Helena kissed me and said she would go back to see her parents at the Capena Gate before taking Cloelia home. I rushed across the road with the attendant, hoping to find Rutilius still at the Regia in order to avoid chasing around after him.

He was there. He was wearing full senatorial purple. With a sigh, I resumed my toga as I approached.

His slave won a look of approval for finding me so speedily. I received a rather terse greeting. I knew this scenario. Vespasian and various officials had just held a meeting in the pontifical offices. Whatever the agenda, the action plan recorded in the minutes had been dumped on Rutilius Gallicus. Everyone else had now gone home for lunch, each congratulating himself on a successful discussion in which he dodged responsibility. My man from Libya was left in charge of some troublesome task.

I did not waste time or effort in sympathy. If he had sent for me, the next stage was as traditional and simple as the daily lives of the Vestals: the noble Rutilius would shed the burden; I would acquire it. Then he was going home for lunch. My eggs and olives would be fed to the dog tonight.

He started by looking around shiftily. Interviewing me at the Regia had not been his intention, and he wanted to find somewhere suitable. Even in a place where every scroll was automatically stamped as confidential, an office would not do, apparently. Bad news.

He led me out into the courtyard, an odd, triangular-shaped area, and also coolly paved in white and gray marble slabs. Around it were various old rooms used for meetings, and scribes’ nooks occupied by the guardians of the archives and annals which were stored here. Cut off from the bustle of the Sacred Way by a wall with a muffling colonnade, it was quiet, congenial, unhurried. I could hear occasional low voices and the light footfall of sandals on feet that knew the interior corridors.

In the center of the courtyard was a large underground cistern, possibly an old grain silo from centuries ago when people actually lived in Numa’s Palace. Rutilius led me here. Standing above it, as if inspecting the structure idly, we could talk without being approached or overheard. This was abnormal secrecy. My fears must be right: he had some ghastly job for me.

“Enjoying your return to Rome, Falco?” I smiled in silence. He could leave out the pleasantries. Rutilius cleared his throat. “ Congratulations on your social elevation!” I tucked my thumbs in my belt like a true plebeian. “And Procurator of Poultry, too?” I nodded pleasantly; it was hardly an insult, even though my family all crumpled up in laughter whenever it was mentioned. “You are a man of many talents; well, I realized that in Africa. Somebody told me that you also write poetry?” For one ghastly moment it looked as though he were about to confess that he scribbled too, and would I like to have a look at his notebooks sometime?

I stopped smiling. Poetry? Nobody asked an informer about his intellectual life. Rutilius must be really desperate.

“We mentioned the other day that I am priest of the Cult of the Deified Emperors?”

“We did, sir. Sodalis Augustalis? Quite an honor.”

It was hard to see how he achieved it. He was a first-generation rank-holder from the foot of the Alps; there must have been many a senator just as talented and much better known. His career, as I knew it, was a fair one with the usual civil and military service. Aedile; quaestor; praetor; consul. He had been governor of Galatia when the famous general Corbulo was swashbuckling around that arena. Nero had had Corbulo killed for being too good a soldier. Maybe the incoming Emperor, Galba, hoped to profit from any antagonism Rutilius felt towards Nero afterwards, and that was why he acquired his prestigious priesthood.

If so, Galba died too soon to enjoy any loyalty he tried to cultivate. But Rutilius also had personal connections with the legion Vespasian entrusted to his son Titus (the Fifteenth: my later brother’ s legion, so I knew just what a close-knit clique those braggarts were). When Vespasian became Emperor, Rutilius somehow pushed to the front, one of the first consuls of the reign. Nobody had heard of him. Frankly, I had taken no notice of the man either-until I met him out in Tripolitania.

What he did have was ambition. It made him a ferocious hard worker. He was stepping up the treads of power as niftily as a roofer with a shoulder hod of pantiles. This was the kind of official Vespasian liked: Rutilius Gallicus came with no awkward old debts of patronage. Galba was irrelevant; Rutilius had been made by the Flavians. He possessed energy and goodwill, and it was quite likely that whatever had been entrusted to him today he had volunteered for.

I knew I would not be granted the same option.

“I want to talk about a delicate issue, Falco. You are the first choice for the work.”

“I usually know what that means, sir.”

“It is not dangerous.”

“Surprise! So what is it?”

Rutilius remained patient. He understood these were my own pleasantries, a way to brace myself for today’s unwanted supplicant and today’s sour job.

“There is a problem, one you already know about.” He was brisk now. I liked him more. “A child who was to be submitted to the Vestal Virgins’ lottery tomorrow has disappeared.”

“Gaia Laelia.”

“Exactly. You can see the tricky elements-granddaughter of an exFlamen Dialis, niece of a Flamen Pomonalis. Apart from needing to find her for humanitarian reasons-”

“They do count, then?”

“Of course! But Falco, this is extremely sensitive.”

“I won’t suggest the lottery result is already decided, but let’s say, sir: if Gaia Laelia were chosen, she would be regarded as highly suitable?”

“Her family background would certainly mean that the Pontifex would feel confident she is fully prepared for a lifetime of service.”

“That sounds like an official brief.” Rutilius for once grinned in sympathy. “Rutilius, there is no need to dodge. You want me to find her?”

“Well, the Palace fixers are jumpy. The Urban Prefect raised the alarm.” Wrong. Lucius Petronius had done that. “Her grandfather has now admitted to Vespasian that she is lost. Somebody learned of your interest. According to Palace records, you still work as a partner with a member of the vigiles. The records are out of date, as always! We had an interesting discussion at the meeting I just attended about how you managed the vigiles’ support. Then Vespasian pointed out that your last known colleague was Anacrites, his own Chief Spy.”

“More shrieks of outrage ensued?”

“By that stage you had achieved some notoriety, yes.”

“So then you said, sir, that my current partner is Camillus Justinus so I no longer pirate my backup from the ranks of public servants. This makes me a responsible hound who can safely be enrolled to sniff out lost Virgins?”

“I said, Falco, you had my utmost confidence as a discreet, efficient operative. You may like to know Vespasian agreed.”

“Thank you, sir. If I take this on, I will need entry to the Laelius house and permission to question the family.”

Rutilius groaned. “I told them you would ask that.”

I gave him a straight stare. “You would do the same.” He was silent. “Rutilius, you would not be discussing the matter, had you failed to persuade your colleagues-including the Emperor-that it has to be done this way.”

He took a moment before answering. “The Emperor left here on his way to inform Laelius Numentinus that you must be granted access.”

“Right.” I relaxed. I had been prepared for unacceptable conditions. This job had my interest; I would probably have taken it anyway. “I am not being offensive. You know why I lay down these rules. The child will probably turn up at home. I need to carry out a proper search, which I admit will be intrusive. It has to be. The first place I look will be in their baskets of dirty underwear, and it will get worse from there on. Besides, if her disappearance is no accident, the most likely cause is domestic. It will be vital to question the whole family.”