I sat and fretted in the dim light of Iaia's room, my head spinning at all the terrible and wonderful things that could happen in a single day.

At last I wrapped a cloak around my shoulders, lit a small lamp, and wandered through the quiet house. The empty hallways were dark, illuminated only here and there where cold white moonlight poured through a window.

Done with her errands for Iaia, Olympias had retired to her own room, but not to sleep. Through her door I heard soft murmurings and sighs, and the low, hearty laugh of a young man released after long days and nights of exile in a cave, luxuriating amid soft pillows and the caresses of warm, familiar flesh. I smiled, wishing I had some excuse to stumble in on their coupling, now that the throbbing in my head had finally ceased and I could truly appreciate the sight.

I continued to wander until I made my way to the men's baths and stood beside the great pool. The waters of the mineral spring seethed and gurgled; the rising steam danced and vanished in the glow of my little lamp. I looked toward the terrace and saw two naked figures standing side by side, leaning against the balustrade and each other. They gazed out at the reflection of the moon on the shimmering bay. Pools of water marked the path of their footsteps from the bath to the balustrade, and great clouds of steam rose from their heated flesh. The moonlight shone like a fuzzy halo on Mummius's great hairy shoulders and buttocks; the same light shone on Apollonius and seemed to turn him into quicksilver and polished marble.

I covered my lamp with my hand. Silent and unseen, I found a way down from the terrace onto the path that led to the pier. I turned toward the annexe instead and ascended the hill. I came to the long, low building where the captives had been held. Its door was pressed back against the wall and opened onto utter blackness. I paused for a moment and stepped inside, then recoiled at the shock of the smell. The place was filled with the odour of human misery, but tonight it was empty and silent.

From the stables farther ahead I heard the sounds of quiet conversation and laughter. I followed the path around the corner of the building to the open courtyard. Three guards were posted outside the stables, wrapped in cloaks and gathered around the warmth of an open fire. One of them recognized me and nodded. Behind them, the door to the stables stood ajar, and within I saw the slaves huddled in groups around tiny lamps. Above the low murmur of conversation I heard someone snap, 'Get out of there, you pest!' and I knew that Meto must be among them.

I turned toward the villa and took a long, deep breath of cold air. There was no wind; the tall trees that surrounded the villa stood upright and silent. All the world seemed strangely alert and bemused by moonlight.

I walked across the courtyard, hearing the soft crunch of gravel beneath my feet. On the doorstep I hesitated; instead of entering the villa I lingered beneath the portico, then walked along the outer wall until I came to one of the windows that looked into the library. The draperies were only partly shut. The room was brightly lit. Within I saw Marcus Crassus wrapped in his chlamys, toiling over a stack of opened scrolls with a cup of wine in his left hand. He never appeared to look up, but after a long moment he spoke. 'You need not skulk outside, Gordianus; your spying is done. Come inside. Not through the window – this is a Roman house, not a hovel.'

I returned to the front door and passed through the entry hall. In the darkness the waxen faces of Lucius Licinius's ancestors gazed down on me, looking grim but satisfied. I walked through the atrium, where the odour of incense had at last covered the lingering smell of putrefaction. Moonlight poured through the open roof like a great column of liquid opal. Holding my lamp aloft, I studied the letters SPARTA on the floor. Under the wavering lamplight and moonlight the crude scratches shone gold and silver, as if some passing god, and not a mere murderous mortal, had drawn them with his fingertip.

There was no guard outside the library. The door stood open. Crassus did not turn or look up when I entered, but indicated that I should sit in the chair to his left. After a moment he pushed the scrolls away, pinched the bridge of his nose, and produced a second silver cup, which he filled to the brim from a clay bottle.

'I'm not thirsty, thank you, Marcus Crassus.'

'Drink,' he said, in a tone that allowed no rebuttal. I obediendy put the cup to my Lips. The wine was dark and rich, and spread a warm glow through my chest.

'Falernian,' said Crassus. 'From the last year of Sulla's dictatorship. An exceptional vintage; it was Lucius's favourite. There was only one bottle left in the cellar. Now there are none.' He filled his own cup again, then poured the last drops into mine.

I sipped, breathing in the bouquet. The wine was as bemusing as the moonlight. 'No one sleeps tonight,' I said quietly. 'Time seems to have stopped altogether.'

'Time never stops,' said Crassus with a bitter edge to his voice.

'You are not pleased with me, Marcus Crassus. And yet I only did what I was hired to do. Anything less would have shown contempt for the generous fee you promised me.'

He looked at me sidelong. His expression was unreadable. 'Don't worry,' he said at last, 'you'll get your fee. I didn't become the richest man in Rome by swindling petty hirelings.'

I nodded and sipped the Falernian.

'Do you know,' said Crassus, 'for a moment, out there in the arena today, when you were rolling your eyes and making your passionate speech, I actually thought – can you believe it? – I thought that you were going to accuse me of killing Lucius.'

'Imagine that,' I said.

'Yes. If you had dared such impudence, I think I might have ordered one of the guards to put a spear through your heart then and there. No one would have questioned such an act. I would have called it self-defence; you had a knife concealed on your person, you looked like a madman, and you were ranting like Cicero on a bad day.'

'You would never have done such a thing, Marcus Crassus. Had you killed me immediately after I made such a public accusation, you would only have planted a seed of doubt in everyone who was there.'

'You think so, Gordianus?'

I shrugged. 'Besides, the point is hypothetical. I never made such an accusation.'

'And you never intended to?'

I sipped the Falernian. 'It seems useless to dwell on such a question, since what you describe never occurred and the true murderer was identified – just in time to avoid a terrible miscarriage of justice, I might add, though I know you find that to be a minor point.'

Crassus made a low noise in his throat, rather like a growl. It had not been easy for him to cancel the slaughter after arousing the curiosity and whetting the blood lust of the crowd. Even after the revelation of Fabius's guilt, he might have gone on with the massacre had it not been for the intervention of Gelina. Meek, mild Gelina had at last put her foot down. Armed with the truth, she was transformed before our eyes. Her jaw set, her eyes hard and glittering like glass, she had demanded that Crassus cancel his farce. Mummius, blustering and outraged, had joined her. Assaulted from both sides, Crassus had acquiesced. He had ordered his guards to escort Fabius and himself back to the villa, currty charged Mummius with closing the games, and then had made an abrupt and unceremonious exit.

'Did you stay for the end of the games?' Crassus asked.

'No. I left only moments after you did.' Why bother to explain that Alexandros and I had carried Eco back to the villa, fearing for his life? Crassus had hardly noticed Eco's collapse, and probably did not even remember it.

'Mummius tells me that all went smoothly, but he's lying, of course. I must be the laughing stock of the whole Cup tonight.'