The room was shaped like an amphitheatre. Where the stage would have been, steps led up to a colonnaded gallery. It opened onto a spectacular vista of sparkling water below and the port of Puteoli in the distance, and far away to the right an unimpeded view of Mount Vesuvius on the horizon and the towns of Herculaneum and Pompeii at its feet.

The interior of the room was so dark and the light from outside so dazzling that I could see the woman who reclined on the terrace only as a stark silhouette. She sat with her legs extended and her back upright on a low divan beside a small table set with a ewer and cups. She stared out at the bay and made no reaction as we entered; she might have been another statue, except that a gende breeze wafted through the colonnade and caused the hanging folds of her gown to sway in the air.

She turned towards us. I could not yet distinguish her features, but there was a warm smile in her voice. 'Marcus,' she said, extending her right arm across her body in a gesture of welcome.

Mummius stepped onto the terrace, took her hand and bowed. 'Your guest has arrived.'

'So I see. Two of them, in fact. You must be Gordianus, the one they call the Finder.'

'Yes.'

'And this one?'

'My son, called Eco. He does not speak, but he hears.'

She nodded and gestured for us to sit. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I began to make out the austere, rather stark features of her face – a strong jaw, high cheekbones, a high forehead – softened by the lush blackness of her eyebrows and eyelashes and the softness of her grey eyes. In deference to her widowhood, her black hair, touched with grey at the temples, was not dressed or arranged but simply brushed back from her face. From her neck to her ankles she was wrapped in a black stola loosely belted beneath her breasts and again at her waist. Her face was like the vista behind her, more lofty than lovely, animated and yet serenely detached. She spoke in even, measured tones and seemed to weigh each thought before she spoke it.

'My name is Gelina. My father was Gaius Gelinus. My mother was of the Cornelii, distantly related to the dictator Sulla. The Gelinii came to Rome long ago from inland Campania. In recent years many died in the civil wars, fighting Cinna and Marius on behalf of Sulla. We are an old and proud family, but neither wealthy nor particularly prolific. There are not many of the Gelinii left.'

She paused to take a sip from the silver cup on the table beside her. The wine was almost black. It gave her lips a vivid magenta stain. She gestured to the cups on the table, which had already been filled for us.

'Having no dowry to offer,' she went on, 'I was very lucky to marry a man like Lucius Licinius. The marriage was our own choice, not a family arrangement. You must understand, this was before Sulla's dictatorship, during the wars; times were cruel and the future was very uncertain. Our families were equally impoverished and unenthusiastic about the match, but they acquiesced. I am sorry to say that in twenty years of marriage we had no children, nor was my husband as wealthy as you might think from the evidence of this house. But in our way we prospered.'

She began idly to rearrange the folds of the gown about her knee, as if to signal a change of subject. 'You must wonder how I know of you, Gordianus. I learned of you from our mutual friend, Marcus Tullius Cicero. He speaks of you highly.'

'Does he?'

'He does. I myself met Cicero only last winter, when Lucius and I happened to be seated at the divan next to his at a dinner in Rome. He was a most charming man.'

'That is a word some people use in describing Cicero,' I agreed.

'I asked him about his career in the law courts – men are always happy to talk about their careers,' said Gelina. 'Usually I only half listen, but something in his manner compelled me to pay attention.'

'They say he is a most compelling speaker.'

'Oh, he is, most certainly. Surely you've heard him yourself, speaking from the Rostra in the Forum?'

'Often enough.'

Gelina narrowed her eyes in recollection, as serene as the profile of Vesuvius just above her head. 'I found myself quite enthralled by his tale of Sextus Roscius, a wealthy farmer accused of murdering his own father, who called upon Cicero for legal counsel when no one else in Rome would come to his aid. It was Cicero's first murder case; I understand it made his reputation.* Cicero told me he was assisted by a man named Gordianus, called the Finder. You were absolutely invaluable to him – as brave as an eagle and as stubborn as a mule, he said.'

'Did he? Yes, well, that was eight years ago. I was still a young man, and Cicero was even younger.'

'Since then he has ascended like a comet. The most talked-about advocate in Rome – quite a feat, for a man from such an obscure family. I understand that he has called upon your services a number of tunes.'

* Roman Blood (Robinson 1997).

I nodded. 'There was, of course, the matter of the woman of Arretium, only shortly after the trial of Sextus Roscius, while Sulla was still alive. And various murder trials, cases of extortion, and property disagreements over the years, not to mention a few private affairs concerning which I cannot mention names.'

'It must be very rewarding to work for such a man.'

Sometimes I wish I were mute like Eco, so that I would not have to bite my tongue. I have fallen out and made up with Cicero so many times I am weary of it. Is he an honest man or a crass opportunist? A principled man of the people or an apologist for the rich nobility? If he were clearly one thing or the other, like most men, I would know what to think of him. Instead, he is the most exasperating man in Rome. His conceit and superior attitude, no matter how well deserved, do nothing to endear him to me; neither does his propensity for telling only half the truth, even when his purpose may be honourable. Cicero gives me a headache.

Gelina sipped her wine. 'When this matter arose and I asked myself on whom I could call – someone trustworthy and discreet, someone from beyond the Cup, a man who would be dogged in pursuit of the truth and unafraid – brave as an eagle, as Cicero said…'

'And stubborn as a mule.'

'And clever. Above all, clever…' Gelina sighed and looked out at the water. She seemed to be gathering strength. 'You have seen the body of my husband?'

'Yes.'

'He was murdered.' 'Yes.'

'Brutally murdered. It happened five days ago, on the Nones of September – although his body was not discovered until the next morning…' Her serenity suddenly departed; her voice quavered and she looked away.

Mummius moved closer to her and took her hand. 'Strength,' he whispered to her. Gelina nodded and caught her breath. She gripped his hand tightly, then released him.

'If I am to help you,' I said quietly, 'I must know everything.'

For a long moment Gelina studied the view. When she looked back at me, her face had recomposed itself, as if she were able to absorb the serene detachment of the panorama by gazing upon it. Her voice was steady and calm as she continued.,

'He was discovered, as I said, early the next morning.' 'Discovered where? By whom?'

'In the front atrium, not far from where his body lies at this moment. It was one of the slaves who found him – Meto, the little boy who carries messages and wakes the other slaves to begin their morning duties. It was still dark; not a cock had crowed, the boy said, and the whole world seemed as still as death.'

'What was the exact disposition of the body? Perhaps we should summon this Meto-'

'No, I can tell you myself. Meto came to fetch me right away, and nothing was touched before I arrived. Lucius lay on his back, his eyes still open.'

'Flat on his back?'

'Yes.'

'And his arms and legs, were they crumpled about his body? Was he clutching his head?'