'Tell me, Mummius, who currently resides in the villa?'

'Besides Gelina, only a handful of people. This is the end of the holiday season in Baiae. There weren't that many visitors this year even in the spring. I was here myself in May, along with Crassus and Fabius and a few others. Baiae seemed a shadow of itself. Between Spartacus and the pirates, everyone is afraid to leave Rome.'

'Yes, but who is staying here now?'

'Let me think. Gelina, of course. And Dionysius, her philosopher in residence – calls himself a polymath, writes plays and histories and pretends to make witty conversation, but he puts me right to sleep. Then there's Iaia, the painter.'

'Iaia? A woman?'

He nodded. 'Originally from Cyzicus. Crassus says she was all the rage when he was a boy, with paintings in the best houses in Rome and all around the Cup. Specialized in portraits, mainly women. Never married, but seems to have made quite a success on her own. She's retired now and paints for pleasure, together with a young assistant she's instructing. They're here doing some project as a favour for Gelina, painting an anteroom in the women's baths.' 'And who is Iaia's assistant?'

'Olympias, originally from Neapolis across the bay.' 'A girl?' I asked.

'A very beautiful girl,' Mummius assured me, at which Eco's eyes lit up. 'Iaia treats her like a daughter. They have their own small villa on the sea coast up in Cumae, but they often stay here for 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 anyone you suspect? Any of the residents or guests in Gelina's house who seem more likely to have killed Lucius than the slaves?'

In answer he only shrugged and scowled.

'Which makes me wonder, Mummius, why you've expended so much of your own time and energy to help Gelina prove that the slaves are innocent.'

'I have my reasons,' he said curdy, thrusting out his jaw and staring straight ahead. He spurred his horse to a gallop and raced on to the villa alone.

Part Two

The Jaws of Hades

VII

Dinner began at the twelfth hour of the day, just after sundown, in a modestly appointed room in the southeast corner of the upper floor. Windows opened onto views of Puteoli to the east and Vesuvius farther south. A coterie of slaves unobtrusively hurried about the room and the adjoining hallways, lighting braziers against the slight chill in the air and illuminating the richly coloured walls with an array of hanging lamps. The air was windless, empty of bird song or the noise of any other living thing; the only sound from the World outside was the vague murmur of the sea, like a distant sighing. Looking out of the southern window, I saw a single star glimmering above Vesuvius in a sky of darkest blue. A sensation of hushed luxury descended upon the villa, that special feeling of comfort and sumptuous privilege peculiar to the homes of the rich at twilight.

Gelina, already reclining on her divan, welcomed her guests as they arrived separately or in pairs, all dressed in sombre dark blue or black. There were places for eleven people in all, an awkward number for a dinner, but Gelina managed it by placing the company in a square with three divans on each of three sides and two on the last, one for herself and another reserved for Crassus. The small tables before each divan were already set with cups of honeyed wine, white and black olives, and an appetizer of sea urchins in a cumin sauce.

The painter Iaia and her protegee Olympias, along with the polymath Dionysius, sat opposite Gelina; Marcus Mummius, Faustus Fabius, and Sergius Orata sat to her right; Eco and I were to her left, along with the actor Metrobius. Gelina introduced us simply as Gordianus of Rome and his son, with no further explanation. From their expressions, I gathered that Gelina's guests already had some idea of my purpose in being there. In their eyes I saw varying degrees of scepticism, suspicion, and disinterest.