`Yes, she told us that.' Somehow Helena made it sound as if she thought Flaccida and Nonnius must have been having a torrid affair. Whether little Milvia was receptive to this much irony seemed doubtful, but I was enjoying myself. `Now,' Helena continued strictly, `I want to ask you about some of the other members of your father's business. What can you tell me about people called Little Icarus and – who else is there, Falco?'

`The Miller, Julius Caesar – no relation, I'm told – and a couple of thugs called Verdigris and the Fly.'

`Ooh, I don't know any of them!' I knew from Petro that Balbinus used to run his empire from home; the thugs I mentioned must have been in and out of his house all the time. Milvia was either lying, or very dim indeed. `They sound horrible -'

`They are,' I said tersely.

Milvia turned to Helena, looking flustered and seeking protection. `Tell him I don't have anything to do with such people.'

`She doesn't have anything to do with such people,' Helena told me dryly. Milvia had the grace to look worried that her interrogator was so-unmoved. Helena Justina possessed natural politeness (when she chose to employ it). Underneath she was shrewd and tough. Normally it was me she liked to screw to the floor with the toughness; watching her tackle someone else made a pleasant change. I had to admit she was doing it well-even though the answers were disappointing. `Tell me now,' Helena continued relentlessly, `have you ever met a rather exotic businesswoman called Lalage?'

`I don't think so. What business is she in?'

`She keeps a brothel.' Helena's voice was calm.

`Oh no!' shrieked the shocked moppet. `I've never met anyone like that!'

`Neither have I,' said Helena reprovingly. `But one ought to be aware that such places and people exist.'

`Especially', I interjected, `when such places have funded one's education and stocked one's dowry chest! If she denies knowledge of rents from brothels, ask Balbina Milvia where she thinks her family's money came from?'

Helena gave Milvia a questioning look, and the girl muttered, `From some kind of trade, I suppose.'

`Very good. From selling stolen property, and percentages on prostitution.'

`Excuse me, Falco.' It was Helena's interview; I subsided quietly. `Is trading your husband's background?' Helena queried thoughtfully.

`I believe his father was a tax-farmer.'

I nearly burst out laughing. For the first time ever, I felt tax-farming was a clean occupation.

`And what does Florius do?' asked Helena.

`Oh Florius doesn't need to work.'

`That must be nice for him. How does he spend his time, Milvia?'

`Oh this and that. Whatever men do. I don't need to set spies on him!'

`Why? Don't you care?' I challenged her. `He might be with women.'

She blushed prettily. `I know he's not. He's socialising with his menfriends.'

`Any chance the menfriends he's so pally with might be criminals?'

`No.' Again. Milvia threw an anguished appeal at Helena, as if she hoped for protection from my unjust accusation. `Florius goes to the baths, and the races, and he talks with people in the Forum, and looks at art in the porticoes -'

`Nice!' I said. It did not preclude a career in crime as well. All those activities were routine features of Roman life – and all could provide ideal cover for organising a major network in the underworld.

`So Florius is a man of the world,' mused Helena. `A man of affairs.' Florius kept his hands clean while he spent what his own forebears had earned and what his wife with the nasty relations had brought him in return for sharing his respectability. He sounded a typical middle-class parasite.

`Who is your father's heir?' I asked abruptly.

`Oh goodness, I have no idea!' Thanks, Milvia. Well up to standard.

At that point a slave entered bearing a salver on which were presented the young lady's mid-afternoon tipple and the dainty bronze cup she was to drink it from. Milvia handed over her empty fruit bowl (a heavy gilt item with finely chased bacchanal scenes). The maid poured her a dash of rich-looking red wine, headily infused with spices that clogged the strainer that filtered them. Cold water was added from a glass jug. We were invited to join her, but we both refused. Helena drank only with me; I never drank with other women when Helena was present. I also hated to have my wine thinned down so much.

`What a wonderful water jug!' cried Helena, who rarely commented on chattels when we visited strangers' homes.

'Do you like it?' Milvia grabbed it from the tray, poured the contents into a vase of flowers, and handed it to Helena. 'Do accept it as a present!'

The offer was so spontaneous I found it hard to think she was bribing us. The maid looked unsurprised. Balbina Milvia must be one of those girls who showered over-expensive gifts on everyone she came into contact with. The only child of people who moved in a restricted and secretive circle, a circle from which she herself had been shielded, she probably found it hard to make acquaintances. Her husband had little to do with her. Their social life was no doubt limited. If we could have believed she was genuinely ignorant of her father's world, we might have felt quite sorry for the girl.

Even I managed a smile as Helena turned to show me the beautiful jug. 'You're very generous. This is a fine piece. Did you buy it in Rome?'

'A family friend gave it to my husband.'

'Somebody with excellent taste. Who was that?' I kept my voice light as I took the article from Helena.

'Oh just a well-wisher. I don't know his name.'

'Won't your husband mind you giving it away?'

'He didn't seem to like it much. We haven't had it long,' replied Milvia.

About two days, I reckoned. I decided not to press the point until I had consulted Petronius, but sooner or later guileless little Milvia would have to supply the well-wisher's name. When Petro saw what she had handed over so gaily, he would probably want to search her house for more – and it would not be because he admired her choice of wineware.

What I was carefully holding was a delicate glass water jug in a translucent white, around which trailed fine spirals of dark blue; it had a twisted, twin-thread applied handle and a neat, pinched spout.

`Very fine,' Helena repeated. 'I should say that it was Syrian, wouldn't you, Marcus Didius?'

`Undoubtedly.' I could say more. Unless it was a double, this was one of the pieces Helena had bought at Tyre for my father; one taken in the Emporium raid.

I would not normally have permitted a stranger to make a present to Helena Justina. On this occasion there was no argument. We took the jug away with us.

XXXV

WELL, THAT'S HOW to do it,' Helena preened herself, as we walked back over the Aventine towards Fountain Court.

`I'm deeply impressed! If I had only approached the mother with your conciliatory line, who knows what luxuries we might have acquired for the home!' I made the idea of a present from Flaccida sound disgusting.

Helena ducked under a row of buckets hanging in a shop portico. `I admit our discovery was an accident. I'm not unreasonable.'

`You're a gem.'

`Well I prised out more information than you did.'

`You got no information, Helena! The mother refused to help us; the daughter batted her fine lashes, promised to give us anything we asked for, but then denied any knowledge to give. Different tactic; same useless results.'

`She seems genuine, Marcus. She cannot have known the water jug was stolen.'

`She cannot have known it was stolen from us!' I corrected. I sounded like some old pedantic Roman paterfamilias. Helena skipped down a kerbstone and laughed at me.

I couldn't skip. I was carrying the stolen jug.