"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 out and to open the gate for anyone arriving after dark with a legitimate reason to come in."
"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 needn't be made worse by a lot of idle speculation."
They did not look pleased with my high-handed methods, but they knew better than to argue. I was the man with the lictors and the im-perium. By this time the older men of my staff had caught up, and I beckoned them to me.
"Publius Severus," I said, addressing an elderly freedman who for fifty years had been secretary to some of Rome's greatest jurists, "I need you and your colleagues to search the law books. This man may have been killed by one of his slaves. I need to know if the old law that condemns all his slaves to crucifixion in such a case is valid only if the victim was a citizen. This man was a resident alien."
"I can tell you right now, Praetor," said Severus. "The matter was addressed during the consulship of Clodianus and Gellius, when slaves were murdering their masters right and left. The ultimate punishment was inflicted only in the case of a citizen murder. The status of foreigners is little higher than that of slaves, and the matter is to be treated as an ordinary homicide. Only the murderer and his direct accomplices are subject to crucifixion."
"Excellent," I said, greatly relieved. The last thing I wanted to do was order several hundred crucifixions of people who were in no way responsible for their master's death. We have some truly monstrous, archaic punishments on our law books.
Regilius the horse master arrived and I dispatched him to scout for signs of an intruder. He began to ride slowly along the estate wall, his eyes on the ground.
I ordered everyone back to the villa and we mounted. Riding, this time at a leisurely pace, I discussed the latest murder with Hermes.
"It was someone he knew," Hermes said.
"Clearly. Someone he had in his bedroom after dark, when the estate was closed up. That doesn't let the slaves off. He might have sent up one of the girls. He certainly had some fine stock."
Hermes shook his head. "He was a big, powerful man. No girl did
that."
"Why not?" I said. "A moment's inattention, he turns his back, and in goes the knife."
"That stroke was delivered with great power and accuracy," Hermes protested, "right into the base of the skull where the spinal cord joins. It's a job for a trained swordsman."
I nodded, musing. "It's hard to imagine how a woman could have done it. I've known some dangerous women in my time, though. I know better than to rule them out."
Before we reached the villa, Regilius caught up with us.
"That was quick," I said. "What did you find?"
"It was the same Roman-shod mare," he said.
I thumped a fist on my saddle. "The same murderer! I knew it!" Actually, I had known nothing of the sort, but it is always good to appear wise before subordinates. "How did the killer tether the horse?" I asked. "There are no trees between the walls and the bluff. Did you find sign of a picket pin?"
"No, the mare was held."
"Held? There was an accomplice?" This I had not expected.
"Two horses rode up to the wall, both mares, both Roman shod," he reported. "From what I could make out, your killer went over the wall. Probably just stood in the saddle to do it. No problem with a wall that high. The other then rode off, leading the unridden horse, and waited about two hundred yards away. The first did the deed, then came back over the wall and the two of them rode away. Clever bit of planning, too."
"How is that?"
"When I saw where the killer went over, I stood in my own saddle and pulled myself on top of the wall for a look. There's a stable on the other side. You can just step onto the stable roof, then down to the fence, then to the ground and make no noise. If anyone heard those horses, they'd just think they were hearing noises from the stable."
"You're right," I told him. "Now you have two horses to watch for."
"If I see sign of them," he said, "I'll let you know."
When we reached my villa, Julia had to know what had been going on and I gave her a quick rendition.
"We have to inform Gelon," she said.