Helena told her the news about Flora and I described the state in which I had found Pa.

`The warehouse is a mess. If Marius wants to earn a few coppers, send him to help Gornia shift the stuff around.'

`My son is too studious to be humping furniture,' Maia retorted frigidly. `He's not strong enough; he's delicate.' `Time we built up his muscles then.'

`We don't need father's money.' That was untrue. Famia's pension from the Greens, who were a useless chariot faction, barely paid the rent. That left Maia with five mouths to feed. Marius, her eldest, deserved an education, and I would somehow find his school fees myself, but he had to become more worldly if he was to survive on the Aventine. Anyway, I wanted that shrewd little soul placed with Pa in the Saepta. He would tell me what was going on.

`You do need an income,' Helena said gently. Maia would take it from her. `Are you definitely set against the tailoring plan?' This was a scheme Pa and I had concocted. We would have bought out the tailor for whom Maia had worked as a young girl, and let her manage the looms and saleroom. She would have shone at it. However, the good sense of the plan did not appeal to her.

`I can't bear it. I have moved on, Helena. It's not that I have grandiose ideas. I'll work. But I don't want to go back to what I did before – years ago, when I was unhappy, if that counts for anything.' Maia glared at me. `Nor do I want any madcap enterprise dreamed up by someone else.'

`Choose your own then,' I groused. I had my head in a bowl of lettuce and eggs.

`I shall do that.'

`Will you let me pass on an idea?' Helena ventured as Maia screwed up her face suspiciously.

`Go ahead. I'm short of laughs.'

`Don't laugh at this. Tell Geminus that you will run Flora's.' You really are joking!'

‘He won't want the caupona,' I agreed. `It was the redhead's plaything.'

My sister flared up as usual. `Marcus, you seem determined to dump some dreadful business on me!'

`Not dreadful. You would turn it around,' Helena declared.

`Maia, Pa owns the building; he has to sell up or find a new manager. If it stands there with the paint peeling and the frontage filthy, the aediles will stamp on him for urban neglect. Offer. He'll be glad to see it sorted.'

`For heaven's sake. Don't both of you gang up on me.'

`We're not doing that.' Helena shot me a reproachful look. By herself, she was implying, she could have put this plan to Maia and it might have worked.

Maia was now well het up: `The woman has only been dead for a week. I'm not rushing in -'

`Pa needs you to do that,' I said quietly. `He won't touch anything that reminds him of Flora – he won't even go home.'

Maia looked shocked. `What do you mean?'

`He has not been to his house on the riverbank since Flora's funeral. The slaves are scared. They don't know where he is, or what their instructions are.'

Maia said nothing. Her mouth was pinched with disapproval. Newly widowed herself, she was the best person to tell our father that life goes on and you cannot opt out. If I knew her, she would tackle this.

Helena gathered up used dishes and carried them out to be washed later. She was lifting the pressure off Maia, at least temporarily. Even I let the subject drop.

Heading for home, we passed once again by Flora's Caupona, and had another look.

There ought to be a waiter somewhere, Apollonius. Officially he lived in a nook at the back. The previous waiter had hung himself, right by the cubbyhole where Apollonius was supposed to lurk as a watchman when the place was closed. While Helena waited in the street, I went round and shouted but failed to rouse an answer. His predecessor's suicide and the notorious murder that had happened upstairs must have made Apollonius reluctant to stay alone on the premises. People can be so sensitive.

Returning to the street, I saw a familiar figure kicking at the main door.

`Petro!'

`They're shut -' He despised Flora's, but quite often drank there; he was outraged to be thwarted by the closed door. We met a little apart from Helena and spoke in low voices.

`Flora's dead.'

`Hades!'

`Pa's a mess, and this place is out of action. We're trying to get Maia interested.'

`Surely she has enough to do?'

`Take her mind off it.'

`You're a bastard.'

`You taught me!'

We looked at each other. The jibes had been bland. Routine. Had we met earlier we could have found somewhere else to share a bench; knowing us, we could have stretched out our lunch all afternoon. Well, maybe. There was a taut look to Petronius, as if he had something on his mind.

We walked back to Helena. `You're late on your break,' I remarked to Petro.

`Held up. Unnatural death.' He breathed in slowly. Then he exhaled, shoving his lower lip forward. He sucked his teeth. Helena was watching us, expressionless. Petro stared at me. `Didius Falco.' `That's me.'

`What have your movements been today?'

`Hey! What's your interest?'

`Just tell me about your day, sunshine.'

`That sounds as if I may have done something.'

`I doubt it – but I'm checking up for both our sakes.' Petronius Longus was using his official voice. It was tinged with the joky style we used together, but it would not have surprised me if he had brought out his battered set of noteboards to record my replies.

`Oh muleshit. What's this about?' I murmured. `I've been a pious brat looking after my family all morning. Bereaved father; bereaved sister. Why?'

`I hope you can assure me this felon has been with you since noon?' Petronius demanded of Helena.

`Yes, officer.' She had a slightly sarcastic tone. She had wrapped her light-coloured stole around her darker, damson-tinted gown, and stood very still with her head up, looking down her nose like some republican statue of a painfully chaste matron. When Helena was being superior, even I felt a tremor of unease. But then one of her Indian pearl earrings trembled, and I just wanted to gnaw the translucent lobe from which it hung until she squealed. She looked at me suddenly as if she knew what I was thinking. `And with Maia Favonia,' she added coolly for Petronius.

`Then that's all right.' Petro's remote attitude softened.

Mine toughened up. `I have an alibi, apparently. That's nice. Will anybody tell me what it's for?'

`Murder,' Petro said tersely. `And by the way, Falco. You just lied to me.'

I was startled. `I'll lie like a legionary – but I like to know I'm doing it! What am I supposed to have said?'

`Witnesses have listed you as one of the dead party's visitors today.'

`I don't believe it. Who is this?'

`Man called Aurelius Chrysippus,' Petro told me. He said it matter of factly, but he was watching me. `Battered to death by some maniac a couple of hours ago.'

`He was perfectly alive when I left him.' I wanted to scoff, but I kept my voice level. `There were plenty of witnesses to that. I only saw him briefly, at his scroll-shop in the Clivus Publicius.'

Petronius raised an eyebrow genteelly. `The shop that has a scriptorium at the back of it? And behind the scriptorium, as I am sure you noticed, you can pass through a corridor into the owner's lovely house. Big spread. Nicely finished. It has all the usual luxuries. Now, Didius Falco, didn't you tell me you would like to invite Chrysippus to some quiet place and do him in?' He grinned bleakly. `We found the body in his library.'