"All the more reason that the time had come," said Tedia sternly.

"He was alive when you came upon him at the inn…" "Very much alive." "But near death, surely."

"How can you say that? Were you there to judge? I shall tell you how it was -"

"Daughter!" Sextus Tedius scowled and shook his head.

"Father, I have nothing to be ashamed of, and nothing to fear. It began as my father told you – we were on our way to Rome, we came upon. Milo in the aftermath of the skirmish, he lied and told us there were bandits about. I was afraid and wanted to turn back, but my father insisted that we press on, and so we did. The goddess Vesta was guiding us that day, I have no doubt of that. We arrived at the inn in Bovillae and saw the carnage there. I thought I would faint from fright, I felt such a tremor and a coldness inside me. Now I know it was only the goddess stirring in me, preparing me for the task at hand.

"There were bodies scattered in the road, blood everywhere. It was strange, to come to a place one has seen so many times and passed without a thought – such a common, familiar, ordinary place – and to witness such horror and devastation. Everything seemed unreal, as if I were delirious with fever. I helped my father from the litter and we walked among the bodies. There was no one to be helped; they were all dead.

"Then we heard a voice from inside the tavern, a thin, weak cry for help: Clodius appeared at the door. His clothes were torn. He was wounded. He clutched a blood-soaked rag to his shoulder. He spoke through gritted teeth. 'Help me,' he said."

"All the others had died defending him, you see," said Sextus Tedius. "His men were loyal, no one can deny that."

"He staggered out of the tavern," Tedia continued, "He tripped and dropped to his knees, then rolled onto his back, groaning and keeping his shoulder from touching the ground. He seemed comfortable that way, lying on his back. We leaned over him. His voice was hoarse and strained, hardly more than a whisper. 'Take me home,' he said. 'Not back to the villa – they'll look for me there. Take me to Rome in your litter. Hide me from them!' 'From the bandits?' said my father. And Clodius laughed! A hissing, hateful laugh – what perfect white teeth he had! "The only bandits on this road are Milo's gladiators,' he said. 'They chased me here and tried to kill me, but something scared them off Quickly, hide me in your litter!' So we helped him to his feet and then into the litter. I could see that my father was uncertain what to do next. I drew him aside, where the slaves couldn't hear."

Tedius grunted. "I'd have sent him back to his villa, whether he wanted to go there or not, but Milo was in the way. I had no intention oftrying to slip by Milo, making myself a spy in the service of that jackal Clodius. Nor did I wish to hand Clodius over to that liar Milo. Perhaps if we'd left him there, he'd simply have bled to death, or Milo's men would have come back and finished him off. But there he was in our litter, getting blood on the pillows…"

"I made the decision," said Tedia. Her voice was like cold iron. "It came to me all at once. I happened to look up at the inn, and saw her in the window of the upper storey. Her face seemed to hover there, like a portrait in a frame. I saw the face of Vesta and I knew what to do."

I shook my head. "The face you saw was the poor, terrified widow of the innkeeper."

Tedia looked at me disparagingly. "How do you know what I saw? Were you there?"

I saw no point in contradicting her. "How did you kill him?"

She removed her hands from her father's shoulders and reached up to undo the blue ribbon that secured the linen mantle at the back of her head. She wound the ends of the ribbon around her strong, supple hands and pulled it taut. "I killed him with this. I only wish the goddess could have watched, but I had to do it inside the litter, out of sight. The slaves were there; they had no business seeing. I climbed into the litter and moved behind him. Father climbed in after me and we let the curtains drop. I slipped the ribbon over his neck. Father held him from the front."

"We could never have managed it if he hadn't already been weakened by his wounds," said Tedius matter-of-factly. "Look at us – an old, crippled man and a woman. But we managed it."

"I saw the body," I said. "The wound at his shoulder was deep. He probably would have died anyway."

"Don't be so sure," said Tedius. "I've seen plenty of battles, and plenty of soldiers who looked to be in worse condition than Clodius did, who nonetheless recovered. There was a surprising amount of life still left in that jackal. I know; I watched the last of it leave him. Unmolested, he might very well have survived the trip back to Rome. He would still be alive today."

"You claim credit for his death, then. You seem to be proud of it."

"I'm proud of my daughter, yes! You have a son, don't you, Gordianus? I remember, he was with you when you last came here. Well, I'm like every other man – I would like to have had a son, to watch him grow to manhood, to see him prove his courage in battle and show his convictions in the Forum, But I had no son. I only had a daughter. But that daughter has always been faithful to me and never disappointed me, and when her mother died, she willingly took her place. No man could ask for a better daughter. And now look what she's done! She accomplished what no man was able to do either by battle or by using the law: she put an end to Publius Clodius. An enemy of the state, a menace to decency, a blight on the Republic, a disgrace to his ancestors. And it was my daughter who finally put an end to him! The gods and goddesses manifest their wills in mysterious ways, Gordianus. They'd had enough of Publius Clodius, and snuffed him out. Who am I, an old, lame senator, to question their choice of a vessel?"

I studied the two of them, so grimly self-satisfied, models of stern Roman virtue. "Why didn't you push his body from the litter and leave him by the road, then? Why did you send him on to Rome?"

"The litter was polluted by his blood and offal," said Tedia. "I could never enter it again."

"It was his last request of us, to send him home," her father said. "It's as I said to you before: once a man is dead, what use is there in despising him? No, I wouldn't leave him lying in the road, like a dead dog. I sent his body on to Rome, and told the bearers to deliver it with great respect into the care of his widow."

"His ring," I said, remembering. "His body arrived without his ring. Did you take it from him?"

Tedia lowered her eyes. "That was a mistake. I thought it would be pleasing to the goddess."

"You were the woman who went to the House of the Vestals and offered Clodius's ring for a prayer of thanksgiving?"

"Yes."

I suddenly understood the strange look I had seen on Philemon's face in the Salacious Tavern. I had asked why he had not appealed to Tedius's daughter for help when he was herded in bondage up the Appian Way, past the place where Tedius was resting below the House of the Vestals. What I had taken for offence was merely puzzlement. Philemon had never seen Tedia, for Tedia had been up at the House of the Vestals.

"You hid your face from the Virgo Maxima," I said. "You disguised your voice."

"Yes. Otherwise the Vestals would have known me."

"Weren't you proud of what you'd done?"

"I felt no need to boast or show, my face. I was a mere vessel for the goddess, and it was to the goddess alone that I wished to offer the ring. But the Virgo Maxima refused to take it. She said that such an offering would be impious."

I shook my head. "Everyone thinks it was Milo's wife who -"

Tedia laughed. I could tell she was not accustomed to laughing. "Fausta Cornelia? That blasphemous cow? It's hard to imagine her making a prayer for anything, except perhaps for the gods to bring her a new lover every day. What a great joke, that anyone should have mistaken her for me."