Some new recruits whose mothers had sent them out cleaned up and nicely presented had used far too much crocus hair pomade. They were standing about in a perfumed little group, all very quiet. None had plucked up courage to go for a drink yet. It was their first year in the cohort and they were starting to feel overwhelmed by the promise of full-throated merriment ahead. Once they let go and began on the primitivum, they would be disgusting.

Women were present. None I recognised. From their dress and demeanour, it seemed unlikely they were vigiles' wives.

I was on my third beaker (though I had passed on my second to another man) when I finally spotted Petronius. He was behind the bar, helping Apollonius break off the wax bungs from a new batch of amphorae. His size and authority were helping to keep order; his only concession to fancy dress was the laurel wreath he wore. It was tied with crimson ribbons; Maia probably made it at home. Forcing my way through the press I waved a salute and mouthed 'lo!' As soon as I could get closer, I added, 'You're in the right place!'

'Not started yet. I like to pace myself' Even so, as there was a slight lull (comparatively), he was accepting a drink from Apollonius, whom I now saw, for the first time in all the years I had known him, holding a wine cup himself

We three stood talking cheerily, interrupted only when Junia tried to make us hand out trays of food. We pretended to help, but passed on the goodies to other people; fortunately the vigiles all have the bucket chain mentality. Petro grabbed a pie as a platter went by at eye height. 'These are not bad!'

'Maybe your sister made them,' Apollonius suggested to me; as he tried one, gravy squelched down his tunic when he misjudged the filling's consistency.

'No chance.' I knew Junia's capabilities, which were a legend in my family. 'She cooks a mean gristle turnover and her stodge polenta will fill holes in wall plaster… these are way out of Junia's class.' Nostalgia washed over me. 'Cassius' bakery, I'd say. Fountain Court.'

Cassius had been my neighbour and regular loaf-supplier in earlier, dreamier, more impoverished days. Petronius raised his eyes to heaven, and leaned in to refill my beaker fast. He knew I was about to hark back sentimentally. I had reached the stage of automatic swallowing, at about the level where I could reminisce without weeping. This would be a little before I began to expound theories that the Roman Empire was no longer what it used to be, nor would it ever be again thanks to the ignorance of the bovine populace and the lassitude of the governing aristocracy…

'The barbarians are at the gates!' Petro's apt exclamation startled me. He and I had been friends for a long time but even so he rarely read my mind to that extent. However, he was merely reacting to a lad who had come up to whisper that there was a bit of a problem on the door with some gatecrashers. The lad could have informed Rubella, but in view of the tribune's lurid Mercury get-up, he had wisely decided his chances of promotion were best preserved by reporting the debacle to Petronius. Marcus Rubella took himself extremely seriously. If he donned fancy dress to be one of the lads, he expected the lads to keep this honour to themselves and not lure him into an unscripted public appearance looking like a tipsy transvestite. For their part, the vigiles despised the public, but still thought the public had done nothing quite bad enough to warrant seeing Rubella's hairy legs.

Leaving Apollonius to it, Petro and I set off through the mayhem. By now everyone was boasting and belching in established groups, but they let us push past if we shoved at their hot bodies hard enough. It took some time to force a passage, so when we finally arrived at the doorway, we found that Fusculus had the situation in hand. He had got rid of most of the troublemakers by telling them about 'a bloody big get-together over in Lobster Street'. The last couple, who were too drunk to take in what he had said, were being dragged away backwards by determined troopers. You may think only idiots would try to invade a vigiles celebration without tickets. You would be right. They were idiots – and I had met them before.

'Falco!' It took me a moment to identify where the bleary salutation came from, and then to remember the man responsible. His greeting filled me with foreboding. 'We want to party with you.' Oh dear. The cohort supper was hardly the exotic function Ermanus had invited me to the other day, but my eager friends from the German community had probably been drinking and fornicating for the past two nights. They were way beyond exercising judgement when they spotted a party. Had they not stumbled upon the vigiles' venue first, they were out of it enough to crash a grannies' sewing circle if the lamplight attracted them.

Ermanus and one of his large pals had gone limp in the arms of their vigiles captors, but only as a preliminary to bursting free so they could try again to rush the door. Fusculus and Petro were ready for that trick and just leaned on them, attempting to avoid physical damage. Suddenly they gave a concerted heave and threw the two gatecrashers back at the vigiles bouncers. Since one of those was Sergius, the squad's torture and beatings specialist, I shook my head sadly, warning the two Germans to give in and go away while they still had unbroken legs to take them and possessed the will to live.

Ermanus refused to take the hint. He was struggling like a bullock that had smelt blood on the altar, mainly fired up by his eagerness to discuss life and love with me. He and his friend were deeply and desperately drunk. They were now teetering on the brink of unconsciousness; if they did pass out, they would probably never come round again. It was better if they stayed on their feet and kept going until kindly Nature let their brains recover a little. 'Falco! – Friend!'

I wanted to escape. Petronius glanced at me and winced. He knew the score. If I did try to converse with these bonny boys it would be as difficult as wading knee deep through wet quicksand, and as pointless. They could barely remember anything for longer than three seconds. I was ready to wave goodbye, knowing that my exit was bound to result in vile curses that I was an unfriendly bastard. Then Ermanus, who could see my lack of community spirit, came up with bleary words that he knew were bound to hold my interest, 'The old fellows are going to get her, you know!' I stopped. 'How's that, Ermanus?' 'The old fellows…' He wandered off into some befogged world of his own. 'Did I mention the old fellows. Falco?' 'You did, my friend.' 'They know. They know he's keeping bait… bait for the one we never mention. Old fellows. Going to get her. Going to get her with the bait. Clever old fellows… Going to get the bait.' 'Oy, oy!' muttered Petro, aware that this sounded like trouble and guessing what it could be about. 'How's that, Ermanus?' I asked, as firmly as I could. My drunken soul mate beamed at me admiringly. 'Falco!… Can't tell you.'

'Oh go on,' I cooed at him, like a bad lover trying to persuade some winsome girl to take her clothes off. I dared not look at Petronius Longus or Fusculus. 'Give me a thrill, Ermanus. What are the old ones planning?'

'Go to his house. Grab her fancyman… She's one of ours. We should have her…' He passed out. Sergius and the other vigiles laid him carefully on the pavement in a neat position. Seeing this, his intoxicated German companion took the easy option and subsided with a peaceful little groan. He was lined up next to Ermanus. I bent down to check they were breathing. A gassy miasma of three-day-old wine fumes confirmed it. I reeled back, shielding my face. Straightening, I sought Petro's gaze. This was a disaster. The last thing I wanted was those elderly social misfits carrying off a raid to capture Quintus, so they could use him to entice Veleda to them. The mere attempt was bad news for Rome. Bad news for them too, if they got on the wrong side of Anacrites. I cursed. 'Petro, Nero's retired German guards have been unsettled since Galba disbanded them. Now they're planning a revival we can do without. If they ever get to control Veleda it will be a nightmare. If they bring this off, we're stuffed. I have to stop them.'