days at a time, working in the mornings and keeping Gelina company at night.'
'Were they in the house on the night Lucius was killed?'
'Actually, no. They were up in Cumae.'
'Is that far?'
'Not very; an hour away on foot, closer on horseback.'
'Besides the philosopher and the painters, are there any guests in the house?'
Mummius thought. 'Yes, two.'
'And they were here on the night of the murder?'
'Yes,' Mummius said slowly, 'but neither of them could possibly be suspected of murder.'
'Even so .. .'
'Very well, the first is Sergius Orata. I mentioned him to you before, the builder of the baths in the south wing. He comes from Puteoli and has villas all around the Cup, but as often as not you'll find him staying in other people's houses; that's the way they do it here, the rich move about playing guest in each other's villas. Gelina says he was here talking business with Lucius when word came that Crassus was on his way from Rome and wanted to consult with them both. Orata decided to stay on, so that the three of them could transact their business together in one place. He was here on the night of the murder and is still here, staying in a suite of rooms in the north wing.'
'And the other house guest?'
'Metrobius, up from his villa across the bay in Pompeii.'
'Metrobius? The name sounds familiar.'
'Famous from the stage, once the best-loved female impersonator in Rome. A favourite of Sulla's. That's how he got his villa, back when Sulla was dictator and was handing out the confiscated property of his enemies like party favours to his inner circle.'
'Ah, yes, I did once see Metrobius perform.'
'I never had the privilege,' Mummius said, with a sarcastic edge in his voice. 'Doing Plautus, or some creation of his own?'
'Neither. He was performing a rather lewd mock homage to Sulla at a private party in the house of Chrysogonus, years ago.'
'And you were there?' Mummius seemed sceptical that I could have moved in such rarefied and debauched circles.
'I was an uninvited guest. Very uninvited. But what is Metrobius doing here?'
'He's a great friend of Gelina's. The two of them can carry on for hours, trading local gossip. Or so I'm told. Between us, I can't stand to spend more than a few minutes in a room with him.'
'You dislike Metrobius?'
'I have my reasons.'
'But you don't suspect him of murder.'
Mummius snorted. 'Let me tell you something, Gordianus. I have killed more than my share of men, always honourably and in battle, you understand, but killing is killing. I've killed with a sword, I've killed with a bludgeon, I've even killed with my bare hands. I know something of what it takes to snuff out the life of another man. Believe me, Metrobius hasn't the mettle to have bashed in Lucius's skull, even if he did have a reason.'
'What about Zeno, or Alexandros, the two slaves?'
'It hardly seems likely.'
'But not impossible?'
He shrugged.
'So,' I said, 'we know that these people were in the house on the night of the murder: Dionysius the resident polymath, the Puteolian businessman Sergius Orata, and the retired actor Metrobius. Iaia the painter and her assistant Olympias are often here, but not on that night.'
'So far as I know. Of those who were here, each was alone and asleep in his or her own private bed, or so they say. None of them heard anything, which is perfectly possible, given the distance between rooms. None of the slaves claims to have heard anything either, which also seems plausible, since they sleep in their own quarters out by the stables.'
'Surely at least one slave has the duty to keep watch through the night,' I said.
'Yes, but on the grounds, not in the house. He's supposed to make a circuit, keeping one eye on the road in front of the house and another on the coast behind. Pirates have been known to attack private villas on the coast, though never in Baiae, so far as I know. When the slaves made their escape the watchman must have been at the back. He saw nothing.'
'Is there
'Were they in the house on the night Lucius was killed?'
'Actually, no. They were up in Cumae.'
'Is that far?'
'Not very; an hour away on foot, closer on horseback.'
'Besides the philosopher and the painters, are there any guests in the house?'
Mummius thought. 'Yes, two.'
'And they were here on the night of the murder?'
'Yes,' Mummius said slowly, 'but neither of them could possibly be suspected of murder.'
'Even so .. .'
'Very well, the first is Sergius Orata. I mentioned him to you before, the builder of the baths in the south wing. He comes from Puteoli and has villas all around the Cup, but as often as not you'll find him staying in other people's houses; that's the way they do it here, the rich move about playing guest in each other's villas. Gelina says he was here talking business with Lucius when word came that Crassus was on his way from Rome and wanted to consult with them both. Orata decided to stay on, so that the three of them could transact their business together in one place. He was here on the night of the murder and is still here, staying in a suite of rooms in the north wing.'
'And the other house guest?'
'Metrobius, up from his villa across the bay in Pompeii.'
'Metrobius? The name sounds familiar.'
'Famous from the stage, once the best-loved female impersonator in Rome. A favourite of Sulla's. That's how he got his villa, back when Sulla was dictator and was handing out the confiscated property of his enemies like party favours to his inner circle.'
'Ah, yes, I did once see Metrobius perform.'
'I never had the privilege,' Mummius said, with a sarcastic edge in his voice. 'Doing Plautus, or some creation of his own?'
'Neither. He was performing a rather lewd mock homage to Sulla at a private party in the house of Chrysogonus, years ago.'
'And you were there?' Mummius seemed sceptical that I could have moved in such rarefied and debauched circles.
'I was an uninvited guest. Very uninvited. But what is Metrobius doing here?'
'He's a great friend of Gelina's. The two of them can carry on for hours, trading local gossip. Or so I'm told. Between us, I can't stand to spend more than a few minutes in a room with him.'
'You dislike Metrobius?'
'I have my reasons.'
'But you don't suspect him of murder.'
Mummius snorted. 'Let me tell you something, Gordianus. I have killed more than my share of men, always honourably and in battle, you understand, but killing is killing. I've killed with a sword, I've killed with a bludgeon, I've even killed with my bare hands. I know something of what it takes to snuff out the life of another man. Believe me, Metrobius hasn't the mettle to have bashed in Lucius's skull, even if he did have a reason.'
'What about Zeno, or Alexandros, the two slaves?'
'It hardly seems likely.'
'But not impossible?'
He shrugged.
'So,' I said, 'we know that these people were in the house on the night of the murder: Dionysius the resident polymath, the Puteolian businessman Sergius Orata, and the retired actor Metrobius. Iaia the painter and her assistant Olympias are often here, but not on that night.'
'So far as I know. Of those who were here, each was alone and asleep in his or her own private bed, or so they say. None of them heard anything, which is perfectly possible, given the distance between rooms. None of the slaves claims to have heard anything either, which also seems plausible, since they sleep in their own quarters out by the stables.'
'Surely at least one slave has the duty to keep watch through the night,' I said.
'Yes, but on the grounds, not in the house. He's supposed to make a circuit, keeping one eye on the road in front of the house and another on the coast behind. Pirates have been known to attack private villas on the coast, though never in Baiae, so far as I know. When the slaves made their escape the watchman must have been at the back. He saw nothing.'
'Is there
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