"Help me over," bade Sollius. "We can wait amongst these laurels."

The Roman evening was fair and calm, and a star of sapphirine crystal was mirrored in the carp-pool.

"What do you expect?" whispered a deeply puzzled Lucius, but before Sollius answered the figure of Sergius Falba came down a cypress avenue and stood silently, as though also waiting, by the pool.

Presently a quick step was heard approaching down the same avenue, and another figure joined him.

"What is this urgency, Sergius?" asked the voice of Terentius Cremutus. "What has happened that you sent a slave to me, making this secret appointment here?"

"I sent a slave to you? It was you who sent a slave to me!"

Though they could see only each other's outlines in the gathering dark they stared at one another with shocked intensity.

"Someone," muttered Falba, "has done us an evil turn." "It will be your cunning Sollius," answered Cremutus. "Had we only caught him again after he escaped that fire at Natta's tavern! He must have been slyly watching us. I told you we should have killed him at first," he added fiercely.

"That I would never have done," firmly said Falba. "I owe that to my father Sabinus. I was mad to do so much . . . and for nothing!"

"For nothing, indeed, and for me, too," bitterly burst out Cremutus. "Where has that sly slave been hiding - and what does he know?"

"His cunning is so," replied Falba, "that he may have us both."

"Then why not come out from his hiding-place and accuse us to our faces? Can he be hiding in the house?"

"Do you think I haven't secretly searched?"

"If only," went on Cremutus through his teeth, "he weren't so incorruptible! A good bribe could save us. Gods, where is he?"

"He is here," said Sollius, and stepped with Lucius out of the laurels.

The shadows of Falba and Cremutus started convulsively against the darker shadows in the calm, round mirror of the carp-pool.

"You terrible slave!" burst out Cremutus.

"So you have come home!" said Falba, recovering himself. "My father has been much troubled for you."

"You, lord, could have spared his white head!"

"Do not be insolent!" cried Falba.

"I am always ready to be insolent, lord, in the service of truth - and my master will uphold me. Answer not, lord, but listen. I have knowledge of two facts: the ignoble pursuit of a beautiful girl, and the burning down of a man's farm in the selfish desire to possess its site cheaply for the building there of an idle man's villa. But you are too incompetent for crime! You, Cremutus, should never have visited Natta's tavern while I was held there: I heard your voice - and again in the Prefect's office. And you, lord," he added, turning to Falba, "should not have driven your well-known white horses to a seduction. I have opened to the day too many conspiracies to miss such clues."

"You are going to betray us?" asked Falba.

"The girl is beyond your lust, lord, and I shall say nothing to my master - he is old and loves you. Let him think that I was captured by a gang of thieves who hated me. I have but one other price for silence. Let your friend pay Cordus sufficient compensation for his farm."

"By Hecate, this is too much, you rascally slave," cried Cremutus.

"Tranquillus, an honest lawyer, will tell the truth," said Sollius.

Cremutus cursed by all the Nether Gods and stormed out. "We never intended to harm you . . . in time you would have been set free," murmured Falba awkwardly.

But the Slave Detective made no answer and walked contemptuously away, returning to his own quarters in the house.

The Malice of the Anicii[1] by Gillian Bradshaw It isn't often that I find a story works with footnotes, but the following won't work without them. It is told by Ammianus Marcellinus (c. 330-395), Rome's last great historian, though much of his History of Rome, a continuation of that by Tacitus, is lost. Nevertheless what survives provides us with a rare glimpse into the last decades of the Eternal City. A classical scholar, and recipient of the Phillips Prize for Classical Greek (in 1975 and 1977), Gillian Bradshaw is a noted writer of both fantasy and historical fiction. Amongst her recent books, Cleopatra's Heir (2002) will be of especial interest to fans of ancient Rome.

Concerning the idleness and profligacy of the Romans, I have amply written elsewhere. However, certain flatterers and sycophants have seen fit to rebuke me for it, saying that I, an Asiatic Greek, should not venture to criticize illustrious men whose names descend from the pristine age of the Roman state - believing, I suppose, that those who bear great names should be revered for the names' sake, even if they never by word or deed accomplish anything worthy of their great ancestors. Since, then, statements I have made in my history have been considered outrageous, let me here set out more fully an account of the conduct of some of those who are held in honour at Rome.

I first came to the Eternal City after the death of Julian Augustus[2] in order to consult accounts written in Latin, for I intended to compose a history of the reign of that heroic emperor. I had a letter of introduction from my friend and countryman Libanius, that most renowned of orators, to Aurelius Symmachus, who is generally accounted the most cultured nobleman in Rome.

Symmachus welcomed me very warmly; indeed, when I saw how much attention that wealthy and distinguished man lavished upon me I thought my fame and fortune were assured, and I regretted that I hadn't come to Rome years before. My pleasure was much abated the following day however, when, obedient to his urging, I called upon him again, only to find that he had completely forgotten who I was, and stood regarding me in doubt, wondering whether or not I might be one of his clients. In the end he did recognize me, and admitted me to his circle and - what was more useful - to his library, yet, for all that I spent years assiduously waiting upon that blockhead, I never advanced any further in his friendship and received only scanty and unhelpful patronage for my history. On the occasion when a famine was feared and foreigners were compelled to leave the city, he interceded to secure the residency of his mistress's hairdresser, but extended no such assistance to me; and when I returned to Rome, after an interval of a year, he did not even notice that I had been away, or ask where I had gone. Such is the learned and eloquent Aurelius Symmachus.

However, as a pigeon may appear outstanding for beauty and sweetness of voice if it struts among crows, so Symmachus appears pre-eminent for virtue and wisdom among the nobility of Rome. Many other men of illustrious ancestry care for nothing but gain, and, in the immortal words of Cicero, consider that nothing in human affairs is good unless it is profitable.[3] Some are so overborne by greed and ambition that their arrogance knows no bounds - and chief among them are the clan of the Anicii, whose name is famous throughout the whole world. It will suffice, in place of many examples of their conduct, to set down this one, to which I myself was a witness.

I was in the Library of Trajan in Rome, devotedly handling one of the many books of Latin history, when Symmachus chanced to come in. On seeing me he exclaimed that good fortune must have guided our meeting. "For," he said, "your friend Eutherius has arrived in Rome, and I have invited him to dinner. I need one more guest to fill the lowest couch, and I believe he would be pleased to see you."

I was normally spared attendance at my patron's gluttonous and unwholesome banquets, since his guests, when they were not senators and high officials, tended to be persons whose company senators and high officials find entertaining - that is, horse-breeders and experts at gambling. I was pleased to escape such company, and would have been pleased to escape Eutherius as well. A eunuch, he had been chamberlain to Constans Augustus and afterwards to Julian, and he had recently retired to Rome. Though I had some acquaintance with him - we both served Julian when he held the rank of Caesar in Gaul - I had never been his "friend"

nor ever wished to be. I have seen too many honest men destroyed by the jealousy and greed of imperial chamberlains, and, although Eutherius had always been reported honest, if Socrates himself had given me a good report of a eunuch, I should have accused him of departing from the truth. However, I had by then been long enough in Rome to know that it would be better to kill a nobleman's brother than decline his invitation to dinner, so I had no choice but to thank Symmachus and accept.

When the time of the ill-omened banquet arrived, I went to Symmachus' mansion, where, having failed to bribe the slave who was to announce my name, and having in consequence been kept waiting in an antechamber for some time, I was at length admitted.

The other guests were already reclining at the table, and on seeing them I was dismayed, as though I had walked into an arena full of wild beasts. Eutherius, indeed, reclined on the central couch beside Symmachus, but next to him lay the former praetorian prefect, Petronius Probus, who married an Anicia and was in consequence compelled to seek high office in order that his relatives might perpetrate their crimes with impunity. On the next couch were more of the clan: Anicius Hermogenianus, Probus' brother-in-law, and two cousins, Anicius Auchenius Bassus and Anicius Paulinus, the latter a young man, though already old in lawlessness and greed.

I was unknown to the Anicii at the time, so when the slave grudgingly announced me, my arrival passed unremarked. Indeed, Eutherius was speaking, and the rest of the company were hanging upon his words with open mouths, since each man hoped to gain some advantage from the eunuch's recent knowledge of the situation at court. I went to the lowest couch in silence, and took my place next to two others of Symmachus' clients.

Eutherius, however, when he finished some anecdote of life in Mediolanum[4], glanced about himself with great affability, and, when he noticed me at once sat up, crying, "Marcellinus! I last saw you in Antioch. What are you doing in Rome?"

I explained my purpose, and he praised it. "Our Lord Julian Augustus," he said, "was a prince well-deserving of some memorial, and I can think of no one better to provide one. I still remember the account of the siege of Amide[5] which you recited to the court, and which was so wonderful for its vividness and power."

At this I was as much flattered as I was taken aback. The Anicii, however, regarded me threateningly, like savage bulls, and Probus proclaimed my purpose to be impious. "Julianus Augustus," he declared, "was an apostate, a madman who turned against the Christian faith in which he was raised and chased instead after the fables of poets. Because of this, God decreed that his reign soon came to an end though not before he had cost the Roman state dearly! It would be better if he and all his works were buried in oblivion."

I was filled with the passionate indignation, and would have spoken out, had not Symmachus intervened first. "Surely noblemen are not to be judged solely on their faith, illustrious Probus!" he exclaimed. "If that were so, religion alone would be sufficient to distinguish a bad prefect from a good one."

Now Symmachus had at that time achieved the rank of Prefect of the City of Rome[6]; and, as all the world knows, is more firm than prudent in his adherence to the ancient gods of the city, scorning as expedient the conversion to Christianity of such notables as the Anicii. (And indeed, it might well be thought that the Anicii would have little sympathy for the pure and simple Christian religion if it did not enjoy imperial favour, since in all other respects they worship luxury and power.) Probus therefore had no ready reply, for he was unwilling to accuse his host at the table where he himself was a guest; moreover, he did not dare to criticise the emperors, who have all appointed pagans as well as Christians to high office. There indeed the whole matter might have ended - except that Symmachus, elated by the sound of his own voice, and aroused by the opportunity of speaking to so many distinguished men, could not resist pouring out more of his famous eloquence.

He began to speak at length on the virtues of highly placed pagans, and - most unwisely, in that company - he included among his examples some who had been convicted of disloyalty. I noticed that as the Anicii listened to him, their menacing scowls gave way to looks of calculation, and I grew afraid for my patron. As .a great river flowing into the sea is swallowed up without raising the level of the salty waters, so all the wealth of the Anicii cannot satisfy their greed - and Symmachus was wealthy.[7]

I consoled myself that the present emperors[8] are less suspicious than some who have worn the purple, and that those who wish to ruin a great house can no longer do so merely by distorting a few incautious words, but are obliged also to provide proofs. Yet I was still troubled, for where proofs are lacking, the ingenuity of wicked men has often contrived them.

And indeed, a mere eight days after that Damoclean feast, I heard that one of Symmachus' slaves had been found dead in the street, and that the man who found the body belonged to the household of Anicius Paulinus.

I went at once to Symmachus' house, and, so great was my concern, bribed the slave to obtain a meeting swiftly. Syminachus, however, laughed at my anxiety and dismissed it. The slave who had died was known to be a frequenter of wine shops, one whose love of drink had several times before caused him to be late returning to the house after running an errand. That he had delayed in a wine shop once too often, and paid dearly for it was a sorrow to his master, but it was not cause for suspicion, since the city has always been much troubled with thieves and robbers. Neither was it suspicious that a slave of the Anicii should have found the body, for the Anicii have many slaves, and the house of Paulinus stood not far away from that of Symmachus himself.

I was in part reassured by this, but as I was about to take my leave, I thought to ask Symmachus on what errand the dead slave had been sent.

"He was carrying a letter," said Symmachus. When he saw how much this alarmed me, he laughed and added, "There was no harm in it! It was only a note to my friend Claudius, ordering provisions for the prefectural games." And he dismissed me with the air of one who has conferred a great favour just by listening.

I departed in anger and doubt, at one moment ashamed because my groundless alarm had caused me to appear a fool in front of my patron, at the next wondering if I should turn back and beg Symmachus to take steps to protect himself. I was still in this uncertain ardour of mind when I arrived at the house of Eutherius, which stood across the Tiber from that of Symmachus, not too far away.

I had by then visited the former chamberlain privately, according to his own invitation, and we had spoken together of Julian Augustus, and of the wars between Romans and barbarians. Finding him kindly and intelligent and possessed of a prodigious memory, I had asked him about the reign of Constans Augustus, as I was becoming convinced that I needed to expand the scope of my history to include rulers who preceded Julian. Eutherius had replied that Constans and his fate were matters of too much substance to deal with quickly, and had invited me again. When I was admitted to his house on this occasion, however, he at once noticed my agitation, and instead of resuming our historical discussions, asked what had transpired to distress me.

When I had recounted the matter, Eutherius, too, was troubled, perceiving, as I had, the danger inherent in a letter, however innocent its subject. "Do you remember," he asked me, "the letters by which Dynamius destroyed Silvanus?"

I replied that I remembered them very well. Dynamius had removed the original text of some of Silvanus' letters with a sponge, leaving only the signature, and had written instead other words which implied that Silvanus was planning treason. His plot was eventually discovered, but not before many men died.[9] "Yet, surely," I said, "since that matter became so notorious, anyone investigating such letters now would scrutinize them more closely. It is impossible to sponge away writing so completely that it leaves no trace at all upon the parchment."

"Perhaps," replied Eutherius. "Yet if the letter carried by the prefect's slave dealt with provisions for the games, it may well have spoken of supplying weapons and men to fight, or made arrangements for the payment of large amounts of gold. An unscrupulous scribe could, by adding only a few words here and there, make it appear that it concerned more serious contests than those of the arena. Moreover, Symmachus' enemies know that at present he is vulnerable to slander. He is not in favour at court. He has protested excessively about the removal of pagan monuments from Rome, and Valentinian Augustus is not only pious, but also much influenced by the bishop of Mediolanum[10], who considers Symmachus his most formidable opponent. If your patron is wise, he will fear his enemies."

I replied that Symmachus possessed far too lofty an opinion of himself to be cautious, and I became still more agitated than before. Perceiving this, Eutherius urged me to be patient, and declared that we should investigate the matter further to learn whether we had just cause for our alarm.

"And how should we do that?" I asked. "Symmachus dismisses the whole affair, and it is pointless to go to the Anicii. As well Odysseus should go to the Cyclops to inquire whom next he wishes to devour!"

"We must discover how the prefect's slave died," said Eutherius. "If he frequented wine shops, his friends will know which taverns were his favourites. Someone in such a place may well have seen him there on the day he died, and provide us with information about the circumstances of his death. What was his name?"

I replied that I had never heard it, and objected that we were unlikely to learn anything of the dead slave from his friends. Slaves will tell you nothing, except when they are put to the torture, at which they will tell you anything.

Eutherius, however, said, "It is true that slaves would refuse to speak freely to you or to me, since they would fear to be tortured if the matter came to judicial investigation - but to another slave they will be more talkative." And he ordered his steward to summon two of his own people.

Presently the two slaves Eutherius had sent for appeared, a man and a woman unremarkable in appearance, and the eunuch related to them the subject of our enquiries and promised to reward them well for any information they might obtain concerning the dead slave. He sent the man, whose name was Sannio, to Symmachus' house with a gift of spices for the kitchen, and the woman, Aenis, to the house of Anicius Paulinus in the guise of a pedlar. Then, seeing my surprise and perplexity at this proceeding, he turned to me and said, "It is true that we will learn only the gossip of the kitchen - but that should at least include the dead man's name and something more about the circumstances of his death."

I told him that I understood as much, and that my surprise was rather that he should take so much trouble on behalf of Symmachus, a man he barely knew.

"I have been his guest," he told me. "And I loathe these fortune-hunting informers. I have seen far too many of them succeed, to the corruption of justice and to public loss."

This sentiment I entirely agreed with and admired, and I reflected that since I, too, hated informers, and since I was moreover a member of Symmachus' circle and more closely bound to him than was Eutherius, I ought to be more active in my own enquiries. Besides, it struck me that if Symmachus were under an obligation to me he would be compelled to become more generous in his patronage. I therefore took my leave of Eutherius, telling him that I would go and speak to Symmachus' friend Claudius, who was to have received his letter. The eunuch approved this, and asked me to return to his house when I had done so, saying that by that time he should have reports from his two slaves.

Accordingly I set out to visit Symmachus' friend Claudius, by whom I supposed he meant Claudius Adelphius, a man of high rank whose house stood near the Appian way, on the other side of the city. On arriving there after a long walk, however, I found the mansion emptied of people, and almost the sole remaining slave, a feeble old man, informed me that the master with the rest had just then gone out to the baths.

Unwilling to waste the journey, and fatigued by the long walk across the city, I hastened to look for Adelphius in the Baths of Caracalla, which were not far away.

On entering the lofty and resounding bath-house, my ears were assailed by a clamour from the massed ranks of Adelphius' slaves, who were busily crowding the common people back out into the street. In the centre of the changing room stood Adelphius, fanning himself with his left hand so as to show off his many rings, and crying out dolefully, "Oh, such a filthy mob! Where, where are my attendants?"

I made my way over and greeted him. He gazed at me menacingly, unsure whether to recognise me or not. I reminded him that I was a client of Symmachus', and asked him if he had received the prefect's letter.

"What!" he cried, "Symmachus sent me a letter about you?"

I explained that, on the contrary, the letter concerned arrangements for the prefectural games.

"What, another one!" he exclaimed. "Give it to me, then!" And he snapped his fingers to summon a slave to take it.

I denied that I had a letter, and - seeing his look of indignation - explained that I was merely inquiring as to whether he had received one the day before, as the slave who had carried it had been found murdered, and we did not know whether he was killed before or after he delivered the letter.

"It must have been before, because I received no letter yesterday," Adelphius said irritably. "And indeed, I wondered at it, for I've received a letter from the prefect every other day this month. He might well save himself the ink. I have already told your patron that I will inform him as soon as my brother arrives in Rome, and then the two of them can make whatever arrangements they like about the prisoners." "Prisoners?" I asked, full of misgiving.

Adelphius sighed as though I had unjustly hauled him into court to defend his patrimony. "The Frankish prisoners of war my brother acquired in Gaul, whom your patron wishes to purchase for the arena! And no, I do not know how many of them are left. Your patron must discuss it with my brother. What a tiresome business it is to be the friend of a prefect! Oh, the misery of wealth!" And he informed me, unasked, how much land and how many estates he possessed, and lamented the intolerable burdens placed upon him as the inheritor of such riches.

I thanked Adelphius and - since I saw that he had appropriated the Baths of Caracalla for his private use that afternoon - departed. Tired as I was, I tried to hire a sedan chair outside the baths, but those whom Adelphius had expelled earlier had already taken them all.

When at length I arrived back at Eutherius' house, I was much comforted to be greeted hospitably and seated upon a couch and given wine, though I was ashamed that I, a former soldier, had become so weary merely from walking about Rome. I thanked Eutherius and asked to hear his news.

It seemed that the female slave had been refused admittance to the house of Anicius Paulinus, but the male slave Sannio had accomplished his errand successfully. Symmachus' murdered slave had been given the fanciful name of "Achilles" on account of his swiftness of foot. The household had purchased him when he was still a boy, and Symmachus had frequently employed him as a courier. According to the report current in the kitchens, his body had been found near the house of Anicius Paulinus that morning. Anicius had ordered someone to notify the prefect of the city, who had duly had the body collected, and only then realized that it was his own slave. Achilles' body now lay in Symmachus' house, anointed for the funeral. It had been stabbed four times, and was to be buried that evening.

"The other slaves," said Eutherius, "found nothing unbelievable in the suggestion that Achilles delayed in a tavern after delivering the prefect's letter, and was murdered because of some quarrel there. Several people pointed out that he would not have been in the vicinity of Paulinus' house unless he was returning from one of his favoured taverns, as the house of Claudius Adelphius lies in the other direction."

I objected that he could not have been murdered on the way back from delivering the letter, since Claudius Adelphius denied having ever received it, and I recounted what I had learned in the Baths of Caracalla. I added that it seemed to me that a courier was unlikely to delay in a tavern before delivering his message, though he might well do so afterwards. I found it ominous that the letter was missing, the more so as it concerned a party of Franks who were to fight. Though that bold and warlike nation has more than once plagued the Roman state as enemies, still many Franks serve in the armies of the empire, and they are always eager to join in Roman intrigues. In particular, Arbogast, the most prominent of those commanding in Gaul, was a Frank and suspected of aspiring to a more lofty station - as indeed he later proved by his conduct.[11]

"Then the matter is not yet resolved," concluded Eutherius. And after adopting and then rejecting several measures, we decided at last to pursue inquiries at the taverns the slave Achilles had favoured, and, if that failed, to try again to question the slaves of Anicius Paulinus. Eutherius once more proposed his slave Sannio as a suitable person to make inquiries, though he suggested that I accompany the man to the taverns, since, as he said, Sannio might otherwise prove forgetful of the questions he was meant to be asking. "A fine and intelligent man," he told me, "but overly fond of wine."

I loathe wine shops and the other amusements of the rabble, yet in the hope of doing a service to Symmachus, I agreed, and accordingly Sannio and I set off. It was by then early in the evening.

Sannio at once displayed intelligence to justify his master's opinion of him, for, after regarding me for a little in silence, he suggested that I should claim that I was seeking to learn what had become of something-or-other I had been sending to Symmachus by means of the dead slave. "For," he said, "unless you claim an errand, the tavern keepers will be suspicious. No one will believe that a learned gentleman like you would go into a cheap slave wine shop just for a drink." I approved the good sense in this suggestion, and we adopted it.

Accordingly, when we reached the first of the taverns Achilles' friends had named - a squalid place, of the sort the Roman mob most love, a haunt of dice-players and street-corner whores - Sannio called out a cheerful greeting to the sullen hostess, and told her that Symmachus' slave Achilles might have lost a book of mine while in the tavern, and that I would pay generously anyone who restored it to me.

At the mention of a book, the barefoot patrons of the establishment regarded me as if I were some barbarian king come into their midst, but the landlady made a disgusting sound by drawing back the breath into her nostrils, as is common among the mob, and told us that Achilles was dead - "Murdered in the street!" she cried loudly, in Latin so vulgar and uncouth that I could barely understand it. "Not four blocks from here; I heard about it this morning!"

Sannio replied that we knew as much, but that we hoped to find the book at one of the places he had visited the day he died. At this the landlady shook her head, and asserted that she had not seen Achilles that month. Sannio thanked her, then, lowering his voice, asked if she knew anything about what had happened, "For," he said, "I wouldn't like to meet the ones that did it."

At this the whole tavern assailed us with gruesome accounts of robberies and murders, until one would think the streets of Rome more deadly than the arena, but it was instantly clear that not one of them knew any details about Achilles' fate. Sannio exclaimed and thanked them all, and we made our way to the next insalubrious den to repeat our inquiries.

In the second tavern we had no better fortune and I despaired of learning anything; however, in the third, which was the last of those named by Sannio's informants, the host indicated in doubtful and obscure terms that he might know something about the subject of our inquiry. At this Sannio advised me to offer money, and with this inducement the host informed us that Achilles had indeed been in the tavern the day before, at about noon, and that he had had two men with him, who had been paying for the wine. He had seen the three of them together before, he said, on several previous days. He claimed not to know the names of Achilles' companions, but said that they were frequent visitors to the wine shop, and that, indeed, he would be surprised if they failed to come that very evening.

I was elated with this success, and at once proposed to the tavern-keeper that he allot us a private booth, so that we had a peaceful place in which to wait for these two men. In fact I hoped to observe them unseen before deciding whether or not to question them. If, after seeing them, I judged that a bold approach would be ill-advised, Sannio and I could still follow them when they left the wine shop and thus learn who they were.

The tavern-keeper readily agreed to my proposal, for a further monetary inducement, and Sannio and I were soon seated in a malodorous booth behind a curtain, the sort which prostitutes use when entertaining their clients. Sannio asked the attendant for wine, a small trespass on my purse which I in my good humour overlooked.

We had been there only a short while, however, when a number of men burst in withdrawn knives, glaring with savage eyes. The tavern-keeper at once indicated with his nodding head the curtain behind which we were concealed, and the men turned towards us. I was still gazing at them in stupefaction, wondering how this had come to pass and how I might defend myself, when they tore aside the curtain. At this I set myself to sell my life dearly, but, as the law requires, I was unarmed, and the bandits, assaulting me with barbaric violence, soon overcame me. Then they dragged me from the tavern with many curses, and forced me in haste along the street.

It was by this time perfectly dark, about the second hour of the night, and I was at first unsure in what direction we were hastening, but presently I noted a familiar landmark, and understood that we were approaching the house of Anicius Paulinus - which, as I have said, lay near to that of Symmachus in the area of Rome known as Transtibertina. I was filled with despair, for I deduced that the keeper of the tavern was a client or tenant of the Anicii, and for that reason must have sent to his patron the news that someone was inquiring into the death of the slave Achilles. This lawless response revealed how unwilling the Anicii were to have the circumstances of that murder made public.

My assailants dragged me into the house, and with many blows and curses led me through a spacious courtyard adorned with gilded statues of a multitude of Anician ancestors. Presently we came to the dining room, and there they cast me on the floor and stood about me threateningly. Half-stunned, I gathered myself up as well as I could, and found that I was in the presence of Anicius Paulinus. He frowned at me disdainfully and greeted me with these words, "The Greek historian!"

I became aware only then that Sannio was not with me. I was uncertain whether or not to regard this as fortunate, for the assault had so confused me that I did not know whether Eutherius' slave had escaped or whether he had been killed. I was nonetheless filled with a hope that he had escaped and might summon help - though as to that, I was unsure what help could benefit me, caught as I was in that den of the many-formed Chimaera.

Paulinus began to question me, demanding to know why I had been inquiring into the death of Symmachus' slave. I answered boldly, asking what affair that was of his, but at this one of his people struck me, cursing me as insolent and interfering.

In the hope of preserving my life, I attempted craft, imagining that if Paulinus thought me innocent of any suspicion he might order his people to release me. I protested that I had not been inquiring into the death of Achilles, but had merely been looking for a book which I supposed that the slave had been carrying back to his master when he was killed.

Paulinus, however, ordered his people to strike me again. "You know very well," he declared, "that the slave was not carrying a book or anything else from your hand. He had been sent to Claudius Adelphius with a letter."

At this I saw that he had put aside any pretence, and I understood that he must have already fixed upon my death. I resolved to speak nothing but the truth, for the perfection of truth is always simple, and may be grasped in pain and confusion where the complexity of lies slips away. "I was seeking to learn how the slave died," I told him, "because I suspected he might have been killed for the letter he was carrying, and feared that you might have conceived a plot against my friend Symmachus."

Paulinus smiled and said, "And so indeed we have," as though it were a matter for boasts rather than for shame.

Outraged at his arrogance, I asked Paulinus what the ancient consuls and tribunes whose statues lined the courtyard would have made of his lawless proceeding. At this he was enraged, and he commanded his slaves to beat me. I strove to endure it like a philosopher and a soldier.

When at length they stopped, Paulinus commanded them to give me wine, for I was dazed and incapable of speech. As soon as I had recovered sufficiently, though, he asked me whether Symmachus was aware of what I had been doing. I answered truthfully that I had tried to warn Symmachus of his danger, but that he had dismissed it.

"You were acting on your own, then?" Paulinus asked, elated with the thought that he might protect his plan merely by having me put to death.