‘Left to himself, my husband would have begrudged every copper. It was a constant battle to point out what was right. We wrangled for years. Of course the children have no idea what I had to go through; I managed to protect them from seeing the strife.’

‘Did their father not love them?’

‘Oh yes!’ Galla made an extravagant gesture. ‘But love does not pay for somewhere to live, for clothes, schooling, treats to give them a happy childhood – does it?’

Not if luxury is what you expect in life, I thought. If you grow up with nothing, then love − if you ever acquire it – is a huge luxury.

‘Were you really afraid Aviola would turn against them?’

‘Of course I was! That fear was perfectly justified, believe me. It does not mean, Flavia Albia, that I felt driven to send murderers here – even if I knew how one goes about finding such people. A woman like me … Or are you suggesting I came here secretly myself, and beat the victims to death with my own hands?’

I toughened up. ‘I see the grisly details have been kept from you, Simplicia. Only the door porter was beaten up. Aviola and Mucia were strangled.’

Galla blinked, then looked subdued. ‘Horrible. Would they suffer? Is it,’ she whispered with what seemed genuine pity, ‘a swift death?’

‘It can be.’ She must know I was watching her closely. ‘They both struggled. As the scene has been described, my interpretation is that Aviola was killed first, which implies he was perhaps taken unawares—’ I paused for effect. ‘Mucia Lucilia would have seen Aviola being killed, so she knew what was coming for her. Her terror must have been extreme.’

‘Unbearable,’ agreed Galla briefly.

She did not say it as if she rejoiced in her rival’s torment – but who would? Even if Galla Simplicia was involved, I judged her too good an actress to betray herself.

16

Mother’s Boy had been dragged from Campania to Rome with Mother. Did she want to be able to produce him as the wronged heir, like a tame dove from a conjurer’s sweaty armpit? I made arrangements with Galla to interview her darling the next morning, but graciously allowed them time to wake up first, after their journey. Mummy’s Precious was bound to be master of the long lie-in.

Tingling at this unexpected swing in the case, I myself rose early.

‘You are causing me a lot of trouble!’ Dromo whined.

‘How come?’

‘He made me go to some baths again! Two times the same day. He hauled me there himself and got a horrible attendant to torture me.’ He, being Faustus, had then equipped Dromo with an old tunic of his own. I had seen Faustus wearing the faded garment, when he was acting as a man of the streets, incognito. It gave me an odd feeling.