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  ‘Can you put us in touch with the lady?’

  ‘Unfortunately no. She is abroad again.’ My eyebrows shot up. ‘She enjoys travel. I believe she has gone to Alexandria.’ Well, that’s the trouble with holidays; every time you take one, you need another to recover. Still, it was three years since her niece died; Marcella Naevia was entitled to resume her life. People must have said Caesius should do the same; he looked tetchy.

  While I noted down the aunt’s movements, Helena took over. ‘So, Caesius. You were so dissatisfied with the official version of events, you went out to Olympia to see for yourself?’

  ‘At first I wasted a lot of time. I assumed the authorities would investigate and send me word.’

  ‘No news came?’

  Silence. ‘So it was almost a year later that I travelled there myself. I owed it to my child to discover what had happened to her.’

  ‘Of course. Especially if you have doubts.’

  ‘I have no doubt!’ Caesius burst out. ‘Someone killed her! Then somebody - the killer, the tour arrangers, some other tour member, or the local people - covered up the crime. They all hoped to forget the incident. But I shall never let them forget!’

  ‘You went to Greece,’ I intervened, calming him. ‘You spent a long time haranguing the authorities in Olympia. In the end, you yourself discovered human remains outside the town, with evidence that confirmed it was your daughter?’

  ‘The jewellery she wore every day.’

  ‘Where was the body?’

  ‘On a hillside. The Hill of Cronus, which overlooks the sanctuary of Zeus.’ Now Caesius was struggling to sound reasonable, so I would believe him. ‘The locals claimed she must have wandered off, maybe on some romantic whim to watch the sunset - or sunrise - or listen for the gods in the night. When they were being most offensive, they said she was meeting a lover.’

  ‘You don’t believe that.’ I passed no judgement on his belief in his daughter. Other people would give us the unbiased view of Caesia.

  ‘This is a very hard question,’ Helena enquired gently, ‘but could you deduce anything from your daughter’s body?’

  ‘No.’

  We waited. The father remained silent.

  ‘She had been exposed on a hillside.’ I kept it neutral. ‘There was no sign of how she died?’

  Caesius forced himself to relive his grim discovery. ‘She had been there a year when I found her. I made myself look for signs of a struggle. I wanted to know what had happened to her, remember. But all I found were bones, some scattered by animals. If she had been harmed, I could no longer tell how. That was the problem,’ he raged. ‘That was why the authorities were able to maintain that Caesia had died naturally.’

  ‘Clothing?’ I asked.

  ‘It looked as if she was… clothed.’ Her father stared at me, seeking reassurance that this was not a sex crime. The second-hand evidence was insufficient to judge.

  Helena then asked quietly, ‘You gave her a funeral?’

  The father’s voice was clipped. ‘I want to send her to the gods, but I must find answers first. I gathered her up, intending to hold a ceremony, there in Olympia. Then I decided against it. I had a lead coffin made for her and brought her home.’

  ‘Oh!’ Helena had not been expecting the reply. ‘Where is she now?’

  ‘She is here,’ answered Caesius matter-of-factly. Helena and I glanced involuntarily around the reception room. Caesius did not elucidate; elsewhere in his house there must be the coffin with the three-year-old relics. A macabre chill settled on this previously domestic salon. ‘She is waiting for a chance to tell somebody something of importance.’

  Me. Dear gods, that was going to be my role.

  ‘So…’ Chilled, I ran slowly through the remainder of the story. ‘Even your sad discovery on the hillside failed to persuade the locals to take the matter seriously. Then you nagged at the governor’s staff in the capital at Corinth; they stonewalled like true diplomats. You even tracked down the travel group and demanded answers. Eventually you ran out of resources and were forced to return home?’

  ‘I would have stayed there. But I had upset the governor with my constant appeals.’ Caesius now looked abashed. ‘I was ordered to leave Greece.’

  ‘Oh joy!’ I gave him a wry smile. ‘I love being invited to participate in an enquiry where the administration has just blacklisted my client!’

  ‘Do you have a client?’ Helena asked me, though her glance told me she had guessed the answer.

  ‘Not at this stage,’ I responded, without blinking.

  ‘What exactly brought you here?’ Caesius asked narrowly.

  ‘A possible development. Another young woman has recently died in bad circumstances at Olympia. My assistant, Camillus Aelianus, was asked to make enquiries.’ That was pushing it. He was just nosy. ‘I am interviewing you because your daughter’s fate may be linked to the new death; I want to make a neutral reassessment.’

  ‘I asked all the right questions in Greece!’ Obsessed by his own plight, Caesius was showing just how desperate he was. He had hardly taken in what I said about the latest death. He just wanted to believe he had done everything for his daughter. ‘You think that if the questions are asked by a different person, there may be different answers?’

  In fact I thought that by now everybody under suspicion would have thoroughly honed their stories. The dice were thunderously loaded against me. This was a cold case, where the nagging father might be quite wrong in his wild theories. Even if there really had been crimes, the first perpetrators had had three years to destroy any evidence and the second ones knew all the questions I would ask.

  It was hopeless. Just like most of the dud investigations I accepted.

  Belatedly, Caesius was taking in the fact that another girl had been killed and another family was suffering. ‘I must see them.’

  ‘Please don’t!’ I urged. ‘Please let me handle it.’

  I could see he would not heed me. Caesius Secundus was fired by the hope that a new killing - if that was really what had happened - would provide more clues, more mistakes or muddled stories, and maybe a new chance.

  III

  The coffin of Marcella Caesia stood in a dark side room. Its lid was painstakingly forced open with a crowbar. The surly slave who forced the curled lead edges apart plainly reckoned I was yet another callous fraud preying on his master.

  Do not expect me to dwell on the contents. The dead girl had been bleached and sun-baked for a twelvemonth on the mountainside and animals had got to her. There were a lot of loose bones, a little shredded clothing. Collecting the relics must have been difficult. The coffin had been on a sea voyage since. If you have ever seen a corpse in that condition, you know how it was. If you never have, be grateful.

  ‘How was the body lying, Caesius? Could you tell?’

  ‘I don’t know. I thought she had been left on her back. That was merely my feeling. Everything was widely scattered.’

  ‘Any indication that she had been buried? Could you see a shallow grave?’

  ‘No.’

  Under the fierce gaze of Caesius Secundus, I endured the experience, walking around to view the coffin from every angle. I saw nothing helpful. Out of decency, I gave it time, then shook my head. I tried to find reverence; I probably failed. Then I left Caesius raising his arms in prayer, while his daughter’s remains were resealed by the purse-lipped slave, hammering over the lead lip of the coffin lid as best he could.

  It had one result for me. Mere curiosity changed to a much harder mood.

  In that angry frame of mind, I addressed the new case, the second young Roman girl dead in Olympia. I set about investigating her in Rome.

  Aulus had written a few facts: This victim was called Valeria Ventidia. At nineteen, she had married Tullius Statianus, a decent young man from a well-to-do family, their middle son. The Tullius family were supporting an older son for election to the Senate. They had not intended anything similar for Statianus, so perhaps
as a compromise his parents gave the bride and groom a wedding gift of a long tour abroad.

  I was unable to trace Valeria’s own relations. So far, there was no Forum gossip about this case. I only tracked down the Tulli because of the other son, who was standing for election; a clerk in the Curia grudgingly let himself be bribed to scribble an address. By the time I turned up there, Caesius Secundus had ignored my plea, tracked down this family, and preceded me to confront the groom’s parents.

  It did not help. He imagined that grief gave him an entry, and that if there was something unnatural in the bride’s death, her new in-laws would share his indignation. I could have told him this was unlikely. But I had been an informer for nearly two decades, and I knew people stink. Bereavement does not improve anybody’s morals. It just gives them more excuses to slam doors in the faces of more ethical people. People like Caesius Secundus. People like me.

  The Tullii lived on the Argiletum. This hectic thoroughfare leading north from the Curia passed itself off as a prime address; however, it had a bad reputation for riots and rip-offs, and the private houses there must be frequently bothered by street brawls and bad language. That told us the family either had over-grandiose ideas, or old money that was running out. Either way, they were bluffing about their importance.

  The groom’s mother was called Tullia, Tullia Longina. Since she shared her husband’s family name, it must be a marriage between cousins, probably for money reasons. She agreed to see us, though reluctantly. To knock on the door of a private house, unannounced, always puts you on the wrong foot. I could shoulder my way into most places, but a Roman matron, mother of three children, by tradition expects less crudity. Upset her, and a slab-like slave would soon evict us.

  ‘My husband is attending to business.’ Tullia Longina was eyeing us up more critically than Caesius had done. I looked slightly less suave than a gladiator. At least Helena, clad in clean white with gold glinting at her throat, seemed reassuring. Once again, I had taken her with me. I was in a raw mood and needed her restrained back-up.

  ‘We could return at a more convenient time,’ Helena offered, not meaning it.

  We noticed the woman’s guarded look. ‘Better to speak to me. Tullius is annoyed already - A man called Caesius has been here; are you anything to do with him?’

  We tutted and looked grieved by his interference. ‘So you know what happened to his daughter?’ Helena asked, trying to win the woman’s friendship.

  ‘Yes, but my husband says, what has it to do with us?’ Mistake, Tullia Helena hated women who sheltered behind their husbands. ‘Valeria’s - accident - is very unfortunate, and a tragedy for my poor son, but we feel, what is the purpose of dwelling on what happened?’

  ‘Maybe so you can console your son?’ My voice was hard. I was remembering the dank contents of the lead coffin at the Caesius house.

  Tullia still failed to spot our rudeness. Again, her wary expression came and was quickly supplanted. ‘Well, life must go on…’

  ‘And is your son still abroad?’ Helena had recovered herself.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You must just want him home.’

  ‘I do! But, I confess I am dreading it. Who knows what state he will be in…’ Next minute the mother was telling us that his condition was amazingly stable. ‘He has decided to continue his journey, so he will have time to come to terms…’

  ‘Did that not surprise you?’ I thought it astonishing, and I let her see it

  ‘No, he wrote us a long letter to explain. He said the other people on the trip are comforting him. He will stay among his new friends. Otherwise, he would have to make his way back to Rome, entirely alone, whilst in such trouble and unhappiness.

  Unconvinced, I cut across this. ‘So what does he say about the death?’

  Once more, the mother looked anxious. She was intelligent enough to know we could find out the facts some other way, so she coughed. ‘Valeria was found one morning, outside the lodging house, lying dead.’ Already despising Statianus, I wondered what kind of newly-wed husband spent a whole night separated from his bride, not raising the alarm. One who had had a fight with her, perhaps?

  ‘Was there any thought of who might have done such a thing?’ Helena took over before I lost my temper

  ‘Apparently not.’ The mother of Statianus seemed a little too tight-lipped.

  ‘No doubt the local authorities investigated thoroughly?’

  ‘A woman in the party summoned a magistrate. Created a fuss.’ Tullia seemed to think this responsible move was over-officious; then she told us why. ‘Statianus found the investigation very difficult; the magistrate was set against him. A story began that my son must have had something to do with what had happened to Valeria - that maybe they had quarrelled - either that she had lost interest in him, or that his behaviour towards her drove her away…’

  The mother had said too much and knew it. Helena commented, ‘You can see how a breach might happen with a new married couple, youngsters who had known one another only slightly beforehand, under the stress of travelling.’

  I sneaked in a question. ‘Was it an arranged marriage?’ All marriages are arranged by someone, even ours, in which we two had simply decided to live together. ‘Did the couple know one another? Were they childhood friends?’

  ‘No. They had met several times in adulthood; they were content to be partners.’

  ‘How long ago was the wedding?’

  ‘Only four months…’ Tullia Longina wiped away an invisible tear. At least this time she made the effort.

  ‘Valeria was nineteen. And your son?’ I pressed on.

  ‘Five years older.’

  ‘So who arranged things for Valeria? Had she family?’

  ‘A guardian. Her parents are both dead.’

  ‘She is an heiress?’

  ‘Well, she has - had - a little money, but to be honest, it was something of a move downhill for us. So the careful Tullii had got away with putting in a small marriage portion. Money, therefore, seemed an unlikely motive for killing Valeria.

  I asked for, and to my surprise was given, details of Valeria’s guardian. Not much hope there; he was an elderly great-uncle, who lived away in Sicily. He had not even attended the wedding. Fixing up Valeria must have been a duty call.

  ‘They were not close,’ Tullia told us. ‘I believe they had not even met since Valeria was a very small child. Nonetheless, I am sure her great-uncle is heartbroken.

  ‘Your son less so?’ I queried coolly.

  ‘No!’ Tullia Longina exclaimed. ‘Even the magistrate could see in the end that he is innocent. The whole party were exonerated and allowed to go on their way.’

  ‘What happened to Valeria’s corpse?’ I asked.

  ‘A funeral was held at Olympia.’

  ‘Cremation.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Tullia, looking surprised. Thank the gods. That saved me sniffing at another set of bones.

  Helena moved slightly, to break the tension. ‘What was your reaction when Caesius Secundus came and told you something similar had happened to his daughter?’

  ‘Oh the circumstances are quite different.’ On the limited information we had, I could not see that. Caesius had no idea how his daughter died. Either the Tullia knew more than they were saying about Valeria, or they were determined to say she had suffered an ‘accident’ even though Aulus had written that in Olympia there was no dispute that she was murdered. The Tullia were definitely brushing Valeria’s death aside - just as Caesius thought everyone had done to his own daughter. Still, their son had survived, his two brothers were flourishing; the Tullia wanted to get on with their lives.

  ‘Is there any chance that we could see the letter Statianus wrote?’ Helena then requested.

  ‘Oh no. No, no. I no longer even have it.’

  ‘Not a family for keepsakes?’ Helena barely hid her sarcasm.

  ‘Well, I have mementoes of all my sons when they were little - their first tiny sandals, baby cups they
drank their broth from - but no. We do not keep letters about tragedies.’ Tullia’s face clouded. ‘They are gone,’ she said, almost pleading with us. ‘I understand the other father’s grief. We are all very sorry, both for him and for ourselves; of course we are. Valeria was a lovely girl.’ Did she really think that, or was she merely being courteous? ‘But now she is gone and we all need to settle down again.’

  Perhaps she was right. After this interview, Helena and I decided there was no point pursuing the Tullia. I thought we had probably heard the husband’s views in his wife’s last statement. ‘She is gone, and we all need to settle down again.’ Two months after a death, this was not particularly callous, not from parents-in-law who appeared to have barely known the girl.

  ‘Did anybody know Valeria?’ Helena wondered to me. ‘Know her properly?’

  I thought Statianus was an enigma too. However bland the excuses, I still thought it incredible that he should lose his recent bride, yet continue his travels among a bunch of strangers as if nothing had happened.

  ‘The trip to Greece was to celebrate the marriage,’ Helena agreed. ‘So if the marriage had ended, what was the point in continuing?’

  ‘It was paid for?’

  ‘My parents would demand their money back.’ She grimaced, then added brutally, ‘Or Papa would quickly fix up a new match, then rerun the tour with wife number two.’

  I joined in the satire. ‘Right from Rome, or from the spot where the first bride perished?’

  ‘Oh from Olympia. No need to make the bridegroom relive sights he had already enjoyed!’

  I grinned. ‘People think me crude!’

  ‘Realistic,’ Helena countered. ‘This trip must have cost the Tullia a very great deal, Marcus.’

  I nodded. She was right. Tomorrow I would seek out and interview the agents who had fixed up the expensive package.

  IV

  I wore the toga I had inherited from my brother. I wanted to look prosperous, yet overheated and stressed. I piled on some flashy jewellery that I keep for when I act as a crass new man. A torque-shaped armband and big ring with a red stone carved with a man in a Greek helmet. Both came from a stall in the Saepta Julia that specialised in kitting out idiots. Polished up, the gold almost looked real - though not as real as my own straight gold band that told the world I really was a new entrant to the middle class. Vespasian had conned me into taking equestrian rank - so I was really gullible.