The restless slave continued to brood on the unfair treatment inflicted by this cruel master. ‘I’m not going every day! … Oh, don’t make me do that, Albia.’

‘Get a grip, Dromo.’

‘Can I have another cake for being washed twice?’

‘No. Eat this.’

I had made us breakfast rolls, fresh from a local bakery and filled with cold sliced beef; I went out for the ingredients myself. ‘Do you want a pickled gherkin with it?’

‘I don’t like them.’ Refusing pickles, Dromo was like a big five-year-old.

‘Good. I can eat both.’

‘I could try one.’ Make that a three-year-old.

‘Too late, lad.’

I still had time to spare before interviewing Aviola and Galla’s son. Since Polycarpus had not appeared that morning, I took the chance to go upstairs and investigate where he lived. Secundus and Myrinus, the North African leatherworkers who were Libycus’ friends, were opening the shutters on their shop and they pointed me to the right stairs.

It was a long hike up, almost to the top of the building. In this it was typical of Rome, and no worse than my own office at Fountain Court. Stone steps led directly from the street; they were cleaner, with more light than I was used to in my building. I guessed housewives swept and tidied them, not a lazy general cleaner. So there were no lost toys to trip over and hardly any smells. Well, I noticed some smells, though not bad enough to make me want to hold my breath until I reached the next level.

As I reached the door I heard a dog start excitedly barking. When I knocked, a woman called out to know who it was; this was followed by exasperated orders to the dog. After a period of paw-scrabbling, a door slammed inside. A short, breathless woman with joined Eastern eyebrows and dark moles, though not unattractive, opened up. She looked out as if she feared I would be nagging her to buy worm-eaten sponges from a tray. I repeated who I was. She cannot have heard properly, while struggling to control the dog.

‘I suppose you should come in. He’s out.’

‘Thank you. I don’t need to see Polycarpus himself; you can probably help me.’

She looked worried by that. Was she unused to speaking for herself – or, rather, speaking for him? Many an ex-slave who has had to obey orders all his life behaves very strictly with his own household once he acquires one.

I even wondered if Polycarpus beat his wife, though I saw no bruises, nor was she cowed.

The apartment was only three rooms, as far as I could see. She led me to their main room. I was not invited to inspect the rest. She had just introduced herself as Graecina when the dog began barking again. She stepped out, closing the door behind her, and I heard her tell someone to walk the creature.