Negrinus ignored it all, for the sake of his children. He still remains silent. He will not protest. His dignity is astonishing. His mother's reaction was all too different. Calpurnia took her own action.

Her torment is easy to understand. She had lost everything. Her household was once so wealthy that informers did not scruple to cite her family as having an 'extravagant lifestyle'- though her son says nothing so reprehensible and un-Roman really happened. But it is certain they had a good life, such as those who serve the state expect. They kept a handsome, noble home, to which guests and clients could be invited, a home which reflected the status of Rubirius Metellus and his son. Today, Calpurnia sees herself stripped of every natural convenience; rooms in her house are already standing empty while her possessions and slaves are due to be handed over to a fortune-hunter. Over the years, everything she came to expect from life as a woman in a family of distinction was slowly taken from her – the worst blow being that her only son was tainted with corruption, his promising career halted for ever when his father was accused and convicted. If it is a mother's duty to bring up her children well, if we praise those noble women who do so with intelligence, wisdom and the best moral example, then the disgrace inflicted on young Metellus Negrinus must also blacken the name of his mother. So one more horror fell upon her. One last hope of a good reputation had been inexorably withdrawn. She tried desperately to convince her husband to commit judicial suicide and save the dregs of the family honour; he refused her.

That is the kind of man Metellus was. I am sorry to say it. But we have to understand. That was the man who had destroyed this woman's serenity and happiness for over thirty years.

At such a moment, to whom should she turn for guidance? My colleague Didius Falco will be the next speaker. He will explain how Calpurnia Cara allied herself in her trouble to the worst possible adviser.

Marponius shot me a filthy look. He had remembered we had a history.

`We are enjoying this too much, Falco! Better take a break and calm down.'

Our case had reached a climax. There was a buzz in court.

Sightseers had crowded in to watch; even the lags who played draughts all day outside on the Basilica steps had abandoned their games.

Someone else was looking good and getting the attention in his court. So naturally Marponius stopped proceedings and adjourned overnight.

XLII

MARPONIUS MAY have broken the mood but the disruption had advantages. This way, I could at least write my speech in advance. I would not bring a written version to court – that would be seen as an insult by the judge and jury – but I had acquired preparation time.

Anacrites strolled up. `Tomorrow should be lively. You're risking it, Falco!'

`Come and watch.' I forced a grin. `You might learn something.' My eyes must have narrowed. `So – what's your interest?'

Anacrites glanced over his shoulder. He adopted a genial manner and lowered his voice. `Watching brief on the corruption file.'

`That's a wrap-up. The perpetrator's dead, for one thing.'

Honorius was pretending to roll scrolls neatly, but I could see him listening. Aelianus sat quiet, openly observing us.

Anacrites continued to pretend he and I were old Palace colleagues sharing confidential back-corridor news. `The file may be in the dead stacks – but it stays sensitive. The old man has a reputation for placing rapacious officials in key positions, so they can squeeze the job for all it's worth.'

I knew that. 'Vespasian and his famous fiscal sponges! Soaking up loot for the Treasury. How is this relevant to my case?'

Anacrites shrugged. `There are rumours – quite unfounded, says the Palace – that if an official then gets tried for extortion, Vespasian is even happier. If the official is found guilty, the state wins a large slice of the compensation.'

I sucked my teeth, as if shocked. `Dreadful! But come off it; you're forcing the issue. Rubirius Metellus was not the official. Negrinus was never charged so he can't be called an imperial "sponge". Silius Italicus would like you to think him public-spirited in charging the father, but he acted out of self-interest. If the Treasury obtained any benefit, it was an unsought bonus for them. I'd say the Emperor is about the only party who can be absolved from having a prejudicial interest.'

`Just seeing which way the wind blows,' murmured Anacrites. `Was it your idea?'

`Your friend Titus Caesar.'

Titus Caesar was no friend of mine, but Anacrites never ceased to be jealous that I might possess some influence he himself lacked.

We were interrupted by Paccius Africanus. `I look forward to my grilling,' smiled my prospective victim, but there was threat in his tone. I was meant to be unnerved.

As Paccius left, Anacrites made sure he shook his head ominously. Even Aelianus, standing silent beside me, gripped his fists in annoyance. Honorius, who had dumped this situation on me without warning, pretended not to notice any of it.

I had been a prosecutor on other occasions; the process held no fears. What I had never done was to attack a man of such high rank as Paccius Africanus. If I accused him of conspiracy with Calpurnia, it would blacken his reputation – and he was far too powerful to accept that. Everyone in court today – including both Paccius and Silius – knew tomorrow would bring trouble to somebody. Most thought Paccius would try something devious. So whatever happened could only harm me.

By the time we had gathered our documents and made our way outside, Helena was waiting for me at the top of the steps. She was talking to her father. He was still togate, though endearingly rumpled; his sprouting hair stood even more on end than usual, as if he had been running his hands through it obsessively. Both of them had heard my coming speech announced; both looked apprehensive as I left the Basilica.

I wanted to go straight home to prepare. Instead, Camillus Verus gathered me up. `I'm taking this fellow to the gym,' he said nonchalantly to Helena.

`Oh, Father. Not "going to the gym"? That's what Marcus says when he's off womanising and gambling.' Helena looked surprised by her father. So was I.

He winked at her, playfully. `Drinking bout. Don't tell your mother.'

`Hmm. A hangover won't help when he's in court tomorrow.'

`It's a ploy,' breezed Decimus. `It tells the opposition you are so confident you can go out to a party when you ought to be at home studying your notes.’

'I never heard that Demosthenes went on the wine when he had a big speech coming up…' Helena capitulated. `Look after him.'

`Of course. But Marcus may be late home.' Now I was worried.

Helena justina raised her eyebrows even higher. They were heavy, like her father's. 'I'll tell myself he is safely talking to you.'

`I shall be talking,' her father declared. `Marcus will be taking notes.'

His tone had changed. I had seen him serious before, though never quite so straight-faced. In fact I could not remember us ever going to the gym like this together; normally we met by chance. We saw each other in domestic contexts, but otherwise were not socially close. He was a senator and I was an informer. Nothing ever changed that.

We had not far to go. We both frequented premises at the back of the Temple of Castor. I had introduced him, for not even a senator could gain membership of this gymnasium without a recommendation. It was run by my trainer, Glaucus, on the lines of a club. Clubs were illegal, lest persons of inflammatory politics congregate in them to plot against the government. I like to avoid that sort of trouble. But a private gym such as Glaucus set up was seen as acceptably sociable. Exercise is healthy. Dumbbell clowns who can't even spell `republic' swing their arms about and heave heavy weights on to their mighty, hairy chests – don't they?