'Hello, Marina.' I sounded pompous already.

`Hello, you bastard. Can you lend me some money?'

'Not tonight.' Lending to Marina could only be viewed as a form of civic charity; though nobody put up a-statue to you in return for doing it 'Where are you off to?' At least she seemed sober. I was wondering how to get rid of her.

'Home, dearie. Where else? Marcia likes me to sing her a lullaby.'

'No, she doesn't.'

`That's right; – she hates it. I just like to remind the little madam who's in charge.'

I refrained from saying that her mother had stopped out so late, little Marcia would be getting up for a new day soon.

The other retired braid-knotters were bobbing around my brother's girlfriend like a flock of vibrant, slightly uncoordinated birds. They went in for giggles and whispered bad language. They were worse than the marauding schoolgirls who normally patrolled in packs looking for boys to harass. These women had learned how to wield their power, and in the long process had gained nothing but contempt for men. No shred of romance was allowed to, besmirch; their brashness. They wanted to terrify me The gods only knew what they would do if they achieved it.,

`I've been looking for you ' I said.

`Oooh!' Marina's escort set up a round of mock-shocked twittering. I groaned.

`You dirty dog!'

`Settle down; this is business -'

`Ooh-hoof They were off again.

`Rome's finest,' I commented; `As highly commendable as Cornelia, the mother of the Gracchi!'

'Oh, don't go on -' Marina had a short attention span, even for making life a misery for a man.`What do you want, Falco?'

'A question. That night we met in the Forum -'

`When that weird girl threw up over the Vestals?'

`I thought she was a friend of yours?'

`Never met her before. Never seen her since. No idea who she was. She was feeling a bit demoralised so I thought I ought to see her home.' Ah well. Clearly the Braidmakers were a loving sisterhood.

'Well, never mind her – it's not the girl I'm curious about. Who was the man in the carriage that went by, the man you were shouting at??

'What carriage?' asked- Marina,; totally, unaware she had done anything of the sort. Her current friends reduced their bad behaviour to shuffling about impatiently. Bored with me, they were already looking around for somebody different to tyrannise. `I never shout at men in the Forum; don't insult me, Marcus Didius.'

I described how the vehicle had appeared out of the darkness, and how I had, overheard what sounded like a ribald exchange with somebody Marina thought she knew.

Marina thought about it.

I stood quietly, allowing her to pilot her thoughts woozily around the very small piece of human tissue that served her, as a brain. I had learned from experience that this process could take time. I also knew it would probably not be worth it, but I was the kind of dumb professional who always had to try.

`What do you mean by a carriage?' she demanded.

`Things on wheels; horse in front; person or persons can travel long distances in huge discomfort at unbearable expense

`Gods, you do like to mess around, Marcus! I must have thought it was the one I see sometimes.'

`Don't you remember? Are you guessing now?'

`Oh, I'm sure I will remember if I think about it long enough – to tell you the, truth, I was somewhat incapable of noticing much that night.'

`Well, that's frank.'

Marina was still slowly pondering. A neat frown creased her alabaster forehead; some men might have wanted to smooth away the creases, but I was on the verge of imprinting them there with a clenched fist. `It can't have been him, or he would have stopped; we have a chat if I pass him.'

`Who are we talking about?'

'A fellow who parks in our street. We all have a great laugh over it. You'll love this. He brings his master to visit respectable people, very prim family but what they don't know is: the night before he arrives looking, pious at their house, the master drops off to visit some old girl. She used to be a professional, and he's her last loyal client. He looks about a hundred; heaven knows what they can get up to We never see her; she can hardly totter to the window to wave him off next day.'

`What's his name?'

`The master or the driver? Don't ask me. I don't inspect people's birth certificates just to pass the time of day.'

`Where do they come from? Is it outside Rome? Could it be somewhere like Tibur?'

'I shouldn't think so,' murmured Marina. `You said it was a carriage, but it's not what I would call one. I'm talking about one of those sit-up-and-suffer carts like a box on two big wheels.'

No covering, but they nip along?' Getaway! The old fellow can't sit up, on front?'

`Oh, he clings on manfully.'

`Have they been in your street this week?'

`I haven't noticed,' Marina had a slightly shifty look; I guessed she wanted to avoid telling me she had been out a lot, dumping Marcia somewhere else. There was no point in trying to pursue that.

`This driver isn't a small red-haired man with a limp?''

`Oh, gods, where do you think them up? No; he's a man, so he's ugly – but ordinary.' Once again I reluctantly, acknowledged that this was not our convenient suspect Damon.

`Does he flirt?'

`How, would I know?' scoffed Marina, drawing herself up indignantly. `What's this about?'

I spoke gently: `Oh, I just wondered if the vehicle we saw, in the Forum belonged to the man who must have been there that night throwing the head of a murdered woman down the Cloaca Maxima.'

She went pale. Her fluttery friends grew still. `You're trying to frighten me.,' `Yes, I am. All of you, take care tonight. Marina, if you see this sit-up-and-suffer cart, troy to find me or Petronius.'

'Is it him? The bastard you're looking for?'

`It doesn't sound quite right, but I need to check. If it's not him, the real bastard is still likely to be out and about.'

I told her I would be coming to see her tomorrow and would want her to point out the house of the ancient prostitute, who would have to be interviewed. So much for the Street of Honour and Virtue. As usual, it was living up flagrantly to its charming name.

I stayed at the Temple until nearly dawn. I saw nothing relevant.

What Marina had said was niggling me. While I waited far longer than usual for Petro, I realised I badly wanted to consult with him. He must be clinging on until the very last minute, reluctant to admit we had wasted another night.

I walked down the temple steps, taking care not to step on any cracks in case I alerted the pavement bears. I began to pace round the Circus in search of Petro. If he was there, I never found him. Instead, by the now closed grand exit gate under its arch in the centre of the apse, I saw something that caught my attention. Torches. They were bright, and apparently newly lit, whereas the few lamps left in the streets had all faded to a dim flicker.

I had run into a, group of slaves, led by a young man- in patrician whites whom I recognised immediately. From his anxious behaviour I knew before I even called his name that he was in some kind of trouble.

`Aelianus!'

Helena's least favourite brother had been rushing to and fro outside the Circus gate. When he saw me, pride made him slow and straighten up. 'Falco!' It came out with too much urgency. He, knew that I knew he was desperate.

`Marcus Didius perhaps you can help me.'

`What's wrong?' II had a bad feeling.

`Nothing, I hope – but I seem to have lost Claudia.'

The feeling was correct then: and a nightmare had begun.