`Ha!' For once Birdy spoke up for himself. `I was more likely to be pleased that Papa had not handed me all his debts.'

That can be a deterrent to heirs: a bequest brings the main beneficiary full responsibility for any debts left behind. Large debts can outweigh the inheritance. In those circumstances good men sigh and accept the burden. Heirs who are light in a social conscience try to refuse their bequest. That's most heirs, naturally.

`Were there many creditors?' Helena shot in quickly.

`He owed thousands.'

`A lot of it seems to be disputed – the compensation for Silius, your ex-wife's dowry repayment… Still, it would mean endless trouble for any heir. So,' I wondered, `is this will some clever legal device? Was your father strategically protecting you?'

A sly look crossed Birdy's face. `Maybe he was!' he exclaimed, now showing excitement.

`Have you any idea,' I asked him directly, `how Paccius thinks you killed him?'

`Hemlock, I dare say.'

I glanced at Helena. Hemlock had already been mentioned by Saffia, the pregnant ex-wife. `That's very precise!' Helena said. Birdy fell silent.

I leaned on my elbow, stroking Nux. She had squirmed into her favourite place, tucked against me on the couch. Her body was warm under the rough curly hair and as usual she smelt doggier than I liked. I stopped. Eyes shut, the happy hound insistently nudged my hand for more attention.

`I'm still confused about the money,' Helena mused almost drowsily. `Your father was supposed to have made a fortune from fixing contracts. How can he have had so many debts?' Birdy looked vague. It was quite possible he did not know. He had never been formally released from parental control. His father may have hogged all details of the family finances – especially if he was involved in dubious practices. `So how did Silius Italicus discover the fraud at your office in the first place?' Helena tried next.

`He said we had an extravagant lifestyle. He kept on and on about it in court.'

`Oh that old argument!' She smiled, with apparent sympathy, then slid in briskly: `Did you?'

`Not really.'

`What happened to the money then?'

For a moment I thought that Negrinus would admit the Metelli still had it. Then he looked at Helena and I was aware of much greater intelligence than he normally revealed. His air of innocent weakness could all be contrived. I saw a flash of stubborn will. When he then claimed he knew nothing about the proceeds of the corruption, I was not surprised and I ignored it. He knew. Most likely, his father simply ran up debts because he was a mean bastard. Cash was stashed away somewhere. But I had a feeling we might never find it.

I yawned. `You must be tired.' I knew I was. I was sick of the Metelli too. `This is an anxious time and you've been out on the streets…'

`We have a guest room where you can stay tonight.' As she began to shepherd him to his bedroom, Helena urged, 'Negrinus, you have to appear before the praetor; unless you go to ground for ever, it is unavoidable.'

I joined in. 'Paccius is going to see him tomorrow. I suggest you turn up unexpectedly and take the wind out of him. I'll come too, if you like.' Negrinus was about to interrupt. `You need to know what he's planning. If you go before the praetor to "agree the facts", you force him to reveal his primary evidence.'

`Oh Marcus, you are wicked!' I could always trust Helena to understand what I was at. It made some parts of domestic life tricky but was useful on occasions like this. 'Paccius will hate that!'

Negrinus seemed to like the idea of offending Paccius. He agreed to my plan.

I wondered if I had the nerve to claim a fee from Paccius for finding and producing him. I thought about it for two seconds, then decided that I did.

XVII

WE STARTED badly. The praetor had already dictated a proclamation naming Metellus Negrinus as a fugitive from justice. When I produced Negrinus it spoiled his day. His secretary had inscribed the proclamation nicely and hated tearing up good work.

Don't ask me which praetor it was. The usual. Anyone who wants to look up who the damned consul was four years later can work it out. I've forgotten. All I know is he was a snide bastard, working in an office where even the clerks looked as if we were some foul mess brought in on the sole of a boot. They all had better things to do than provide justice for the Metellus family.

Paccius Africanus excelled himself.

The story now was: Metellus Negrinus, first the stooge of his father, subsequently became the weak-willed tool of his mother. After the corruption trial, Metellus senior refused to do the decent and remove himself from life. Calpurnia was furious. A noble Roman matron expected her man to show self-sacrifice. To preserve the family cash from Silius (Paccius sombrely maintained), she decided to remove Metellus herself, this was with the aid of her son, who felt aggrieved that he had been omitted from his father's will. Calpurnia admitted having the idea, but Negrinus did it, with hemlock. The plan, said Paccius, was stupidly elaborate. He rightly claimed that murders dreamed up by amateurs often are. Calpurnia and her boy had confused the issue by telling Metellus senior he could take his daughter's corn cockle pills in complete safety, pretend they had worked, fake his own death, then revive and live a happy secret life. They pretended one of their slaves would actually be killed, to provide, a body they could display and cremate. Paccius named the slave who would have died: Perseus the door porter. The charge was that Metellus fell for the plan, then instead, hemlock was administered to him by Negrinus at the lunch which they later pretended was the `suicide's' formal gathering to say his farewells to his family.

`Are these people mad?' asked the praetor. He had listened in silence, as if preposterous ideas were constantly brought before him. No doubt he had learned that he could most easily end the torture by _ allowing the complainants to finish as soon as possible. In a rare flash of humour he added a heavy praetorian joke: `No more than your family or mine, no doubt!'

His clerks sniggered. We all grinned obediently. I waited for him to dismiss the accusation.

`I take it you are writing your memoirs, dear Paccius, and need a lively chapter for the next scroll?' The man was thoroughly enjoying himself.

Paccius made a modest gesture. He managed to imply that when he did write his memoirs, the praetor would receive a free copy of that startling work. There was a strong sense that the magistrate and the informer were old colleagues. They had obviously been involved in many previous cases, and perhaps dined together privately. I distrusted them. There was nothing I could do. No point worrying that they fixed verdicts. Of course they did. It would be hard to prove – and anyone of my new rank who did expose it might as well sail into exile on the next tide.

`What do you have to say for yourself?' the praetor asked Birdy. `Can you tell me all this is untrue?'

That was when Negrinus damned himself. `Not all of it,' the witless flake muttered, sounding meek.

`No point denying it, is there?' exclaimed Paccius. `You realise I have been talking to your mother!'

`Is she to be jointly charged?' the praetor interrupted.

`No, sir. Calpurnia Cara is a woman of some years, who has lost her husband recently. We believe it would be unfeeling to inflict her with a court case. In return for her complete honesty, we are waiving the right to accuse her.'

I heard myself choke with disbelief. The praetor merely shrugged, as if forgiving highborn widows who had poisoned spineless husbands was an everyday courtesy.

`Will she make a statement?'

`Yes, sir,' said Paccius. Negrinus closed his eyes in defeat. `I shall produce her written evidence that her son administered the poison to Metellus senior.'