`Yes, legate.''

`No litter?' demanded Petro. `No carriage No cart in sight?'

`He told you.' Pia wanted to be shot of us now. `There was nothing.'

If she was right there could be various explanations. The encounter they saw may have had nothing at all to do with Asinia's later abduction. Or maybe the killer harassed the girl then pretended to leave her, but followed – unnoticed by Pia and Mundus – to grab her when she was alone and get her to his transport later. Or else he made initial contact had a look at her, decided if she met his requirements – then went off for transport he was keeping nearby, and trapped her in a quieter street. If the first conversation was amiable, it might make the girl an easier target the second time he caught up with, her.

`It was him,' I decided.

`Most likely,' Petro agreed.

We told the dewy-eyed lovers to go. They vanished down

the Via Latina,. Mundus slobbering all over Pia while she coarsely insulted him.

'She still wants to lie to us on principle.' It was my turn to announce the verdict, `If she could get away with it she would. But the radish is telling the truth.'

`Oh, he's a darling,' Petronius agreed glumly. `Pure and true. And his lack of remorse for Asinia is almost as heartwarming as Pia's. Where would we be without such upright citizens to assist our work?'

The crowds had mainly dispersed by now. Only dawdlers who would be out carousing until they fell down in the gutters were still here.' Petro was intending to stay out all night, on surveillance. My stamina was up to it, but my liking, for the task had spoiled. I said I would walk the route Asinia might have taken, then work back for a look along the river before going home. Since I had a 'Woman and child waiting for me, Petro accepted that. He did not need his hand held. He had always been a loner when it came to work. So had I. Maybe this was the best way for us to continue our partnership.

I went all the way to Caius Cicurrus' house. I saw nothing unusual. The house was shuttered and in darkness. Cypress trees framed the doorway as a sign of mourning. I wondered how long they would have to be kept there before Cicurrus was able to hold a funeral.

I strolled back towards the Forum by a slightly different route. I still saw nothing, except cat burglars and the kind of pavement-creeping women who had men waiting up alleys to rob their hapless clients. I considered asking if they had ever noticed a handsome black woman being snatched off the street. But approaching them was asking to get my head cracked open. I know when to chicken out.

I hit the Forum just north of the Temple of Venus and Rome. I started walking down the Sacred Way, keeping my ears and eyes peeled, like a prowling animal watching every shadow for movement. I kept to the centre of the road, treading the uneven old slabs as quietly as possible.

By the Temple of Vesta a girl was bent double being noisily sick. Another woman was holding on to her. As I approached warily a casual vehicle clattered from a side street: unladen and no passenger, a one-horse country trap. The wench who was more or less upright called out brazenly to the driver. He ducked his head, apparently terrified of being hassled, and hurried on the horse, quickly turning away from' the Forum again somewhere up by the Basilica Julia.

I sighed gently. Then, although it would normally have been against my principles to go anywhere near such a couple of tipsy witches, I strode straight across to them. The one who had called out was Marina, the mother of my little niece Marcia. I had recognised her voice.

There were, probably more people here with us than we realised, but they were lurking around the Regia, flitting among temple, columns, or hovering in the deep shadow under the Arch of Augustus. Nobody I could actually see was within earshot. Just as well. The tall girl flopping over Marina's left arm had just been sick against the stately Corinthian columns of the Temple of Vesta. This was supposed to resemble an ancient hut built of wood and straw though the mock antique construction appeared pretty crisp. It was less than a decade old, having been burnt down in Nero's great fire then hastily rebuilt to ensure the continued existence of Rome. Marina's friend was making a stout job of imparting a more weathered look to the new colonnade.

The girl being ill with such gusto was also very thin, like a, long puppet who had lost her stuffing, hooked around the waist by Marina. Marina herself only came halfway up my chest even when she was upright a feat she achieved rather unsteadily at the moment. I was accosting a seriously disgraceful pair of women, and I felt ten years too old for it.

`Hello, Marcus. Something for the sacred housekeepers to clean up!'

Marina may have lacked stature but what there was of her had a well-packed allure that turned heads at all levels. She was dressed to show it off, and gorgeously painted. With her free right hand – she made a mannered obscene gesture. `Bitches!' she yelled at the House of the Vestals, rather more loudly than was wise when addressing the guardians of the Sacred Flame. Her friend threw up again. 'Stuff that up your Palladium!' Marina growled at the hallowed hut.

`Now look here,' I began weakly. `What's happening to -'

`Marcia's at home, idiot.' She's safely tucked up in her own little bed, and my neighbour's daughter's' looking after her. Clean, sensible girl, thirteen years old, not interested in boys

yet, thank the gods – Anything else your nosiness wants to I know?'

`Have you been at the Games?'

`Certainly not. Too full of low characters. Is that where you've been, Falco?' The, gorgeous vision cackled with abominable laughter.

A lamp stood on the ground, placed there while Marina attended to her companion: By its wavering light I could see my brother's exotic; girlfriend: translucent skin, breathtakingly regular features, and the remote beauty of a temple statue: Only when she spoke did the mystique fade; she had the voice of a winkle-seller. Even then, she had just to roll those huge eyes a few times and I remembered all too clearly the jealous throb that used to drive me wild when Festus was bedding her. Then Festus died and I had to pay Marina's bills. That helped keep me chaste.

`If you weren't at the Games, what coven have you witches been casting spells at?'

`We ladies,' Marina enunciated pompously, although she did seem a great deal more sober than whoever was vomiting against the Temple, `have been at the monthly reunion of the Braidmakers' Old Girls.'

There had once been a rumour that Marina worked in the field of tunic decoration, though she was doing her best to disprove it. The only thing she reckoned to twist nowadays, was me. `Isn't this late to be leaving a party, girl?'

`No, it's quite early for the Braidmakers.' She let out a, disreputable giggle.' An answering hiccup came faintly from, the bent beanpole.

`Dawn daisies, eh? I suppose when you finished; disporting., yourself among the pensioned-off tassel-knotters, you came home by way of a tipple at the Four Fish?'

`As I recollect, it was the Old Grey Dove, Marcus Didius.'

'And the Oystershell?'

`Then probably the Venus of Cos. It was bloody Venus who did for this one -'

Marina applied more tender nurture to her friend – an act which consisted of jerking her upright and forcing her head back, with a dangerous click of the neck. `Well, keep your voice lower,' I muttered. `You'll have the Vestals scampering out here in their nightclothes to investigate.'

`Forget it! They're too busy screwing the Pontifex Maximus around the sacred hearth.'

If I was to be hauled before a judge on a treason trial, I would rather choose the infamy for myself. It seemed high time to leave. `Can you get home all right?'