written the rules of the establishment and a list of punishments for infractions. On the left it was written in Latin, then repeated in Greek, Punic, Aramaic, Syrian, and demotic Egyptian.
'Here,' Archias went on, 'the new stock are separated by categories. Those destined for domestic service are assigned quarters in the north building, skilled craftsmen to the west building. Entertainers, masseurs, bath attendants, and so forth are housed in the south building; and the most highly skilled-architects, physicians, teachers, and such-live in the east building.'
'Where do you keep the dangerous ones?' I wanted to know.
'Oh, sir, the house of Gaeto does not handle dangerous stock. No gladiators, new-caught barbarians, or incorrigibles sold off cheap. Only quality slaves are sold here.'
'Your men have clubs and whips,' Hermes said.
'That is traditional. It is what all slaves understand. Why, the whipping frame here practically rots from disuse. The rare times it is employed, it is usually because of petty jealousies and fights among the slaves themselves.'
'I see. I want to inspect the quarters. And the slaves.'
'As the praetor wishes.'
'Do they know yet?' I asked.
'No, Praetor. Even the staff have not yet been informed of the master's death.'
'Good,' I said. 'I'll be able to learn a good deal more without a great uproar of false mourning and lamentation. Don't parade them. I want to see them in their natural state.'
'Then, please come this way.'
The tour was fairly lengthy and educational. The domestic servants had that demure, eyes-lowered appearance that all such slaves cultivate. Doubtless they thought I was some rich buyer come to look them over and they might well end up in my household. My own family rarely bought slaves, preferring to employ only those born within the household, although we sometimes traded them around among ourselves. That was how I acquired Hermes, after he'd worn out his welcome in my uncle's house.
The craftsmen's quarters featured small shops where carpenters, smiths, potters, weavers, and such could keep gainfully employed while awaiting sale, as well as having an opportunity to demonstrate their skills to prospective buyers. I wasn't sure what the Egyptian undertakers did in their leisure time. They didn't seem to be provided with corpses to practice on.
The professionals had more spacious quarters, as befitted their superior rank in slave society. The scribes, bookkeepers, and secretaries were held in least esteem, physicians and architects at the top. At that time, great men were expected to exercise
The entertainers' quarters were the most enjoyable part of the tour. Gaeto had bought Spanish and African dancers, Egyptian magicians, and Greek singers and reciters of poetry-men who could recite the entirety of Homer from memory and women who could play every conceivable musical instrument. It is possible that I lingered in this wing longer than was strictly necessary for the purposes of the investigation, but you never know what sort of information might turn out to be of use.
Reluctantly, we went back outside and took a tour of the outer wall. It was about ten feet high, without battlements or a sentry walk. It was no more formidable than the sort of wall that often surrounds a great house in the country, and had probably been built during the Social War or the rebellion of Spartacus or some other time of unrest. Such walls were often demolished in peaceful times to clear the view, but Gaeto had cause to maintain this one.
We went to the main gate and found a pair of nervous-looking guards within and a mob of officials milling about outside.
'You two were on guard here last night?' I said.
'Yes, Praetor,' one said. 'Nobody came in through this gate and nobody went out. We-'
'Answer the Praetor's questions and say nothing else!' Hermes barked.
'Yes, sir!' The man's accent was pure Sicilian.
'What hours did you stand watch?' I asked.
'Sunset to sunrise, Praetor.'
'No reliefs?'
'None, Praetor.' He had learned brevity.
'You saw and heard no one approach this wall?'
They looked at each other uneasily. 'Actually, Praetor,' said the spokesman, 'our duties are mainly to keep the slaves from going
'You don't patrol the perimeter?'
'No, sir. The master never-'
'Just answer what you're asked,' I reminded him. 'Now, tell me this: Were either or both of you asleep at any time last night?'
'Never!' they shouted as one. This meant nothing, of course. Guards never admit dereliction of duty, even if you catch them snoring.
'Dismiss these men,' I told the steward. 'Now, I'll talk to that mob outside. When Gaeto is prepared for burial, I want that dagger.'
'I shall have it sent to you,' he assured me.
Outside the gate was convoked a crowd of Baiae's officials and magistrates and other important people, including wives and all the rabble that usually assembles at the site of scandalous doings.
'Is it true, Praetor?' demanded Manius Silva. 'Has Gaeto been done away with?' He still looked peeved at the way I had conducted the morning's trial.
'Dead as Achilles,' I confirmed. I watched their faces closely. Some affected philosophic impassivity; others looked relieved, Silva and Nor-banus among them. Rutilia looked delighted, but then some people just love murders. She turned to her friend Quadrilla and said something behind a masking hand. Quadrilla's face was grim and her expression did not change at whatever Rutilia said. I thought this odd, but then she might have stuck an even larger sapphire in her navel and it was causing her discomfort.
'Listen to me, all of you,' I said. 'Things are getting out of hand here. Just because murders happen all the time in Rome is no reason to think you people have some sort of license to imitate us.'
'The slaver was probably killed by his own livestock,' said Publil-ius the jewel merchant.
'Let's have no loose talk,' I commanded. 'I will investigate and the killer will be brought to justice.'
'At least we know it wasn't parricide,' Rutilia remarked. 'That would have brought the wrath of the gods.' This brought an appreciative chuckle. Ordinarily I admire sophisticated wit, but at this moment I was in no mood for it.
'Here comes the grieving widow,' Quadrilla said.
A litter carried by hard-pressed bearers was descending the bluff. Minutes later it was set before me and flame-haired Jocasta emerged, her clothes in disarray, her bright hair unbound and streaming. She looked around wildly, then at me.
'I see it must be true.' Her eyes were dry but furious. 'My husband is dead. Murdered.'
'I am afraid so,' I told her.
'You know it was that priest!' she said through clenched teeth. 'He couldn't reach the son, so he killed the father. Have him arrested!'
'I know no such thing. You have my condolences, Jocasta, but your husband had many enemies. Several hundred of them reside in that compound.' I jerked a thumb over my shoulder at the wall of the estate. 'I will find out who killed Gaeto-slave, freed, or freeborn-and I will render justice.'
She hissed, then took a deep breath and gathered her dignity. Greek women have extravagant ways of mourning, but she did not wish to put on such a display for Romans. 'I want to see him.'
'You don't need my permission,' I told her. She strode past me and disappeared within the gate.
'Everyone here,' I said, 'disperse to your homes and your business. This is just another sensation and it
