smoothly paved, lined with imposing tombs and stately shade trees. It led along the shore and featured frequent rest areas where travelers could picnic. Each of these featured a fine view of the picturesque bay and had its own bubbling fountain and marble latrine. They left nothing to chance in Baiae.
Hermes led us onto a side road that descended a gentle bluff to the shore. At the end of it was an extensive villa that included many large out-
buildings, almost a small village in itself. From the house stretched a stone jetty. It extended into water deep enough to anchor a sizable ship. There were some small boats tied up to it, and nets hung drying from racks along its sides.
We'd picked up an escort of town guardsmen. These were men in whom I reposed no confidence. They wore gilded armor that looked like something an actor would wear onstage, they were in poor physical condition, and their officer was a wellborn young lout who avoided service in the legions by performing this 'essential' civic duty.
I dismounted at the entrance to the compound and began to bark orders. 'You lot,' I shouted to the guards, 'secure all the approaches to this place. Let no one enter or leave!' They saluted and bustled to obey me. That disposed of them. I was perfectly confident that they would accomplish nothing.
For a moment I stood surveying the place. It entirely lacked the stench that so often hangs over a slave compound like a noxious fog. This place was well run, at least. 'Marcus,' I said, 'get me the steward. He should be here to meet us. If he's fled, I'll have him hunted down and killed.'
'He's here,' Hermes said, nodding toward the barred gate. A man with a pale, worried face was hustling from the main house with a ring of massive keys in one hand. He was accompanied by a pair of guards who wore leather harness and were armed with whips and bronze-studded clubs of olive wood. Not Numidians this time. These looked like Sicilians.
The man unlocked the gate with shaky, sweating hands. The guards tugged it open, and we passed inside.
'What kept you?' I said.
'Your pardon, Praetor. We have been making an inventory of the staff and the sale slaves to make sure that all were accounted for. Your man ordered this.'
'I did,' Hermes affirmed. 'Is the count complete?'
'Yes. All are here save the young master and his tribal guards. We have not seen them since the-the arrest.'
'What about the lady of the house?' I asked.
'The master's junior wife and her girls have been resident in the town house for several days, sir.'
'And who might you be?' I demanded.
'Oh. Sorry, Praetor. I am Archias, steward to Gaeto. I trust you will pardon my distress. First the young master arrested for murder, now the master-'
'Perhaps it is time that I see your late employer. You are to stay close. I will wish to have a tour of the establishment when I have viewed the body.'
'Of course, Praetor. Please come with me.' We followed him to the main house. It looked much like any fine country house in this district except for the activities. In the distance I could hear a Greek palaestra master calling out exercise commands. Occasionally the crack of a whip sounded above the mutter of the several hundred inhabitants.
'How did you discover him?' I asked as we passed inside the house. The atrium was spacious and blessedly without the pretentious portrait busts with which so many social climbers seek to ape the ancestry of the nobility. The impluvium was splendid and decorated in fine taste, but once again without pretension.
'I must confess it, sir,' said Archias, 'I went to seek him when your man came this morning to demand an audience.'
'He was summoning your master to me,' I told the man. 'Kings have audiences, not slave merchants.'
'Of course, sir,' he said stiffly. I was being deliberately rude. You often get a better degree of truth from people who are upset and off guard. 'In any case,' he went on, 'it was far later than he usually rises, and I got no answer to my knock. He was in here.'
He had stopped before a door that opened off the impluvium, the most common location for bedrooms in Roman houses-and Gaeto seemed to have gone entirely Roman in his domestic habits, save his supernumerary spouse. Beside the door were two Egyptian slaves dressed in stiff, white linen kilts and formal wigs. They didn't look like guards.
The steward swung the door open. I saw that it was fitted with a heavy bolt that could be fastened from the inside. One rarely sees lock-able doors within a house, except on storerooms and wine cellars. But this was a sensible precaution for a man who dealt in human livestock and dwelled in the midst of his merchandise.
Gaeto lay on the floor beside his bed, fully clothed. His eyes were open, his head drawn back as if he had been observing the heavens for omens when he died. There was no blood staining his clothing nor on the floor.
'How did he die?' I asked. I scanned the room. There were no displaced or broken furnishings, no sign of a struggle.
The steward summoned the two Egyptians and they entered. At his direction they lifted the body gently and turned it over. 'These men are undertakers, Praetor,' said Archias. 'Skilled Egyptians are much in demand in Italian funeral establishments.'
No wonder these two had no qualms about handling the dead. Unlike Roman
'Ah, now I understand,' I said.
Protruding from the back of Gaeto's neck, driven upward into the base of the skull, was a small dagger, buried hilt deep. It was an extremely clever method of assassination. Paralysis would have been instant, death following in mere seconds. The man would have been unable to cry out and no blood escaped.
'His hands show no sign that he tried to defend himself,' Hermes noted. 'He must have been taken completely unawares.'
'So it would seem,' I agreed. 'Archias, who was in here with your master last night?'
'Sir, last night, just after dinner, I was dismissed with the rest of the staff. We live in other houses within the compound. Only the immediate family and their personal body servants live in the great house.'
'Then who was with him last night?' I asked him.
'Nobody. The gate was secured and there were no callers until your man arrived this morning.'
'Then he was killed by someone already here,' I said, 'and that could prove very bad for all of you.'
He went even paler. 'Praetor, that could not have happened!'
'Then what did happen?' I demanded, indicating the corpse. 'Does this look like suicide to you?'
He stammered, then said, 'Someone must have come in over the wall.'
'I'll want to talk to whoever guarded the gate last night,' I told him. I looked around the room and saw that there was nothing to be learned from it or from the body. I had rarely seen a murder site so devoid of usable evidence. Only inference was of any use. 'Now give me a tour of the establishment.'
We followed the steward outside, and I drew young Marcus near me. 'Marcus, ride back to the villa and find Regilius, the horse master. Tell him to ride here immediately and scout the ground around this estate, paying particular attention to the part of the outer wall nearest the main house. He'll know what I want.' The boy was clearly mystified, but he did not waste my time with questions; he merely said, 'At once, Praetor,' and ran for his horse. That boy had a promising future.
'From the wharf'-Archias indicated the jetty visible through the main gate-'the merchandise is brought within the walls and taken to the great compound. Please come this way.' He was talking like a tour guide, probably to help get over his jitters. I could sympathize. I had the feeling that he gave this tour often, probably to prospective investors and big-scale buyers. We went into a large courtyard faced by a quadrangle of two-story barracks. The severity of the design was relieved by bright paint, a shady portico, and many fine trees and shrubs planted in huge jars around the perimeter. Lest anyone be too allayed by the pleasant prospect, in the center was a frame to which a number of slaves could be triced for whipping.
Next to the main entrance was a huge signboard of white-painted wood. On it in large, black letters were
