‘And do we know whose idea it was to flee?’

‘They were vague. My feeling is the steward put them up to it.’ So Polycarpus really was more loyal to the slaves he supervised than to his master. Interesting!

‘Or who suggested the Temple of Ceres?’

‘Chrysodorus. The philosopher.’ For once Manlius Faustus sounded unsure of himself. ‘Is it significant?’

‘Probably not.’

‘I wish I had pressed the point.’

I made him a reassuring gesture. ‘He will probably dodge the question … There must have been interesting discussions among those slaves – I wish we could have sight of that playscript!’

Since I had been keeping him up to date with my daily reports, there was little else for us to discuss. My client seemed satisfied I was doing my best, repeating that I should take whatever time I needed.

Faustus then talked to me about his own work. I knew something of his preoccupation with the city’s plague of random killers, so he shared the latest developments; he even asked advice. This was a sensitive subject, highly confidential. I was furious to notice Myla as she went from the dining room to the kitchen, slowing up and obviously trying to listen in.

Faustus saw her too. He stopped talking. He was naturally reticent, so when he took me into his confidence − which in fairness to him, he had always done more than I expected − I resented someone else interrupting. Was it another illustration of ‘Oh, that’s just Myla’? She acted vague, yet habitually eavesdropped?

If so, whether she exploited what she heard or was just nosy, I would have sold the woman and not put up with it. I bet Mucia Lucilia shared my antipathy.

As she sashayed along a colonnade, swinging her hips, Myla was giving Faustus an obvious sexual invitation. I might as well not have been present.

Manlius Faustus was a rare man; he disliked unsought attention of that kind. He even picked up his chair and moved it around, so his back was turned on the colonnade. The action seemed automatic. I was not sure he realised he had done it.

He and I sat in silence for a time, the way you can only do with a friend. I suppose that was when I seriously acknowledged to myself that although I disliked him when we first met, I liked Faustus much more now. How much more I would not contemplate. Best not make the same mistake as Myla.

It was late, clearly time for him to make a move. Unlike my uncle, who anyway lived nearer, he admitted he was so weary after a tedious day of meetings, he felt reluctant to walk. To reach his house, he had to trek all the way up the Aventine and across the heights.