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with his hands in the air. ‘Oh! Flavia Albia, I do hope you didn’t think me and my beloved bro was in there
bum-fiddling
?’
    ‘That’s a new word for it … No,’ I replied, smiling. ‘I’d put you down as a ladies’ man.’
    ‘Yes, but fat chance! We are not supposed to mingle with the women – and anyway who was available? Olympe’s a child; I like them when their busts have grown. Myla was the size of a granary, and I ask you! I wasn’t that desperate.’
    ‘Then I take it you are not the father?’ Daphnus acted out a look of indignation and disgust, so I suggested, ‘I wondered if Myla was the household donkey – ridden by everyone?’ Many homes have one of those, but Daphnus would not comment on who slept with Myla.
    I pointed out that of the potential conquests for the lad-about-the-colonnades, he had not mentioned Amaranta, Mucia Lucilia’s maid. ‘Nice!’ he agreed. ‘Old enough, a looker, tantalising hints of past experience – and, sadly, taken.’
    I laid down my stylus on my waxed note tablet. ‘By? …’
    ‘Onesimus.’
    Not a name on my list. ‘And he is?’
    ‘Came from the other household. Lucilia’s pet steward. Sent off to Campania. But he reckons he is in with the ornamental ornamenter.’
    ‘To which she says?’
    ‘Nothing! Very discreet woman.’
    ‘And you like her?’
    ‘Lots of people like Amaranta. If you want to know who
she
likes, you will have to ask her.’ Daphnus, an unashamed chancer, admitted, ‘I was biding my time. I like to play the game, but I reckon there were other people in the queue ahead of me.’
    ‘Care to say which people?’
    He shook his head − then the cheeky chap gave
me
a speculative, flirty once-over, to which I returned my standard get-lost glare. This young man would try it on with anyone, though he gave up easily. As young men go, he was typical.
    ‘So tell me, Daphnus: would you have been willing to defend your master?’
    ‘I certainly would. Saving him would have been ideal for me. He would show he was grateful. I could have got my freedom and a nice little pension out of that.’
    ‘Good point! What about your brother, Melander?’
    ‘He would have joined in with anything I did.’
    ‘Are you close?’
    ‘No, but he’s a bit slow and I look after him. My master was ready to sell him, but kept him on as a favour to me.’
    Daphnus thought a lot of his own worth – though I could believe he was useful to Valerius Aviola, so his confidence might be justified.
    ‘Are you to be freed by your master’s will, Daphnus?’
    His eyes widened. ‘Never thought of that!’
    ‘Don’t get excited. If you are executed for murdering the man, it will never happen.’
     
    When Melander shambled in, I could see the fraternal likeness, along with differences. He had a similar long face, mostly nose, but much less intelligence in his dark eyes. He told me they were twins, clearly not identical. They were born in the household; their mother was now dead. My notes gave them different ages, but that was wrong; Melander said they were both twenty.
    He was a contrast to his lively brother. I wondered if he had been starved in the womb, as I believe can happen with twins, or if he suffered in a long birth process. Though not literally an idiot as Daphnus had called him, he lacked personality. He said he could write, but only if he was told what to put.
    Other people amaze me. I would have made this one the tray carrier and trained up his sharper brother to do secretarial work, not the other way around.
    Maybe Aviola did not care about correspondence and record-keeping. Not my family’s style. Some of mine are literary by nature, while even the rest keep tight control of their accounts because they are constantly being creative with their taxes. You have to get everything right when you’re fixing your declaration. Not that I ever would. Fortunately, as a woman I don’t have to.
    Melander gave the impression his brother had rehearsed him.