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Festus’s forearm as the latter drew him up the side of the wall on to the tiles running along the top. Marcus felt his heart pounding in his chest, partly from the effort but mostly from the anxious excitement of the moment. Looking down into the garden, he saw a long arrangement of paths, neat flower beds and ornately clipped shrubs. The sound of water tinkling in a fountain came from the far end, close to the slave quarters at the very rear of the property. The main house itself was dark and silent.
    ‘Come on,’ Festus hissed as he swung his legs down and lowered himself cautiously behind a large bush from which a sweet scent rose into the cool night air. Marcus followed suit and eased himself down before dropping the last few feet and landing softly on the soil. Both of them waited a moment before Festus emerged on to the path beside the flower bed. Fortunately, it was paved rather than gravelled and they made almost no sound as they followed it up to the rear of the main house. An outdoor dining area stood to one side, in the Roman style with long, low stone couches on which cushions could be spread for the comfort of guests. Next to the dining area was a portico with a corridor leading into the darkened interior of the house.
    ‘How are we going to see our way inside?’ Marcus asked as loudly as he dared.
    Festus pointed into the darkness. ‘By the front door. I’ll wager there’s a lamp burning beside the shrine to the household Gods. We’ll use that.’
    Marcus followed him into the dark corridor. They proceeded slowly, feeling their way cautiously along the wall. Some twenty feet further on, the corridor opened out into the atrium and a small amount of moonlight shone through the opening above the shallow pool that collected the rainwater. A staircase led up to the second level of the house where the bedrooms were arranged round a landing overlooking the pool. A faint sound of snoring came from above. On the far side was another short length of corridor, at the end of which a wan yellow glow came from a tiny flame.
    ‘I thought so,’ Festus muttered. ‘Wait here.’
    He padded round the edge of the pool and returned a moment later with a small oil lamp. The wavering flame gave just enough light for them to make their way back down the corridor in the direction of the garden. Festus stopped outside the first door and eased it open. He leaned in and raised the lamp high enough to see the interior, then backed out. ‘Just a storeroom.’
    The door on the next room let out a dull creak from the hinges as Festus opened it and both of them froze, straining their ears for a few heartbeats. But no one stirred and Festus resumed, easing the door open very slowly, while Marcus winced at each creak of the hinges. When there was enough space to squeeze through, Festus entered the room. Marcus followed and saw by the dim glow of the lamp a desk and a wall covered in sectioned shelves that were piled with scrolls and waxed tablets.
    ‘Looks promising,’ Festus whispered. ‘Let’s get started.’
    He set the lamp down on the desk and indicated the shelves. ‘You start at that end and I’ll begin with the other.’
    ‘What exactly are we looking for?’ Marcus asked.
    ‘Anything with a reference to Decimus, Thermon, or any estate in the Peloponnese. Your name, and your mother’s, of course.’
    Marcus nodded and padded to the end of the shelves, taking down a small pile of documents, then returning to the desk to look through them. There were bills of sale, inventories of each week’s auctions, a running record of expenses and commissions relating to each sale, and a daily log. Pindarus was clearly in the habit of recording his business affairs in detail and Marcus felt his spirits rise. Such a man would have made some reference to the events of two years ago. Marcus and Festus workedmethodically and silently through the scrolls and slates, section by section, being careful to replace them as they had been