"And how was your day, Master?" she asked casually, settling back on the couch. I stood close by, my arms clasped deferentially behind my back. In her imagination, was I reduced to a slave-or worse, to a husband?

I recounted to her the day's events, as slaves are often called upon to do by their masters at the end of the day, Bethesda listened abstractedly, running her hands through her luxurious black hair and tapping at her full red lips. When I described my encounter with Cicero, her dark eyes flashed, for she has always been suspicious of any man who has a greater appetite for books than for women or food; when I told her I had called on Lucius Claudius she smiled, for she knows how susceptible he is to her beauty; when I told her of Stephanos's demise and the disappearance of the silver, she became deeply pensive. She leaned forward to rest her chin on her hand, and it suddenly occurred to me that she was very dangerously close to performing a parody of me.

After I had explained the unfortunate events, she asked me to explain them again, then called on Eco, who had been performing some childish hand-slapping game with Belbo, to come over and clarify some aspects of the story. Again, as he had at Lucius's house, he insisted that it was Stephanos whom he had heard laughing.

"Master," said Bethesda thoughtfully, "will this slave Thropsus be tortured?"

"Possibly." I sighed. "If Lucius is unable to recover the silver, he may lose his head-Lucius, I mean, though Thropsus could eventually lose his head as well, literally."

"And if Zoticus is found, without the silver, protesting his innocence?"

"He will almost certainly be tortured," I said. "Lucius would lose face with his family and his colleagues if he were to allow himself to be duped by a slave."

"Duped by a slave," murmured Bethesda thoughtfully, nodding. Then she shook her head and put on her most imperious expression. "Master, you were there! How could you not have seen the truth?"

"What do you mean?"

"You were drinking the wine of Lucius Claudius straight, weren't you? It must have addled your judgment."

Many liberties are allowed to slaves during Saturnalia, but this was too much! "Bethesda! I demand-"

"We must go to the house of Lucius Claudius at once!" Bethesda sprang to her feet and ran to fetch herself a cloak. Eco looked at me for direction. I shrugged. "Fetch your cloak, Eco, and mine as well; the night may be chilly. You might as well come along, too, Belbo, if you can manage to lift yourself off that couch. The streets will be wild tonight."

I will not recount the madness of crossing Rome on Saturnalia night. Suffice to say that on certain stretches of the journey I was very glad to have Belbo with us; his hulking presence alone was usually enough to clear a way through the raucous throng. When we at last rapped upon Lucius's door, it was once again answered by the master of the house.

"Gordianus! Oh, I'm glad to see you. This day only becomes worse and worse. Oh, and Eco, and Belbo-and Bethesda!" His voice broke a little as he said her name and his eyes widened. He blushed, if it was possible for his florid face to turn a brighter red.

He led us through the garden. The statue of Minerva gazed down upon us, her wise countenance a study in moonlight and shadow. Lucius led us into a sumptuously appointed room just off the garden, heated by a flaming brazier. "I took your advice," he said. "I hired men to search for Zoticus. They found him quickly enough, as drunk as a satyr and gambling in the street outside a brothel in the Subura-trying to win enough to go inside, he says."

"And the silver?"

"No sign of it. Zoticus swears that he never saw the silver or even knew that it existed. He says he slipped out the back of the house, through a window in the slaves' quarters. He says that Thropsus was boring him and he wanted to go out alone."

"Do you believe him?"

Lucius clutched his head. "Oh, I don't know what to believe. All I know is that Zoticus and Thropsus came in, Zoticus slipped out, and at some point in between Stephanos was killed and the silver was taken. I just want the silver back! My cousins came calling today, and I had nothing to give them. Of course I didn't want to explain the situation; I told them my presents were late and I'd come to see them tomorrow. Gordianus, I don't want to torture the young men, but what else can I do?"

"You can take me to the room where you kept the silver," said Bethesda, stepping forward and slipping off her cloak, which she tossed onto a nearby chair. Her cascade of black hair glittered with flashes of deep blue and purple in the light of the flaming brazier. Her face was impassive and her eyes were steadily fixed on Lucius Claudius, who blinked under her gaze. I quailed a bit myself, looking at her in the firelight, for while she wore her hair down, like a slave, and was dressed in a simple slave woman's gown, her face had the same compelling majesty as the brazen face of the goddess in the garden.

Bethesda kept her gaze on Lucius, who reached up to dab a bead of sweat from his forehead. The brazier was hot, but not that hot. "Of course," he said, "though there's nothing to see now. I had the body of Stephanos removed to another room…" His voice trailed off as he turned and led the way to the back of the house, taking a lamp from a sconce on the wall to light the way.

Under the lamp's flickering light, the room seemed very empty and slightly eerie. The shutters were closed and the bloodstained cloth had been removed from atop the chest.

"Which shutters were open when you found Stephanos dead?" said Bethesda.

"Th-these," said Lucius with a slight stutter. At his touch they parted. "The latch seems to be broken," he explained, trying to push them shut again.

"Broken, because the shutters were not opened by the latch, but forced," said Bethesda.

"Yes, we figured that out this morning" he said. "They must have been pushed open from outside. Some outsider forced his way in-"

"I think not," said Bethesda. "What if one were to seize the top of the shutters and pull them open, like so." At another window she wrenched the shutters open, breaking the little latch at the middle.

"But why would anyone do that?" asked Lucius.

I parted my lips and drew in a breath, beginning to see what Bethesda had in mind. I almost spoke, but caught myself. The idea was hers, after all. I would let her reveal it.

"The slave Thropsus said he heard first laughter, then a rattling noise, then a banging. The laughter, according to Eco, came from Stephanos."

Lucius shook his head. "That's hard to imagine."

"Because you never heard Stephanos laugh? I can tell you why: because he laughed only behind your back. Ask some of the slaves who have been here longer than Thropsus, and see what they tell you."

"How can you know this?" protested Lucius.

"The man ran your household, did he not? He was your chief slave here in Rome. Believe me, from time to time he laughed at you behind your back." Lucius seemed taken aback at such an idea, but Bethesda was not to be argued with. "As for the rattling Thropsus heard, you heard the same noise just now, when I wrenched open those shutters. Then Thropsus heard a banging, a thud-that was the sound of Stephanos's head striking the hard edge of the chest." She winced. "Then he fell to the ground, here I should think, clutching his chest and bleeding from his head." She pointed to the very spot where we had found Stephanos. "But the most significant sound was the one that no one heard-the clanging of silver, which would surely have made a considerable noise if anyone had hurriedly stuffed all the vessels into a bag and then run off with it."

"But what does all this mean?" said Lucius.

"It means that your wooden-faced slave, whom you believed to have no sense of humor, had his own way of celebrating Saturnalia this year. Stephanos pulled a little joke on you in secret-then laughed out loud at his own impertinence. But he laughed too hard. Stephanos was very old, wasn't he? Old slaves have weak hearts. When their hearts fail, they are likely to fall and reach for anything to support them." She seized the top of the shutters and jerked them open. "These were a poor support He fell and struck his head, and then kept falling to the floor.Was it the blow to his head that killed him, or his heart? Who can say?"