I knew this man. He was Helena Justina's ex-husband; his name was Atius Pertinax.

According to the Daily Gazette, he was dead too.

He looked healthy for a man who had been murdered three months before. But if I had any choice in the matter, dead was how Atius Pertinax would soon be. Next time I would arrange it myself. And make it permanent.

He wore a very plain tunic and a new jaw-line beard, but I knew him all right. He was twenty-eight or nine. Light hair and a spare build. He had pale eyes I had forgotten and a sour expression which I never would forget. Permanent bad temper tightened the muscles round his eyes and made his jaw clench.

I had met him once. Not when I tailed him to the Transtiberina; the year before. I could still feel his soldiers pulping my body and hear his voice calling me savage names. I could still see his pasty legs below a senatorial toga, striding from my apartment where he had left me lying beside a broken bench, helplessly spitting blood on my own floor.

He was a traitor and a thief; a bully; a murderer. Yet Helena Justina was letting him lounge in her bedroom like a lord. Well he must have sat with her like this a thousand times, in that grand, tasteful, blue-and-grey room he allowed her in their house…

'My mistake. Your name's not Barnabas!'

'Is it not?' he dared. I could see him still wondering how to react to my sudden arrival.

'No,' I responded quietly. 'But officially Gnaeus Atius Pertinax Caprenius Marcellus is mouldering in his funeral urn-'

'Now you see the problem!' Helena exclaimed.

•

I wondered how she could bear to sit there eating until I noticed how she was nibbling at her chicken bone, showing her teeth as if she despised his predicament too much to let it interfere with her appetite.

I strode into the room. Apart from the fact I was intent on arresting him, it was a good old Roman custom that in the presence of your moral superior you leapt to your feet. Pertinax tensed, but sat tight.

'Who the hell are you?' He had made too much noise before too. 'And who gave you permission to enter my wife's room?'

'The name is Didius Falco; I go where I like. By the way-she's not your wife!'

'I've heard about you, Falco!'

'Oh, you and I are old acquaintances. You once arrested me for the pleasure of it,' I reminded him, 'though I like to think I have the character to rise above that. You destroyed my apartment-but I helped dispose of your house on the Quirinal in return. Your Greek vases did well,' I smiled annoyingly. 'Vespasian was pleased with those. Your Praxiteles Cupid was a disappointment though-' I knew Pertinax had paid a lot for it. 'A copy; I expect you realized…'

'I always thought it had big ears!' Helena told me conversationally. Pertinax looked peeved.

I hooked a footstool forwards with my heel and squatted where I could cover Helena yet still fix him. She coloured slightly beneath my quiet scrutiny; I found myself wondering if Pertinax realized I had been her lover-with a passion I was proud of-a few hours before. A glance at him told me: it never crossed his mind.

'So what happened?' I wondered thoughtfully. 'In April this year the Praetorians burst in to question you-' He listened with an exaggerated, weary look as if I was being ridiculous. 'Barnabas was dressed up in your senatorial stripes; the short-sighted Praetorians whisked him off to jail. He would expect a nasty beating when they found out, but no worse. Poor Barnabas definitely shook hands on a bad bargain that day. One of your fellow plotters decided to silence their luckless jailbird-'

Pertinax sank back, his thin shoulders hunched. 'Cut it, Falco!'

I was fascinated by those nuts. Some of the shells fell loose on a table as he spat them ineffectively back at the bowl; most dropped onto the striped Egyptian floor rug.

'You soon realized your fellow plotters were being picked off by the Palace.' I let him absorb this, watching him again. Bryon the trainer had called him desperate, but to me he looked merely unpleasant. In fact I found Pertinax so offensive, the hairs on my neck prickled at sharing the same room. Yet he was one of those men who seem quite unaware of their own obnoxiousness. 'If you reappeared you were a marked man. Your half-brother was dead. You took his identity in order to claim his corpse from the jail. You buried him, and paid him the last respect of telling his mother the truth, even though a wrong word from that batty old basket in Tarentum might expose you. Then you realized that you and Barnabas were so alike you had a first-rate, possibly permanent, disguise. So you have foolishly stuck yourself, honourable sir, only one step up from slavery!'

Pertinax, whose manners were as uncouth as you would expect in a Calabrian who had been given more luck in society than he ever deserved, cracked another nut. If he had been a commoner my exposing his story would be the first step to jail; he knew as well as I did that a consul's son could stare me out derisively. For several reasons, all of them personal, I would have liked to smash my fist through his pistachios-after he had eaten them.

Helena Justina had finished her meal and tidied her own tray. She went down on her knees, collecting the shells Pertinax had scattered, like a wife trying to prevent their servants noticing what a boor her husband is. Pertinax, like a husband, let her do it.

'You don't exist!' I reiterated in his direction as cruelly as I could. 'Your name has been sponged off the Senatorial list. You have less social standing than a ghost.' Pertinax moved restlessly. 'Now all your attempts to contact your fellow conspirators are going awry. Tell me, did Curtius Longinus meet his fate because when he saw you in Rome again, alive, he threatened to expose you to gain Vespasian's goodwill for his brother and him?' He made no attempt to resist the charge. It could wait. 'Crispus too has plans of his own now, in which you do not feature,' I harassed him as my anger grew. 'You saw him at Oplontis. You tried to coerce him, but he gave you the brushoff; am I right? Your dining couch was reassigned to a woman-Aemilia Fausta, who had not even been invited-then Crispus pointed me straight at you, hoping I would get you off his neck. Aufidius Crispus,' I emphasized, 'is another double-dealer who would cheerfully see you strangled, Pertinax!'

Helena was still on the floor, sitting back on her heels.

'That's enough,' she interrupted quietly.

'Too near the knuckle, lady?'

'Too strong, Falco. What will you do?'

Good question. The ex-Consul was unlikely to allow me to drag his precious son off the estate.

'Suggest something,' I offered, ducking it.

Helena Justina folded her hands in her lap. Always ready with a plan: 'The easiest solution is to leave the conspirator Pertinax at peace in the Marcellus mausoleum. I think my husband should put his past mistakes behind him, and start life afresh.' Although Helena was trying to help him, Pertinax sat biting his thumb contemptuously. He had nothing to contribute.

'As Barnabas?' I queried. 'Fine. His children will count as full citizens; his descendants may be senators. A freedman can use his talents; assemble a fortune; even inherit from Marcellus, if Marcellus can bring himself to cause a social upset by doing it. You are a wonderful lady; it's a wonderful solution, and he's a lucky man to have you to support him like this. Just one problem!' I grated in a changed voice. 'Pertinax the conspirator is supposed to be dead-but Barnabas is wanted for arson and a senator's premeditated death.'

'What are you saying, Falco?' Helena glanced quickly between the two of us.