‘Treats in the larder,’ explained Petro relentlessly. Laeta closed his eyes. Petro scowled sombrely, mentally dwelling on the circumstances.

‘Other murders are likely, going back over many years, Laeta,’ I weighed in. ‘Petronius reckons this killer will strike again, until he is captured and stopped.’

‘Ah, one of those!’ Laeta pretended to be a crime expert. ‘No one has ever suggested the Claudii are that bad.’

‘When such murderers are exposed, people are always surprised,’ I pointed out. ‘He kept to himself, but he never seemed violent. None of us had any idea—that’s how repeat killers get away with it. Only with hindsight does it all seem bloody obvious.’

I was supposed to have the reputation for mischief, but it was Petro who asked, ‘You came up through the imperial household yourself, Laeta. Did you ever encounter these backwoodsmen? Were you slaves together?’

Claudius Laeta battled a shudder. ‘No; absolutely not. Though it’s a small world. I am sure you could find palace staff who have met them in the past . . . But during their time in the imperial familia, these were merely low-grade rural slaves. It is said they worked originally at a villa beloved of the Emperor Augustus at Antium. Nero tore it down—how typical of the man—and rebuilt on a scale that he fancied was more glamorous. Probably at that time the Claudii were deemed superfluous. You know, there is a difference between rough country slaves, labouring anonymously in the fields as shepherds, mowers, tillers or harvesters, and those of us who are fortunate enough to be trained for duties close to emperors.’

‘Understood!’ Petronius could be a bastard. ‘So, they were batch field workers . . .’ He kept pushing. ‘Your paths never crossed?’

‘No.’ Laeta remained polite but cold. ‘You could ask Momus,’ he added offhandedly to me. He managed to imply I had no scruples in my choice of personal contacts.

Momus started life as a gruesome slave-overseer. Since he lacked both intellect and morals, he had been assigned to a palace audit section; according to him, his job description was to audit the spies. Interpreting that as an order to cut staff numbers, Momus strove to make Anacrites fall down a very deep well or float off a high parapet. I got on well with Momus. Laeta, who was more fastidious, regarded him as a major disease—but possibly useful.

‘He is foul—though he knows the slave rostas. I intend to have a chat!’ I assured Laeta happily. Now Laeta was wondering if Momus knew any secrets about him and would Momus tell me? ‘Careful intelligence will be needed on this case, Laeta. I suppose it’s a coup for you, grabbing the job from Anacrites?’