Eventually a clerk with a buttoned-up mouth and a disapproving squint called us into an anteroom. He got my name wrong, on purpose probably. The praetor had recoiled from an interview with me. His clerk was to do the dirty work. The bureau beetle buried his nose in a scroll, lest he inadvertently made human contact. Somebody had told him that just looking at an informer can give you impetigo and a year's bad luck.

`You are Marcus Didius Falco? The Procurator of the Sacred Geese?' He could hardly believe it; somebody in the secretariats must have nodded off. At least the judgmental swine could understand why my appointment had gone wrong. `The magistrate is greatly perturbed by this accusation of impiety. Irreverence to the gods and dereliction of temple duties are shocking misdemeanours. The magistrate regards them as abhorrent and would impose the highest penalty if such charges were ever proven -'

`The charges are trumped up and slanderous,' I commented. My tone was benign but Helena kicked me. I elbowed her back; she was just as likely as me to interrupt this parakeet.

Repartee was not in his script so the clerk continued for some time, rehearsing the magistrate's pompous views. They had been helpfully recorded on the scroll – ensuring that somebody's back was well covered. Wondering exactly who needed to clear themselves for posterity, I let the insults roll. Eventually the stylus-pusher remembered that he had a lunchtime meeting with his betting syndicate. He shut up. I asked what was to happen. He forced himself to give me the news. The mighty magistrate's opinion was: charges dismissed; no case to answer.

I managed to hold out until we reached the street outside. I grasped Helena by the shoulders and pulled her around until she faced me.

`Oh Marcus, you are furious!'

`Yes!' I was relieved – but I hated having things manipulated for me. `Who fixed it, fruit?'

A glimmer of mischief smouldered in those huge brown eyes. `I have no idea.'

`Who did your father trot off to see last night?'

`Well, he went to see the Emperor -' I began to speak. `But Vespasian was busy -' I fell silent again. `So I believe father saw Titus Caesar.'

`And what did bloody Titus have to say?'

`Marcus darling, I expect he just listened. Papa was quite angry that you had been left to your fate. My father said, he could not stand by while his two darling little granddaughters were damned – incorrectly – with a charge of having an impious father, so although you felt obliged to stay silent about your recent imperial missions, Papa himself would go to court and give evidence on your behalf.'

`So Titus -'

`Titus likes to do a good deed every day.'

`Titus is an idiot. You know I hate all patronage. I never asked to be rescued. I don't want to sweeten the conscience of an imperial playboy.'

`You'll live with it,' Helena responded cruelly. `I understand Titus Caesar suggested that the praetor – with one eye on his future consulship – could probably be brought to see (with his other eye presumably; how lucky he has never had a spear-throwing accident…) that Procreus has no evidence.'

`I'm stuck then.' I gazed at her. Ridiculous humour sparkled back at me. `I don't care a duck's fart if my daughters are labelled with impiety – but to provide for them, I have an urgent need to be respectable.'

`You make a perfect head of household,' Helena told me lovingly. She could smarm like a minor goddess on the loose from Olympus for the night. Any shepherds out roaming the Seven Hills had better jump in a ditch to hide.

`I give in. Helena Justina, the law is wonderful.'

`Yes, Marcus. I never cease to be glad that we live in a society with a fine judicial system.'

I was about to say, as she expected from me, `and systematically corrupt'. I never did. We stopped joking, because while we stood there bantering, her brother Justinus came running to find us. As he bent double, catching his breath, I could tell from his expression he had brought upsetting news.

`You had better come, Marcus. Calpurnia Cara's house.'

LV

As we walked, Quintus explained hastily. He had gone back to pressurise the steward, Celadus. Celadus was still snoozing at the bar this morning, though he had had to sober up because the barkeeper had complained that his drunkenness was bad for trade. While Quintus talked to him again, they saw a messenger from Paccius, sent to find out why Calpurnia had not appeared in court today. As usual, nobody at the house answered the door.

If even her lawyer did not know where she was, that was worrying. Justinus and Celadus broke into the house. They found Calpurnia dead.

By the time we returned there, a small crowd had gathered. However, nobody was trying to go in. Sightseers had gathered in the street by the two empty shops and remained there. We walked down the passage to the yellow Egyptian obelisks.

The front door stood ajar. Inside, Celadus was sitting on the back of the sphinx in the atrium, his head in his hands. He was cursing himself for loitering at the bar when he could have prevented what happened. Still loyal to his patrons, he was mightily upset. Justinus stayed in the atrium with him. Helena and I walked swiftly to the bedroom. The house was cold and echoed emptily. Nobody had been here for several days.

We found Calpurnia Cara lying on her bed. She was fully clothed and positioned on top of the bedcovers. Her dress was formal, her grey hair neatly pinned – though her manner of dying had caused convulsions that disturbed her careful layout. Only her shoes had been removed before she took up her place; they stood together on a floor rug. She wore a single gold necklace, which we now knew was probably the only piece of jewellery she still owned.

It was perfectly clear that what had occurred here was suicide. On a table beside her lay an open sardonyx box, mocking the scene she had staged previously for her dead husband. It looked to be the same box purchased all that time ago from Rhoemetalces for Metellus. Flimsy fragments of gold leaf were scattered beside the box, which was empty. There would have been four corn cockle pills left, after the apothecary swallowed one in court. Calpurnia must have broken open all four remaining pills and removed the outer shell of gold. Then she swallowed the corn cockle seeds, which she washed down with water from a glass that had afterwards fallen beside her hand on the coverlet.

A sealed letter addressed to her children was on the side table. I took it, then we left hastily. The side-effects of the poison were unpleasant and the corpse had deteriorated since she died.

Calpurnia must have killed herself the day she was last seen in court. That was when the charge against her had seemed likely to hold up, before we knew she was innocent. She never knew we had withdrawn the charge.

It would have been easy to blame myself. And believe me, I did.

We took the steward with us, making the house secure again behind us. To be certain all was in order, I asked Justinus to wait outside until the family sent someone. Helena went home, knowing I would join her shortly.

With Celadus silent beside me, I walked to the younger daughter's home. That was closest, and I knew Carina better than Juliana. I would have to speak to the husband first; I preferred to broach Verginius Laco rather than the ill-tempered Canidianus Rufus, who always seemed so irritated by his in-laws' misfortunes. I found Laco in. I told him the news, offered our sympathies, passed him the letter from Calpurnia (which I noticed was addressed only to her two daughters, not to Negrinus). I mentioned to Verginius Laco that I hoped this would mean the family secret could now be revealed.

Since Laco had always seemed a decent sort, and since within limits I trusted him, I brought him up to date on the murder of Metellus senior by Saffia. Licinius Lutea had been Saffia's associate in the blackmail and could have known about the poisoning, though he would deny all of it. Whatever Lutea knew about the Metellus family could still trouble them. The secret might come out anyway. I told Laco I thought both Silius Italicus and Paccius Africanus had known all along that Metellus had been murdered, and who really did it. Bratta was in custody over a related issue and might be persuaded to confess all sorts of things to the vigiles; Petronius would let Bratta think he would receive favourable treatment in the Spindex killing if he offered other information.