me and happy for his own prospects, because the Temple of Ceres would be pleased with him. I had not left a message saying, see you for breakfast some time – because I knew if I went to the Stargazer tomorrow, Manlius Faustus would happen along. He ate breakfast, and like any good city man he often went out for it.