prolific. There are not many of the Gelinii left.'
She paused to take a sip from the silver cup on the table beside her. The wine was almost black. It gave her lips a vivid magenta stain. She gestured to the cups on the table, which had already been filled for us.
'Having no dowry to offer,' she went on, 'I was very lucky to marry a man like Lucius Licinius. The marriage was our own choice, not a family arrangement. You must understand, this was before Sulla's dictatorship, during the wars; times were cruel and the future was very uncertain. Our families were equally impoverished and unenthusiastic about the match, but they acquiesced. I am sorry to say that in twenty years of marriage we had no children, nor was my husband as wealthy as you might think from the evidence of this house. But in our way we prospered.'
She began idly to rearrange the folds of the gown about her knee, as if to signal a change of subject. 'You must wonder how I know of you, Gordianus. I learned of you from our mutual friend, Marcus Tullius Cicero. He speaks of you highly.'
'Does he?'
'He does. I myself met Cicero only last winter, when Lucius and I happened to be seated at the divan next to his at a dinner in Rome. He was a most charming man.'
'That is a word some people use in describing Cicero,' I agreed.
'I asked him about his career in the law courts — men are always happy to talk about their careers,' said Gelina. 'Usually I only half listen, but something in his manner compelled me to pay attention.'
'They say he is a most compelling speaker.'
'Oh, he is, most certainly. Surely you've heard him yourself, speaking from the Rostra in the Forum?'
'Often enough.'
Gelina narrowed her eyes in recollection, as serene as the profile of Vesuvius just above her head. 'I found myself quite enthralled by his tale of Sextus Roscius, a wealthy farmer accused of murdering his own father, who called upon Cicero for legal counsel when no one else in Rome would come to his aid. It was Cicero's first murder case; I understand it made his reputation.* Cicero told me he was assisted by a man named Gordianus, called the Finder. You were absolutely invaluable to him — as brave as an eagle and as stubborn as a mule, he said.'
'Did he? Yes, well, that was eight years ago. I was still a young man, and Cicero was even younger.'
'Since then he has ascended like a comet. The most talked-about advocate in Rome — quite a feat, for a man from such an obscure family. I understand that he has called upon your services a number of tunes.'
* Roman Blood (Robinson 1997).
I nodded. 'There was, of course, the matter of the woman of Arretium, only shortly after the trial of Sextus Roscius, while Sulla was still alive. And various murder trials, cases of extortion, and property disagreements over the years, not to mention a few private affairs concerning which I cannot mention names.'
'It must be very rewarding to work for such a man.'
Sometimes I wish I were mute like Eco, so that I would not have to bite my tongue. I have fallen out and made up with Cicero so many times I am weary of it. Is he an honest man or a crass opportunist? A principled man of the people or an apologist for the rich nobility? If he were clearly one thing or the other, like most men, I would know what to think of him. Instead, he is the most exasperating man in Rome. His conceit and superior attitude, no matter how well deserved, do nothing to endear him to me; neither does his propensity for telling only half the truth, even when his purpose may be honourable. Cicero gives me a headache.
Gelina sipped her wine. 'When this matter arose and I asked myself on whom I could call — someone trustworthy and discreet, someone from beyond the Cup, a man who would be dogged in pursuit of the truth and unafraid — brave as an eagle, as Cicero said…'
'And stubborn as a mule.'
'And clever. Above all, clever…' Gelina sighed and looked out at the water. She seemed to be gathering strength. 'You have seen the body of my husband?'
'Yes.'
'He was murdered.' 'Yes.'
'Brutally murdered. It happened five days ago, on the Nones of September — although his body was not discovered until the next morning…' Her serenity suddenly departed; her voice quavered and she looked away.
Mummius moved closer to her and took her hand. 'Strength,' he whispered to her. Gelina nodded and caught her breath. She gripped his hand tightly, then released him.
'If I am to help you,' I said quietly, 'I must know everything.'
For a long moment Gelina studied the view. When she looked back at me, her face had recomposed itself, as if she were able to absorb the serene detachment of the panorama by gazing upon it. Her voice was steady and calm as she continued.,
'He was discovered, as I said, early the next morning.' 'Discovered where? By whom?'
'In the front atrium, not far from where his body lies at this moment. It was one of the slaves who found him — Meto, the little boy who carries messages and wakes the other slaves to begin their morning duties. It was still dark; not a cock had crowed, the boy said, and the whole world seemed as still as death.'
'What was the exact disposition of the body? Perhaps we should summon this Meto-'
'No, I can tell you myself. Meto came to fetch me right away, and nothing was touched before I arrived. Lucius lay on his back, his eyes still open.'
'Flat on his back?'
'Yes.'
'And his arms and legs, were they crumpled about his body? Was he clutching his head?'
'No. His legs were straight, and his arms were above his head.'
'Like Atlas, holding up the world?'
'I suppose.'
'And the weapon that was used to kill him, was it nearby?' 'It was never found.'
'No? Surely there was a stone with blood on it, or a piece of metal. If not in the house, then perhaps in the courtyard.'
'No. But there was a piece of cloth.' She shuddered. Mummius sat up in his chair; this was apparently a detail that was new to him.
'Cloth?' I said.
'A man's cloak, soaked with blood. It was found only yesterday, not in the courtyard, but about half a mile up the road that heads northwards, toward Cumae and Puteoli. One of the slaves going to market happened to see it among the brush and brought it to me.'
'Was it your husband's cloak?'
Gelina frowned. 'I don't know. It's hard to tell what it must have looked like; you would hardly know it was a cloak at all without examining it — all rumpled and stiff with blood, you understand?' She took a deep breath. 'It's simple wool, dyed a dark brown, almost black. It might have belonged to Lucius; he owned many cloaks. It could be anyone's.'
'Surely not. Was it the cloak of a rich man, or a slave? Was it new or old, well made or tawdry?'
Gelina shrugged. 'I can't say.'
'I'll need to see it.'
'Of course. Ask Meto, later; I couldn't bear to look at it now.'
'I understand. But tell me this: was there much blood on the floor, beneath the wound? Or was there little blood?'
'I think — only a little. Yes, I remember wondering how such a terrible wound could have bled so little.'
'Then perhaps we can assume that the blood on this cloak came from Lucius Licinius. What else can you tell me?'
Gelina paused for a long moment. I could see she was faced with a disagreeable but unavoidable declaration. 'On the morning that Lucius was found dead, there were two slaves missing from the household. They've been missing ever since. But I cannot believe that either of them could possibly have murdered Lucius.'
'Who are these slaves?'
'Their names are Zeno and Alexandros. Zeno is — was — my husband's accountant and secretary. He wrote letters, balanced accounts, managed this and that. He had been with Lucius for almost six years, ever since Crassus began to favour us and our fortunes changed. An educated Greek slave, quiet and soft-spoken, very gende, with a
