We had left Lentullus at my house. Helena and I now knew why her brother had appeared at dinner: Marcus Rubella had finally kicked them out of the vigiles' patrol house, so we had acquired the invalid. His condition was much improved, though he did have a setback when I had to tell him he would have to leave the army. Lentullus rallied, however, when he knew that 'the tribune' was offering him a home.

So that Clemens did not return to Germany short-handed, I had suggested that I should formally free the appalling Jacinthus (he would have to lie and say he was thirty), then we would take him before a recruiting officer (to lie again and say he was twenty), enrolling him in the legions. Jacinthus was thrilled. So was Galene, who had convinced Helena that she should be moved to the kitchen as replacement cook. Once again we would be lacking a nurse for the children, but we were used to that. Once again we would have a cook who couldn't cook – but at least Galene would be interested in learning.

All these issues had been debated and resolved that morning, while Helena and I tried not to disturb Veleda's gloomy reverie. By the time the Vestal Virgin sent transport, we had been running out of bright ideas. Veleda had been dumped by Quintus and was returning to captivity. She hated all of us. At the Palace, the women stepped down from the carriage. Helena led her mother and Claudia in a stately procession, in through the great roofed Cryptoporticus, along many corridors, to an anteroom, where Julia Justa and her Vestal friend met and exchanged dry kisses. I noticed that Claudia had managed to wear quantities of jewels, which drew disapproval from the Vestal. Claudia tossed her head defiantly.

We had brought the carrying chair indoors with us. Still guarding it, we men remained outside in a corridor. I kissed Helena. She shook out her skirts, straightened her stole, firmed up the pins holding her veil on her fine hair and led the formal deputation into a major receiving room. We had been told Vespasian was on his usual festival pilgrimage to his grandmother's house at Cosa, where he had been brought up. We could have been lumbered with Domitian, but we were in luck: Titus was imperial caretaker, dealing with emergencies. They were a long time. I was sweating. Flunkeys were anxious to depart for lunch. It was clear that ours was the only business being thrust before Titus that morning. It might be dealt with briskly and casually. I cheered myself up thinking that if Berenice really had been sent packing to Judaea, Titus would have no calls on him during the festival and might welcome work.

Rubbish, Falco. Nobody welcomes work when all of Rome is playing. Titus would rather play solo draughts all day than be tied to the office.

Just as I braced myself to barge past the flunkeys and invade the audience, things became even trickier. Word of what was afoot must have reached the Chief Spy's office. Suddenly Anacrites appeared and demanded that we unload the chair and give him Veleda.

At the same moment, ten-foot double doors with gilded handles silently swung open and the women reappeared. Titus was graciously escorting them out. He always looked fetching in purple, and today was bedecked with an extra-large Saturnalia wreath. His hair, normally barbered to a crisp, had been allowed to grow shaggy as a sign of being broken-hearted at the loss of Berenice, but even so a careful valet had spent time positioning the wreath fetchingly on the curly mop.

'You've lost the game – hand her over, Falco!' the Spy was commanding, as he dragged open the half-door and started pulling Veleda from the chair. He was stopped in his tracks by the frigid tones of the elderly Vestal Virgin: 'Tiberius Claudius Anacrites – Unhand that woman immediately!' Titus Caesar had an eye for a beautiful foreigner. At once I saw him sizing up the priestess. As she recovered from the Spy's mauling, she gave a rapid assessment to the imperial prince who controlled her fate. In view of her reputation, Titus thought better of flirting, though he inclined his head politely as far as a heavy wreath allowed. Perhaps Veleda looked more hopeful for the future – though I could see she thought Titus a typical, sexually voracious Roman male. Behind everyone's backs, Helena Justina winked at me. Her mother had noticed, and smacked Helena's wrist playfully. The Vestal was in charge. 'You are to be sent to a shrine at Ardea,' she told Veleda. Thirty miles from Rome, Ardea was close enough to supervise yet far enough away to be secure. I thought it had been used as an exile for political prisoners before. 'Your life will be spared. You will live out your days as a temple cleaner.'

Veleda bridled. Helena grasped her hand and muttered quickly, 'Do not despise the honour. Being housekeeper to the gods is a worthy occupation – the Vestal and her colleagues traditionally have that role. It is neither onerous nor demeaning.' Titus came forward. 'These three noble women – Helena Justina, Julia Justa and Claudia Rufina – have pleaded for you most movingly, Veleda. The Vestal Virgins, who see you as a sister, support them. Rome is pleased to accept their request for clemency.' I stepped forward. I could see Claudius Laeta hovering. With Justinus at my elbow, I formally asked, 'Priestess, Helena Justina promised she would do her best for you. Do you accept these terms?

Will you live out your days at Ardea quietly?' Veleda nodded her head, in silence. Then Justinus and I formally completed my mission. We handed over Veleda into imperial control. Giving her up must have been as hard for Justinus as pleading had been for Claudia. I had insisted that Justinus accompany me, in his normal role as my assistant. I hoped this would reinstate him in imperial favour. Perhaps it would even impress his wife. We knew Claudia would make it a condition of their marriage that he never went anywhere near Ardea. As far as I ever knew, Quintus promised her, and he stuck to the promise.

When Veleda was taken away by the Guards, she kept her gaze cast down and did not look at him. Justinus stood quietly and sadly as she left. Only a cruel cynic would have pointed out that he had the air of a condemned man.

LXIV

I had all of my sisters, and some of their husbands, and most of their children, in my house for the last night of the festival. We were also entertaining Zosime and the soldiers. To help Quintus and Claudia mend their marriage, we had asked them too. Helena had invited my mother, though fortunately she did not stay long; invited by me inadvertently, my father turned up, but he was late as usual. They must have passed in the street. At least we escaped having their first confrontation in twenty years in our dining room. Who wants violent recriminations over the must-cake at a feast dedicated to reconciliation?

There were complaints. 'Everyone else had puppets or ghosts, Marcus. Couldn't you have made an effort to fix up some entertainment for the last night?' The troops had made plenty of mustcake, however. Nux thought it was wonderful and spent the day trying to steal pieces. We had a large log in a hearth, filling everywhere with smoke and threatening to bum down the house, plus green boughs shedding pine needles and dust. My lamp-oil bill would take about three months to payoff. By a deft sleight of hand, I arranged that our King for the Day was my nephew Marius – a lad with a dry wit, who accepted the bean with a wink that suggested he knew he had been chosen on purpose for his discretion. He enjoyed the role, but kept the antics within acceptable limits.

It was a decent night. A night for generosity of spirit. Gifts appeared at appropriate moments, and nobody made too much fuss if their gift cost less than they had hoped. The men were allowed to come dressed as they liked; the women wore their newest jewels. Claudia was showing off the satyr ear-rings Quintus bought from Pa; Helena kept her more tasteful ones for another occasion so as not to upset Claudia. Everyone was comfortable. Everyone ate just enough, and drank only a little more than sensible. None of my family would ever remember it; there were no fights and nobody was sick on Junia's dog.