"Then the master sent you after them," prompted Fausta.

"After he threw his tantrum," agreed Birria.

"And what were his instructions?"

Birria stretched on the couch. His legs reached so far over the end that he was almost able to touch his toes to the floor. "The master said, 'Kill all the rest if you have to, but take Clodius alive. Don't harm a hair on his head, or I'll send the lot of you off to the mines.' So we chased the fool down to Bovillae, where he was holed up inside the inn. We had to go in and drag his men out, one by one. The stupid innkeeper got in the way; Eudamus took care of him. We had the situation under control, and all that was left was to drag Clodius out of the inn by the scruff of his neck. Then that fellow Philemon and his friends came along. He pitched a fit, shouted some threats and shook his fist at us, but as soon as we took two steps towards him he let out a squeal and turned tail. He and his friends scattered all over the place. So we went after them. What else could we do? Eudamus chased one, I chased another, and all our men followed along. You'd think that someone would have had the sense to stay and keep a watch on Clodius, but no one thought to." He shrugged, bunching a great mass of muscles around his oxlike neck. "Everything was crazy that day."

I shook my head at the simplemindedness of it. "And when you finally rounded up the witnesses and came back -"

"Clodius was gone."

I nodded. "Because Sextus Tedius had already come along and dispatched him to Rome in his litter, while you were off chasing Philemon…"

"Yes, but we didn't know that," protested Birria. "When we got back to the inn, we couldn't figure out where in Hades Clodius had got to."

"So you argued about it for a while; that was the hushed argument Philemon only half overheard without understanding."

Birria shrugged. "We decided to head back and ask the master what to do. Clodius was wounded. We figured he couldn't get far."

"And on the way, you passed Sextus Tedius, resting below the House of the Vestals, and he saluted you, while his daughter -"

"We just ignored the old senator and hurried back to the master. He took one look at the prisoners, saw that we didn't have Clodius, and threw another tantrum. While he paced up and down we loaded the prisoners into a wagon and sent them on to the master's villa at Lanuvium, along with the mistress. Then the master decided that Clodius would probably make a run back to his villa on the mountain, so that's where we headed."

"But when you got there, you didn't find Clodius."

"We searched everywhere – in the stable, behind the rock piles, all through the house. We started threatening the slaves in charge, the foreman and that fellow Halicor. 'Where's Publius Clodius?' the master kept yelling."

"You were looking for Clodius at the villa – not for his son!"

"That was a dirty lie the Clodians put out afterwards, saying the master went on a hunt for Clodius's little boy. What would we have done with him? We didn't even know the boy was there, and we certainly never saw him. It was Clodius himself we were hunting for. The master was frantic that we couldn't find him. He kept asking us how badly Clodius was wounded. He figured that Clodius must be hiding in the hills-"

"And my dear husband dreaded what would happen next," added Fausta, "now that blood had been spilled and Clodius would be mad for revenge. Milo didn't know that Clodius was dead until he sneaked back into the city the next day. Then of course we heard the story about how Sextus Tedius had found the body, and we figured out what must have happened."

"Did you really?" I said. "And the next step was for Milo to concoct his own fanciful version of the incident – all that nonsense about Clodius setting an ambush for him."

"It was a good try," said Fausta wistfully. "But there was no way for him to wriggle out of it in the end, was there? Not even with Cicero on his side – and what a mess he made of things! The irony, you see, is that Milo never intended to have Clodius killed, nor to harm his little boy. Once Clodius was wounded – by you, Birria, you very, very naughty boy – Milo simply wanted Clodius to be taken alive, to keep him safe and quiet until we could figure out what to do next. But Philemon drew the men away from the inn. Either Clodius's wounds were worse than everyone thought, or else…"

"Yes?"

"Milo suggested to Cicero that someone else might have actually finished him off."

"How could that have happened?"

"Clodius had plenty of enemies on Mount Alba. He'd stirred up a lot of trouble. Any local person passing by, who happened to see that Clodius was wounded and alone, might have been tempted to take advantage of the situation. And there were reports that Clodius had strangulation marks on his throat-you mentioned them yourself, to Cicero. Eudamus and Birria both swear that they never touched his throat – so where did those marks come from, unless some unknown party throttled Clodius while they were off chasing Philemon? That would explain why Sextus Tedius found him lying dead in the road, when he was still alive in the tavern when Birria and Eudamus took after Philemon." She sighed, sounding more bored than weary. "That was a theory that Milo proposed, anyway, but Cicero said there was no use in pursuing it. 'Why try to convince the jury that you're technically innocent by some convoluted logic, saying your men only wounded Clodius and someone else killed him? They'll never believe it, whether it's true or not. Make no apologies and argue self-defence!' If Philemon hadn't appeared, we might have taken Clodius alive. But

Sextus Tedius showed up at just the wrong moment, and then he sent the body on its way to Rome without our knowing it. Do you grasp the irony, Gordianus?"

"Oh, yes," I said. "More than you know."

Fausta sighed. "All this dwelling on the past is depressing me. You should run along now, Gordianus. I'd just finished my bath when you arrived, and now it's time for my massage." She brightened. "Unless you'd like to join me…"

"I think not."

"Are you sure? Eudamus and Birria give quite an extraordinary massage. Twenty fingers between them – nineteen actually, since Eudamus lost one in a fight – and such power! They could break me in two like a twig, but they leave me feeling as light and airy as a cloud. They could handle two of us as easily as one. It might be rather interesting." The look on her face left no doubt about her meaning.

"And your husband?"

"He won't be back for hours."

"Are you certain?"

"Reasonably certain…"

I remembered Fausta Cornelia's penchant for getting caught in compromising positions, and imagined Milo walking in on the four of us. It was not the kind of confrontation I cared to have with Milo on the eve of his exile, though it might have amused Fausta Cornelia a great deal.

"Alas, I have a final errand I must attend to before the day is done."

She pouted her lips and shrugged. "Regrets, then, Gordianus. Shall I tell my husband that you came by to bid him farewell?" "Please do."