He took a deep breath. `The slave boy saw Nonnius being dragged into a house.'

I watched my old friend forcibly restrain himself. `Tell me about it,' said Petronius, ominously quiet.

`He doesn't know whose dwelling it was. He was a house slave. Normally he hardly ever went out.'

`But we found him the next day in his master's place. If he had followed the abductors, how had he got home again?'

'He says he wandered about for hours then found his way back by accident. When we arrived to investigate he had only just reached home. The front door had been smashed to pieces, so he crept inside without anybody seeing him.'

`Right. So go back to the moment it first happened. He witnessed the abduction. What exactly did he see?'

`He was sleeping in a side-room and ran out when he heard the noise. He then saw Nonnius dragged from his bedroom by several men. At that point Nonnius was gagged with something like a scarf. He was rushed out of the house, and marched through the streets. He was taken into this other house. The lad hid outside for a long time, then saw a body dragged out backwards by the feet. That was when he panicked. He guessed it must be his master. He was so afraid that he ran away.'

`He didn't see the body dumped in the Forum Boarium?'

`He says not,' declared Porcius.

`Believe him?'

`Yes. My guess is that if he had known where the body ended up we'd have found him crying beside it instead of back at home.'

Petronius Longus folded his arms. He threw back his head, staring at the stained daub of the patrol house roof. Porcius managed to remain silent while his chief pondered. Martinus, Fusculus and I exchanged looks.

Petronius lowered his gaze and applied it to the stricken recruit.

`So you discovered all this in the course of your independent plan to "lure" the witness into telling more. Now we're all going to help you resolve things, Porcius. So tell us – what exactly was your plan?'

`I thought,' Porcius gulped miserably, `I could attempt to get the slave boy to identify the house where Nonnius was killed. I thought, so as not to confuse him by going through a lot of streets, I could put him in a closed carrying chair and take him to a selection of likely spots – show him the homes of specific suspects.'

`I see.'

As Petronius glared at their unhappy young colleague, Fusculus risked chirping, `So what's the plan now, chief?'

`Pretty obvious,' snapped Petro. `We put the black child in a carrying chair and show him suspects' homes! Our young colleague may be irresponsible, but his idea has a certain charm. Where's the boy, Porcius?'

`I'll fetch him -'

`No. Fusculus will fetch him. You'll tell Fusculus where he has to go.' This distrust of Porcius seemed hard. Petronius strode from the room before anyone could attempt to arbitrate.

Porcius appealed to me for sympathy: `I thought it was a good idea!'

I clapped him on the shoulder. `Don't worry about it. But on this case, protect your back, Porcius. Don't bother having big ideas.'

Fusculus started sauntering off; he turned back and beckoned slowly to Porcius, who scuttled after him. Martinus stayed grinning at me.

`Resignation time?' I asked, nodding after the anguished figure of the recruit.

`Who knows? Nice lad,' Martinus told me. `Sends all his pay home to his mother, doesn't play around with women, doesn't leer at the male scribes, doesn't have smelly feet or tell bad jokes, turns up for his shift on time. Seems absolutely nothing wrong with him.'

`Oh right!' I remarked, pretending to catch on at last. `I can see he was never going to fit in with this cohort!'

I was joking, but the angry scene had left a bad feeling. The pressure was on now. I would hate to think any part of the Fourth might be cracking up. Especially the part that Petronius Longus ran – and most of all Petronius himself.

The Nonnius slave was taken to see the houses of a couple of big gang leaders, which at least served to eliminate rivals to the Balbinus empire; he recognised none of them. He was shown Plato's Academy; still nothing. He was then asked to look at the lovely homes of Flaccida and Milvia. He saw Milvia's first, and wasn't sure. He made up his mind the minute we let him out of the chair at Flaccida's.

He was eight years old, still in shock, and incoherent with fright. There was no way we could have used his evidence in court, even if the law had allowed it. As it was, we could only quote him if we extracted his story under torture. Petro decided not to try. One glimpse of Sergius wielding the red-hot forceps and this fragile soul was likely to drop off his twig.

There were plenty of problems with the boy's story. A barrister would tear it to shreds. Nonnius had been taken away not by Flaccida herself, but by a group of men, none of whom we could yet identify. The slave boy could give no descriptions. Petronius was in no position to make arrests. But for our own purposes, although we could not prove Flaccida had been involved in anything, at least we knew: Nonnius Albius had been murdered at her house. Work on the case had begun to simplify at last.

`So what are you going to do?' I asked Petro as we walked back towards the patrol house. `Interview Flaccida?'

`You said you did that, Falco.'

`I wasn't able to make her sweat. It was before we had a lead on the Nonnius death. I couldn't frighten her with a witness.' `Neither can I.' Petronius was a realist.

`So you leave her bust up on its pedestal?'

He stopped on a street corner, stretching his neck. He rubbed one hand all around inside the neck of his tunic, as if the hem was causing a rash. What irritated Petro was something else. He hated to see criminals getting away with a crime.

`The bust can keep its station – but I'll chuck a few stones at it. Flaccida's the one to work on, though we need something indirect. Forget Nonnius. I'll nail Flaccida for him one day. And I'll nail her for Alexander too, though as yet don't ask me how.' I could see he had made up his mind. `We've made an advance on the murders. Let's go back to the Emporium and Saepta thefts, Falco. Let's see if we can trace your father's pretty Syrian glass.'

I had known him long enough to recognise which approach he was planning. `You reckon our brothel prank is now safely forgotten and you can drag me off on some new escapade.'

`Exactly. Comb your hair for once, Falco. You and I are going to spend the afternoon chatting like dangerous degenerates with lovely little Milvia!'

XLVII

MILVIA WAS AT home. This confirmed my previous impression that she led a lonely life. It seemed she rarely went out. Still, staying in this afternoon had brought the lucky girl the pair of us.

`I'm getting too old for this,' I joked as Petro and I waited for her to be told her good fortune. No doubt she wanted to jump into her nicest frock.

`You've forgotten how. Just follow my lead.'

We sat up and tried looking like sober citizens as Milvia tripped through the door.

She seemed delighted to see us. When she rushed in, all pleated white stoles and dainty ribbons, I had forgotten quite what a pretty girl she was. This was certainly more pleasant than exchanging barbs with that hard nut her mother. Of course we did not place too much faith in Milvia; in our time, Petronius and I had been flattered then dumped in a midden by plenty of round-eyed, honest-looking girls.

When we asked her again about the glass flagon, she told the same tale: a present from someone to Florius. Petronius demanded a sight of her household shelves. `But you have looked at them!' Milvia cried wonderingly.

`I'd like to look again.' Petronius Longus could manage to sound as, stern as if he were inspecting an unauthorised standpipe on an aqueduct, yet with a subtle hint of approving comment on a woman's physique. What a dog.