She had the best bargain. At least she could pick out a cheese and the flatulent slave boy would cut her a sliver. He looked like a reprobate who would give a handsome woman more than a sliver, in fact. I heard him begin chatting to her; he was full of cheeky quips.

I meanwhile was made to halt by a valet, whose purpose in life was to irritate men by fiddling with the folds of their togas. A sponge-slave grabbed me by both hands and cleaned any grease from my fingers and palms, then a boy almost tripped me up, scrabbling round so he could dust my boots. I had endured less attention when visiting Vespasian. Emperors can afford to relax. This manic preparation told me that inside the room I was trying to enter was someone dull, but highly aspirational.

Too right. An ingratiating major-domo whispered the good news. His duty was to set people at their ease with terrifying lists of VIPs. 'You are entering the presence of Marcus Quadrumatus Labeo, who is hosting and chairing the convocation. Also present are Tiberius Claudius Laeta and Tiberius Claudius Anacrites, who are both highly placed imperial freedmen. The guest of honour is -' The creep nearly wet himself – 'Quintus Julius Cordinus Gaius Rutilius Gallicus!'

Rutilius had enough names already but I invented a few more for him: 'Old Grovel is here, is he? Bonanza Boy! Domitian's Ovation Sparkler. I'm Falco,' I said as the major-domo gasped at my irreverence. 'If you need a mnemonic, give me a piece of brazier charcoal and I'll write it on your wrist for you.'

LV

Didius Falco!'

The triumphant, pretty nearly triumphal, great general Rutilius remembered me! Could it be I had impressed him with my talent when we first met out in Tripolitania – an event made the more memorable for both of us when he ordered my brother-in-law to die in the bloody jaws of arena lions? Could he even be recalling with nostalgia that long hot summer evening when he and I, the most mismatched of literary entertainers, hired the Auditorium of Maecenas and gave a cringe-making poetry recital?

I did not fool myself. A flunkey would have whispered my name in his ear. In any case, Rutilius Gallicus knew who I was because he was expecting me.

He was in his early fifties, the kind of provincial senator who could pass for a market trader. A couple of generations back, his family were probably not much better than that; still, it meant the man was sharp. His career progress confirmed how well he could schmoose. Consul, priest of the Augustan cult, imperial legate, governor. Top of the tree – and looking at the sky.

'This is a pretty mess, Falco!' Too right. He caused it – though you might think, from the easy and companionable way the general spoke, he was making Veleda's stupid escape our joint responsibility.

Never trust a member of the aristocracy. Rutilius was as close to benign as they come. But if he had driven all the way back from Augusta Taurinorum at Saturnalia – after returning to Italy specifically to spend Saturnalia with his family – he must be desperate to cover his back. Old Grovel had decided that being young Domitian Caesar's buddy might not be enough.

It was an interesting meeting, if you liked watching an empty potter's wheel. Round and round and round again they went. Quadrumatus Labeo made a capable chairman, as I had always suspected, but the rest sidelined him. I could see why one of the family doctors had said nobody listened to him; worse, Quadrumatus accepted it. Laeta had produced the agenda; he steered progress. Rutilius Gallicus listened regally. He had the air of a man who will be reporting back to higher life forms. I could guess who.

As the 'official' trouble-fixer, Anacrites was invited to summarise progress. He waffled as far as the abortive operation at the Temple of Diana A ventinensis, then he tried to force my hand: 'Apparendy Falco has new evidence about the Scaeva killing.' 'Just a lead.' 'You said -' He had slipped up. He realised I was deliberately undermining him. 'Misunderstanding?' I grinned at him. 'As soon as I have hard evidence, I'll produce it.' He was furious.

'So' Quadrumatus tapped a stylus end a few times. 'The priestess went to the Temple of Diana Aventinensis after she absconded from here, but left four days ago, and the priests have no knowledge of her subsequent movements. It's a start.'

No, it was useless. The lard buckets all sat there until one of them thought to ask, 'Anything you want to add, Falco?'

I leaned my chin on my hands. 'Couple of points. First, before she moved on to the Aventine, Veleda was at the Temple of Жsculapius. They say her illness may be marsh fever or similar. So she is likely to suffer relapses, in the usual cycles of recurrence, but if she survives the first bout, she won't die on you.' They had forgotten they could lose her simply through disease. Laeta looked impressed, Rutilius grateful – mildly. 'Second – a minor correction – she left Diana Aventinensis five days ago.' 'Who told you?' Anacrites burst out.

'Can't reveal my sources.' I glanced at Laeta, who made a gesture to the Spy in support of me. 'Third – major update, this one: the priests of Diana do know where she went next; they sent her there.'

They all looked at me. I kept it quiet and polite. Some of these idiots might offer to employ me on another occasion. I needed the money, so I was daft enough to humour them. 'I have seen her. I have spoken to her.' That made them sit up. 'The situation seems to be containable – I mean, not simply that Veleda can be forcibly recaptured, but that she may surrender peacefully. Which would be much better for the Empire.'

At the mention of the Empire, they all looked down at their nice clean note-tablets and assumed pious expressions.

'I'd just like to go right back to before she ever took to her heels,' I told Rutilius. 'She was said to be greedy distressed when she learned she would be part of a Triumph. You had never said what fate awaited her – am I right?'

'Maybe I should have done, Falco.' Rutilius paused. 'The reason I did not, frankly, is that it would be wrong to anticipate that my Ovation would be granted. Such an honour must be voted by the Senate. Even if it is thought appropriate, I must first complete my task as Lower German governor.'

'Your modesty commends you.' In retrospect his caution was even more wise. I reckoned Veleda's bungled captivity could well lose Rutilius his Ovation. The man was bright enough to know it too. 'I was told originally that Veleda overheard her fate from "a visitor". Quadrumatus Labeo, can that be right? You were providing a safe house, where she was to be kept in conditions of absolute secrecy. Did you really permit your visitors to communicate?'

'I did not. Of course I did not.' Quick to defend himself, Quadrumatus looked put out. Then, in his normal direct way he confessed what he had previously fudged: 'It was one of my household who revealed what was planned for her.' 'You know who?' 'I do know. The person responsible has been reprimanded.' There was awkward shuffling among the others. I gazed at the crestfallen householder. He had intended to withhold the truth, but weakly confessed: 'It was my wife's freedwoman, Phryne. She took against the priestess and committed this very spiteful act.' 'Your wife cannot control her?' 'My wife is a… benevolent disciplinarian.' His wife was a lush, and the freedwoman controlled the keys to her wine cupboard. 'How does this help, Falco?' 'Maybe it helps you, sir, to reconsider just how you govern your household. '

Laeta pursed his lips. They all knew about Drusilla, and while none of them would have been so blunt they remained silent through my rebuke.

Anacrites was rubbing his forehead, a sign that stress had brought back his headaches. He could no longer contain himself 'You're wasting time, Fako. If you know where the priests sent Veleda, I demand to be told!'