The slave improved his expression then slouched off to lie on his mat. We heard him muttering complaints under his breath to some imaginary friend.

Manlius Faustus breathed deeply a few times to recover his calm. We took the two seats that were still outdoors. I selected the x-stool, letting Faustus have the chair.

‘I saw Quintus off on his way,’ I said, making light conversation while Faustus settled. ‘He wasn’t making excuses, you know; he really does involve himself in the bedtime ritual. Neither he nor Claudia are strict and it can be hectic persuading six self-willed infants to quieten down. But Uncle Quintus is a soothing presence. Luckily his children like him.’

This produced an interesting reaction from Faustus. ‘I gather you and he are on close terms?’ The aedile’s tone was almost carping, and it was not a hangover from his spat with Dromo.

I assessed him, surprised to find him assessing me. Sometimes he could seem dour. Sometimes he made it plain he thought me flighty.

‘Just family,’ I answered gently, yet he scowled.

Where did this come from? Had somebody been gossiping? It could be Titus Morellus, from the vigiles Fourth Cohort on the Aventine. Morellus had harassed me a few times officially, a penalty of being an informer; the idiot now believed himself an expert on my history. Faustus knew him. Had Morellus told Faustus that I once had a yen for one of the Camillus brothers?

I decided that if the aedile wanted to know which it was, he would have to ask me.

He chose not to.

I therefore did not tell him it was Aulus who had let me think we were best friends then broke my heart. Nor did I say that I was only seventeen, so of course I got over it years ago.

I had been married since then. The poor lad was killed in an accident. Faustus damn well knew I spoke very fondly of my husband.

If I was cool, he deserved it. ‘Aedile, you wanted to review the case?’

‘You set me a task, remember.’ Now he sounded himself again, humorously feigning anxiety about his orders. ‘I was to ask the slaves how they made their escape.’

‘What do they say?’ I was not myself yet, though I don’t suppose he noticed.

‘Once Titianus was about to accuse them, they waited until dark then made a bolt on foot. You wondered how Nicostratus managed; they put him in a carrying chair that belonged to Mucia Lucilia. The other men took turns on the rails so they could hurry through the streets as fast as possible.’

‘Why did they take him? The severity of his wounds exonerated him from not helping his master.’

‘Phaedrus, the other porter, claims Nicostratus did not want to be left behind alone. Amaranta and Olympe told me they had not realised how bad his condition was; they imagined they could look after him.’