embarrassment. I had felt some sympathy. I knew how I would react if one of my girls ever went missing.

We went early to his house It was a warm, clear Rome morning, on the way to a very hot noon. The hint of haze above the Capitol, as we rounded it into the Forum, would soon become a flagrant dazzle, too bright to look up at the new Temple of Jupiter with its golden roof and stinging white marble. Over the far end of the Forum hung a cloud of dust from the huge building site of the Flavian Amphitheatre, no longer just the biggest hole in the world, its walls were slowly rising in a fabulous travertine ellipse and at this hour it was the busiest area of activity. Everywhere else there were fewer crowds than usual. Anyone who could afford to leave town was away. Bored senators and bloated ex-slaves with multimillion businesses had been at the coast, in the hills, or by the lakes for a couple of months; they would not return until the lawcourts and schools reopened later in September. Even then, sensible ones would find excuses to delay.

We kept to the shade as we crossed at the north end and made our way towards the Via Lata district.

I had written a letter of introduction and received a short note back that I might call. I guessed Caesius would view me as a ghoul or a shyster. I could handle that. I had had enough practice.

Caesius Secundus was a widower, long-standing; the daughter who disappeared had been his only child. He lived in a faded town house off the Via Lata, just before it turns into the Via Flamima. A cutler hired part of his ground floor for a workshop and selling space. The part where Caesius lived looked and sounded half empty, we were admitted not by a porter but by an all-purpose slave in a kitchen apron, who showed us to a reception room then went back to his stockpot.

Despite my fears of rebuff, Caesius saw us at once. He was tall and must have once been quite heavily built; now his white tunic hung slackly from a stringy neck and bony shoulders. The man had lost weight without yet noticing that he needed new outfits. Time had frozen for him, the day he heard his daughter had disappeared. Perhaps now he was back in Rome, in his own household, he would be reminded of mealtimes and other normal routines. More likely he would resist being cared for.

I know why you have come.' He was direct, rushing into the business too fast, despite his worn look.

I am Didius Falco. Let me introduce my wife, Helena Justina. '

5

Stately and pleasant, she lent us respectability. With the fine carriage and elegant robes of a well-bred matron, Helena always distracted attention from my rough manners. I managed to conceal the fact that her presence physically distracted me.

You want to talk about my daughter – Let me first show her to you.'

We were astonished, but Caesius merely led us to a cool internal colonnade beside a small courtyard On a Corinthian pedestal stood a half-statue of a young woman. white marble, good quality; a portrait bust with the subject turned slightly to one side, gazing downwards demurely. Her face had been given just enough character to seem taken from life, though the newness of the work suggested the commission was post-mortem.

This is all I have now.

Her name was Marcella Caesia?' Helena asked, studying the statue thoughtfully

Yes. She would have been twenty-one.' The father stared at the bust just a little too long A chair stood close by. He probably brooded here for long hours. For the rest of his life, time would be measured by how old his lost child should have been, had she lived.

He led us back to the original sparsely furnished room Caesius insisted that Helena took a comfortable basket chair with its own footstool, perhaps once his wife's. Arranging her skirts, she glanced at me. I took out a note-tablet and prepared to lead the questioning, though Helena and I would share it; one of us would talk while the other observed.

I warn you now Caesius blurted out. I have been targeted by many frauds who made me great promises, then did nothing.'

I said quietly.. Caesius, here's the deal. I am an informer, mainly in Rome. I have taken assignments overseas, but only for the Emperor.' Mentioning Vespasian might impress him, unless he had supported Vespasian's opponents in the imperial contest – or if he was a strong republican.

He had no time for politics.. I can't pay you, Falco.'

I have not asked for money.' Well, not yet.. I know you have an intriguing story.'

How does my story profit you? Do you have a commission?'

This was hard work. If there was trouble in a foreign province, Vespasian might agree to send me, though he would not welcome the expense. This girl's death was a private matter – unless Caesius was some old crony of the Emperor's who could call in favours; he would

have done it by now if he could, and not exhausted himself for three fruitless years on a solo effort.. I offer nothing, I promise nothing. Caesius, a colleague asked me to check facts. Your story may help other people -. Caesius stared at me. So – if you want to tell me what happened to your daughter, on that basis, then please do.

He made a slight hand gesture. appeasement.. I have been hounded by monsters making false offers of help. Now I trust no one.'

You have to decide if I'm different – but no doubt the confidence tricksters said that too.'

Thank you for your honesty.'

Despite his claim to trust no one, Caesius was still open to hope. With a wrench, he let us win him round. He took a breath. Clearly he had told the story many times before". My poor wife died twenty years ago. My daughter Caesia was the only one of our children to survive infancy. My background is in textile importation; we lived comfortably, Caesia was educated and – in my opinion, which of course is biased – she grew up sweet, talented, and worthy.'

She looks it, in her portrait' After my rude start, Helena was being the sympathetic partner.

Thank you.

I watched Helena, doubting if she had meant the routine praise. We had daughters. We loved them, but were under no illusions. I won't say I regarded girls as hell-raisers – but I was braced for future confrontations.

So why was Caesia in Greece?' Helena asked.

The father flushed a little, but he told us honestly,. There had been trouble over a young man.

You disapproved?' It was the obvious reason for a father to mention. trouble'.

Ldid, but it came to nothing anyway Then Caesia's aunt, Marcella Naevia, decided to travel, and offered to take her niece. It seemed a gift from the gods. I readily agreed.'

And your daughter?' Helena had been a spirited young girl; her first thought was that Caesia might have been difficult about being packed off abroad.

She was thrilled. Caesia had an open, enquiring mind, she was not at all afraid of travelling; she was delighted to be given access to Greek art and culture. I had always encouraged her to visit libraries and galleries.' A look in Helena's fine brown eyes told me she knew I was thinking the young girl would be more delighted with Greek muleteers, all muscles and mischief, like classical gods.

My turn again.. So how •was the trip arranged?' I sounded dour. I already knew the answer. it was our link with the more recently murdered woman. Caesia's aunt travelled with a party; she had hired specialist tour guides.

This was a fad of our time. We had safe roads, free passage on the seas, a common currency throughout the Empire, and tracts of fascinating conquered territory. Inevitably, our citizens became tourists. All Romans – all those who could afford it – believed in a life of leisure. Some rich idlers set off from Italy for five years at a time. As these culture-cravers crowded into the ancient places of the world, toting their guidebooks, histories, shopping lists, and itineraries, a travel industry had evolved to cash in.