‘We did not send for a doctor. You know Geminus. He would loathe the cost, when it was obvious that nothing could be done . . .’

I knew. Pa could be stupidly generous, but like most men who accrued a lot of money he was more often stingy. Anyway, the diagnosis was reasonable. His lifestyle was tough; he had been looking tired; we were all not long returned from a physically demanding trip to Egypt.

Even so, any doubts would bring the slaves under suspicion. Legally, their position was dangerous. If their master’s passing was seen as unnatural, they could all be put to death. They were scared—particularly scared of me. I am an informer. I fix credit checks and character references. I deliver subpoenas, act for disappointed beneficiaries, defend accused parties in civil actions. In the course of this work I frequently run across corpses, not all of them persons who have died quietly of old age at home. So I tend to look for problems. Jealousy, greed and lust have a bad habit of causing people to end up on a bier prematurely. Clients may hire me to investigate the suspicious death of a lover or a business partner.

Sometimes it turns out that my client actually killed the deceased and hired me as a cover, which at least is neat.

‘Shall I fetch the will?’ asked Quirinius, whose main job had been to detain creditors with sweet drinks and pastries on a patio, while Pa scarpered by a back exit.

‘Save it for the heir.’

‘Back in an instant!’

Dear gods.

Me? My father’s heir? On the other hand, who else was there? What friend or close relation, other than me, could Pa have lumbered? He knew half of Rome, but who counted with him enough for this? Had he died intestate, it would have become my role in any case. I had always imagined he would die intestate, come to that.

Misgiving gave way to dread. It seemed Pa was going to make me responsible for unravelling the complex rats’ nest of his business affairs. I would have to become familiar with his dubious private life. A named heir does not automatically inherit the estate (though he is entitled to at least a quarter); his duty is to become an extension of the dead man, honouring his gods, coughing up for his charities, preserving property, paying debts (a frequent reason to back out of being an executor, believe me). He makes arrangements for specified bequests and tactfully fends off people who have been disinherited. He shares out the booty as instructed.

I would have to do it all. This was typical of my father. I don’t know why I felt so unprepared.

The will was apparently hard to find. That wasn’t suspicious; Pa hated documentation. He liked to keep everything vague. If he had to have written evidence, he tried to lose the scroll among a lot of mess.