I held my stylus still and gazed at him over the edge of my notebook. `That was very cool-headed.'

`She is a careful lady.'

Protecting a lot of money, I thought. Of course if it really was a suicide, the husband and wife may well have discussed what Metellus intended. Metellus may have instructed his wife to bring in the witnesses. Paccius Africanus would certainly have advised it, if he were involved. It was a chilling thought that counselling his client to die might be good legal advice.

`Do you know whether Calpurnia Cara tried to dissuade her husband from his planned course?'

`I imagine they talked about it,' the steward replied. `I don't know what was said.'

`Was the suicide announced to the household staff beforehand?'

He looked surprised. `No.'

`Any chance I might talk with your mistress?'

`That would not be appropriate.'

`She lives here?' He nodded. I made a small symbol on my tablet, without looking up. `And the son?' Another nod. I ticked that off too. `Is he married?'

A minute pause. 'Metellus Negrinus is divorced.' I made a longer entry.

`So.' Now I raised my eyes to the steward again. `Calpurnia Cara ensured that her husband's death was formally witnessed by noble friends. I assume you can provide me with the seven names, incidentally.' He was already producing a tablet from a pouch. These people were expertly organised. Grief had not confused them at all. `Was the viewing conducted before or after your master actually -?’

'Afterwards. Straight afterwards.'

`Were the witnesses in the house while he -'

`No, they were sent for.'

`And do you mind – I am sorry if this is very painful – but how did he…?'

I was expecting the classic scenario: on the battlefield a defeated general falls on his sword, usually needing help from a weeping subordinate because finding the space between two ribs and then summoning the strength to pull in a weapon upwards is damned difficult to fix for yourself.