I stared at her. “Why was that?” I used a neutral tone first. Then, when she did not answer, I asked more dryly, “Did he jump you?”

“He made advances, yes.” Her voice was tight. This was an unexpected development.

“Advances you rebuffed?”

“Of course I did!” She was angry now.

“Was this after he married?”

“Yes. He had been married to Aunt Terentia little more than a year. He was a loathsome man. He thought every woman was at his disposal-and unfortunately, he had the knack of persuading too many to believe it.”

When she fell silent, I saw she was trembling slightly. My thoughts were racing. Was the deceased just a regular sex pest fingering married women-or was he even worse? “Caecilia Paeta, please don’t distress yourself. I have to ask you a very unpleasant question. If that was the situation-is there any possibility the ghastly Tiberius ever tried to make advances to little Gaia?”

Caecilia took a long time answering, though she received the question more calmly than I had feared. She was a mother, fluttery in some ways, but she did not flinch from protecting her child. “I was nervous about that. I did consider it. But no,” she said slowly. “I know it happens, especially with young slaves. But when I thought about it, I was sure Uncle Tiberius had no interest in children.” She paused, then forced out with difficulty, “I was afraid, in my heart, that it might become awkward later, when Gaia grew up-but he is dead, so there is no need to worry any longer, is there?” she concluded with relief.

“So Gaia certainly has not had to run away because of Uncle Tiberius?”

“No. She knows he is dead, of course. Falco, is that all you want from me?”

I reckoned I had tried her far enough. I had made more progress than I had expected, even if I did not yet understand the full significance of some of her answers. I felt the conversation had been especially harrowing for Caecilia. She must be under great pressure from Numentinus to keep family issues from me. We had been skirting more secrets than the old man would like.

“Yes, thank you. May I make a suggestion: Scaurus deserves to hear about Gaia. Send word to him today. And regarding Uncle Tiberius groping you, don’t carry that alone either. Tell someone.”

She allowed herself to look grateful. As she fled the room, she gasped out, “That’s all right. I did.”

She was gone before I could ask her who her confidant was.

WHILE I WAS in the vicinity, I searched the rest of the bedrooms on that corridor. A slave was sponging a floor, and since my escort had been deliberately chosen by the old man to be useless, this woman left her bucket and told me who used each place; all were members of the family. It is always entertaining to explore other people’s closets and sleeping quarters, especially when they have been given little warning that you will be popping along to do it. Burglars must have quite a few laughs. But of course, my lips are sealed. I had promised the ex-Flamen confidentiality, and he was not a man to cross.

Caecilia and the couple had large, decently equipped rooms. Caecilia had set hers out extremely neatly, as if she spent a lot of time alone there. Hiding from the family? Well, maybe she just had a very well-organized lady’s maid. The Pomonalis and his wife owned more clutter; judging from the boxes piled along one wall, it looked as if they had still not finished unpacking fully after the family’s enforced house move. Ariminius used an unfortunate variety of hair pomade. I spread some on my hand and had great trouble removing the strong stink afterwards. It was crocus, but from its staying power could have been garlic.

I had to send for a crowbar to force open all the sealed boxes, if only to show I had been thorough. Since I had been told by Gaia that her family wanted to kill her, it was a nerve-racking task. I could be about to discover a hidden corpse.

So far, I hated the setup, yet found it hard to believe Gaia’s story. This was a family in constant turmoil-yet with no evidence of real malice. I asked the escorting slave to find me the child’s nurse. The man went off reluctantly.

“Not one to look for the joys in life.” I grinned at the fat woman with the sponge. “Have I finished here?”

“One more room around the corner.” Oh? Who could that belong to?

She waddled off ahead of me, willingly pointing out the extra bedroom. It was as large as the others, but subtly improved in decor. There were Egyptian rugs beside the high bed, instead of mere Italian wool. Female garments lay folded in a chest, though nothing was in the cupboards. A comb, with a few long gray hairs caught in its teeth, lay on a shelf beside a green glass alabastron that contained a sweeter perfume than the crocus goo that still accompanied me if I waved my hand about.

I looked at the slave. She looked back at me. She pursed her lips. “We had people who used to stay here,” she announced, still meeting my eye rather pointedly.

“That sounds a bit peculiar,” I observed frankly. This one was a character. She nodded, admiring her own acting. “Somebody told you to say that.”

“They lived out of Rome,” she added, as if just remembering her rehearsal. “One of them died, and they do not come anymore.”

“These mysterious visitors’ names wouldn’t have been Terentia and Tiberius?” She gave me a slow nod. “And you are not supposed to talk about them to me?” Another nod. I looked around the room. “You know, I think somebody has been here very recently!” Somebody who left in a hurry, departing the house in a carrying-chair only as I arrived today, I reckoned. So why were the Laelii so concerned to distract me from knowing that Terentia Paulla was a recent guest?

Unfortunately, that was the end of the pantomime. I did hope the slave would privately expand on it, but when I asked, she shook her head. Still, I can be grateful for an anonymous tip (and believe me, clues were so skinnily arrayed here that I was more generous than usual when I dipped into my arm purse). But the trouble with oblique hints like that is you can never work out what they mean.

“Any ideas what happened to the little girl?” I asked conspiratorially.

“I’d tell you if I had, sir.”

“Anyone here she is particularly friendly with?”

“No. She never has friends, that I know of. Well,” said my new source, sneering, “not many would meet the right standards for the people here, would they?”

The male slave was returning, with a girl who must be Gaia’s nurse.

“I’m surprised they let you in!” scoffed the floor-mopper to me, as she toddled back to work.

GAIA’S NURSE was an eye-catcher: a short, sturdily built, swarthy, hairy slave from somewhere unsavory in the east. She probably worshipped gods with harsh, five-syllable names and cannibalistic habits. She looked as if she were descended from trousered archers who could ride horses bareback and shoot backwards sneakily. In fact, even if I were trying not to be unkind, facially she looked as if one of her own parents might have been a horse.

The looks belied her cowed nature. As a barbarian, she was a cipher. I did not need to witness her trying to supervise little Gaia to realize that any six-year-old with spirit could push this beauty about. Locking her in a pantry was too extreme; I bet Gaia Laelia could have ordered nursey to sit motionless on a thistle for six hours, and the girl would have been too terrified to disobey.

“I know nothing!” When she spoke, it was in an accent that the children in my family would have imitated happily for weeks, spluttering with hysterical laughter every time. Even lacking an audience, Gaia could probably imitate her cruelly. And reduce the nurse to sobs doing it.