Gornia, the elderly assistant from the antiques warehouse, was one of the first comers. ‘I brought up an altar we had kicking about, young Marcus. Rather nice Etruscan piece, with a winged figure. .’ A benefit of the profession. They could always lay hands on an altar. They had access to most things, and I was just thinking Gornia might help me pick out an urn for the ashes, when one of the funeral club people produced an alabaster item which apparently matched my father’s instructions. (What instructions?) The man handed it to me discreetly, brushing aside my murmur about payment. I had the feeling I had blundered into a closed world where everything would be made easy for me today. The debts would come later. Probably not small. I, of course, would be expected to pay them, but I was too sensible to upset myself thinking of that before I had to.

A remarkable crowd gathered. Men I had never seen before claimed to be decades-old colleagues. Squeezing out tears that could almost be genuine, strangers gripped my hand like familiar old uncles and told me what an unexpected tragedy this was. They promised me assistance with unspecified needs. One or two actually winked heavily. I had no idea what they meant.

Family arrived too. With sombre gowns and veiled heads, my sisters — Allia, Galla, Junia — pushed through to the front, dragging with them my nightmare brothers-in-law and Mico, Victorina’s widower. I viewed this as deep hypocrisy. Even Petronius Longus appeared, bringing my youngest sister Maia, who at least had some right to be here because she had worked with Pa. It was Maia who thrust a set of tablets at me.

‘You’ll need the will.’

‘So I am shocked to hear. He kept it at the office?’ I was just making conversation. I shoved the thing through my belt.