`I don't remember that.'

`The British procurator's daughter.'

`Oh, Aunt Camilla's eldest!' She did remember now; her blush told me. 'Flavia.'

'Flavia!' I agreed, grinning at her. I could see she had recalled the scene: a polite family group, educated after-dinner people discussing whether it might rain the next day, then I prowled in, newly landed in the province, flexing my class prejudice and intending to break bones if anyone offered me any pleasantries.

`What was he doing?' giggled Silvia.

`Scowling,' replied Helena patiently. `He looked as if a Titan had just stepped on his foot and crushed his big toe. I was staying with nice people who had been very kind to me, then this hero turned up, like Milo of Croton looking for a tree to split with his fist. He was exhausted, miserable and exasperated by his work

`Sounds normal!'

`But he still managed to be rude to me.'

`The lout!'

'In a way that made me want to -'

`Go to bed with me?' I offered.

`Prove you wrong!' Helena roared, still hot-headed at the thought.

When I met her in Britain she had thoroughly overturned me: I had started out believing her stuck-up, strict, ill-humoured, uncharitable and untouchable; then I fell for her so hard I was barely able to believe my luck when she did go to bed with me.

`And what were you after, Falco?' Silvia was half hoping for a salacious answer.

I wanted Helena as my partner for life. That was too shocking to mention to a prim little piece like Silvia. I reached for the fruit bowl and savagely bit a pear.

`We're still waiting to hear about this task you two have for the Emperor!' Making Silvia change the subject was simplicity itself. If you ignored one remark she came out with something different. That did not mean you liked it better.

I saw Petro frown slightly. We both wanted to let things ride. We still had to manoeuvre for position, and we didn't need women helping us.

`Which of you is taking the lead in this venture?' Helena asked curiously. She could always find really awkward questions. `I am,' said Petro.

`Excuse me!' I had wanted to sort this out privately with him, but we were now trapped. `I work independently. I don't take orders from anyone.'

`I'm head of the special enquiry,' said Petro. `You'll have to work with me.'

`My commission comes direct from Vespasian. He always gives me a free hand.'

`Not in my district.'

`I hadn't foreseen any conflict.'

`You hadn't been thinking then!' muttered Helena.

`There's no conflict,' Petronius said calmly.

`Oh no. It's all pretty clear. You intend to be planning the work, giving the orders and leading the team. That leaves me sweeping the office.'

Suddenly he grinned. `Sounds fair – and I suppose you're competent!'

`I can wield a broom,' I agreed, though I was conceding nothing. `We can work something out,' Petronius murmured airily.

`Oh we can operate in tandem. We've been friends for a long time.' That was why it was impossible for either of us to be in sole charge, of course. Helena had seen that immediately.

`Of course,' confirmed Petro, with the briefest of smiles. Nothing was settled, but we left it at that to avoid a furious argument.

XIII

FOUNTAIN COURT ON a quiet October evening had its usual soiled and sultry charm. A faint pall of black smoke from the lampblack ovens drifted languidly five feet above the lane looking for passers-by with clean togas or tunics to smudge. Amidst its acrid tang lingered scents of sulphur from the laundry and rancid fat frying. Cassius the baker had been making veal pies earlier with too much juniper by the smell. Above us people had hung bedding over their balconies, or sat there airing their fat backsides over a parapet while they shouted abuse at members of their family hidden indoors. Some idiot was hammering madly. A weary young girl staggered past us, almost unable to walk under the weight of the long garlands of flowers she had spent all day weaving for dinner parties in louche, wealthy homes.

A thin scruffy dog sat outside Lenia's, waiting for someone soft-hearted it could follow home.

`Don't look,' I commanded Helena. I took her hand as we crossed the dusty street to ask Cassius to give us the key to the empty apartment.

Cassius was a genial fellow, though he had never deigned to notice that Helena Justina was attached to me. He sold her loaves, at more or less reasonable prices; he chucked me the occasional stale roll while we swapped gossip. But even when Helena appeared in his shop with her noble fist grasped in mine, Cassius gave no acknowledgement that he was addressing a couple. He must regard us, as unsuitable; well, he was not alone. I thought we were unsuitable myself – not that that would stop me.

`Ho, Falco!'

`Got the key for upstairs?'

`What idiot wants that?'

`Well, I'll have a look -'

'Hah!' chipped Cassius, as if I had dared to suggest one of his whole grain crescent baps had a spot of mould.

Refusing to be put off, we made him go for the key, which had been abandoned for so long he had lost it somewhere behind a mountain of sacks in his flour store. While we waited for him to track down the nail he had hung it on, I hunted for interesting crumbs in the bread roll display baskets, and grinned at Helena.

`It's right, you know. You looked quite at home that time I saw you with Aelia Camilla's little girl. A natural!'

'Flavia was not my child,' said Helena, in a cold voice.

Cassius came back, armed with an iron key the size of a ratchet on some dockyard winding gear. Being nosy, he made sure he kept hold of it and came with us up the dilapidated stone steps beside his shop. Not many of the treads were completely broken away; if you kept near the wall it was almost safe. Using both hands, Cassius struggled to turn the key in a rusted lock. Failing, we discovered the easiest way in was to push open the back edge of the door and squeeze through the matted spiderwebs that had been acting as hinges.

It was very dark. Cassius boldly crossed to a window and threw back a shutter; it dropped off in his hand. He cursed as the heavy wood crashed to the floor, leaving splinters in his fingers and grazing his leg on the way.

`Frankly,' Helena decided at once, `this seems a bit too elegant for us!'

It was out of the question. Deeply depressed, I insisted on seeing everything.

`Who lives upstairs, Cassius?'

`No one. The other apartments are even worse than this. Mind you, I saw some old bag woman poking round this afternoon.'

Disaster. The last thing we needed was vagrants for close neighbours. I was trying to become more respectable.

Huge sheets of plaster hung away from the wall slats, which themselves bowed inwards alarmingly. The floors dipped several inches every time we trod the boards, which we did very delicately. The joists must have gone. Since the floor joists should have been tying the whole building together, this was serious. All the internal doors were missing. So, as Lenia had warned me, was the floor in the back rooms.

`What's that down there?'

`My log store,' said Cassius. True. We could see the logs through

his ceiling. Presumably when Cassius was loading his oven,

sometime before dawn, anyone upstairs would hear him rolling

the logs about.

The place was derelict. We would not be asking for a lease from

Smaractus. Cassius lost interest and left to tend his leg, which was

now bleeding badly. `Is this your dog down here, Falco?' `Certainly not. Chuck a rock at him.' `It's a girl.'

`She still not mine – and she's not going to be!'

Helena and I stayed, too dispirited to shift. She gazed at me. She