The Fourth Cohort had been formally reprimanded by Rubella for running wild. They had been confined to their patrol houses overnight to calm them down. This had the useful side benefit of allowing Rubella to visit each station and ensure that the official story of their incursion into another cohort's district was understood by all. Luckily most civilians were unable to distinguish between one cohort and another anyway.

Among the dead, the Fourth had lost one of their youngest officers, Porcius. The burial club was to provide him with a basic funeral, though his tribune had to tell the family that regretfully his short time in service, and other factors, meant that no claim for compensation could be allowed.

Official annoyance about the disturbance had been mitigated by the night's other results. Arrested at the brothel called the Bower of Venus were an astonishing number of criminals. It was estimated that tracing and returning stolen property recovered would take the vigiles three months. So many runaway slaves had been rounded up that the Prefect of the Vigiles held a special all-day session for owners wanting to reclaim them (those owners, that is, who were prepared to give house room to a sullen slave who had been exposed to bad company at Plato's). The power of a notorious organised gang had been broken. Among the street operators rounded up were every kind of hustler, cat burgler and cudgel boy, and in addition there was evidence of a kidnap racket operated by some of the prostitutes.

The main evidence of this pin-money racket had been provided by Helena Justina. There was one intriguing aspect that we did not make public: Helena had obtained a confession that the baby I found in the rubbish skip had been stolen by the girls. One of the hags at Plato's had realised he was deaf. When his family refused to ransom him, he was taken up on the Aventine and dumped there by a onetime doorman at the brothel. Macra told us this was the man who did all their snatching – Castus, who had also stabbed the Lycian when Lalage and Nonnius were setting out to betray Balbinus Pius. Castus no longer worked at the brothel; he had been a Balbinus stooge, and Lalage had sent him packing after the trial. He had been apprehended and was awaiting his turn for detailed questioning.

Helena Justina knew who the stolen baby's family were. The last people on the list had finally spoken to her: they denied that they had ever had a baby, let alone that the child was missing, even though a frightened nurse had originally reported it. And who were these forgetful parents? None other than a certain Very Important Patrician and his well-connected, extremely wealthy wife. According to gossip the woman was now pregnant again. Helena and I had decided not to insist on restoring their son to them. We did not even tell them he had been identified.

The famous brothel-keeper at the Bower of Venus had been discovered dead. As a result the authorities believed that one of Rome's most sordid bordellos might now lapse into decline. (Not everyone shared this fond hope.) Its landlord had promised to take action, anyway.

I had met Florius standing outside Plato's Academy with a long scroll in his hand. He had been informed by the Prefect of the Vigiles that this was one of his properties. Horrified, he told me that he had called for a full list of the sites he had acquired with Milvia's dowry. Obviously, as a decent equestrian he would now inspect the estate, and do everything possible to clean it up.

There was only one failure amongst all this fervent reform. We had scoured the brothel, and other places named to us by arrested criminals. Nowhere had we found any trace of Balbinus Pius.

Petronius and the Fourth Cohort spent all their time searching Rome for him. Balbinus had lost his empire. His wife and daughter were under surveillance. He had no regular income, though we knew all too well he would never lack funds. Petro looked hard at any property where he was known to have had connections, but if he had any sense he would take out a lease anonymously somewhere else. He could be anywhere. He could even by now have left Rome altogether. All the ports and all the provincial governors had been notified, but he could have slipped away to anywhere in the known world. Lalage had warned me he would have adopted a disguise.

For days the search continued. I helped, whenever I was free from the eternal writing of reports. I also spent a great deal of time at the gymnasium, trying to get in shape. For one thing, it was my belief that the big rissole would never leave Rome, which was his natural territory. If we cornered him, it would be highly dangerous. In addition, I needed all my strength for a domestic event: on the day before the Kalends of November, Helena and I, Petro, his wife and children, his enquiry team, my family and many of my relatives were going to a wedding.

It had been planned for the Kalends, but at the last minute my mother took charge of the chaotic arrangements. Her first action was to change the date. She pointed out to Lenia that it is regarded as unlucky to marry on the first day of a month. Lenia burst into tears, then plumped for the last day of October instead.

Some of us thought that for marrying Smaractus the unlucky day would have been far more appropriate.

LXV

TWO DAYS BEFORE the Kalends, I was going crazy trying to obtain a cheap white sheep. All it had to do was behave nicely while I cut its throat and skinned it – a task which as a town boy I viewed with distaste, though for Lenia's sake I would grimly go through with it. She wanted all the trimmings. Auguries, and the bit where the bride and groom sit together on the sheepskin the sheepskin that I had to provide. Yes, I had to skin it neatly because everybody would be watching, and I also had to keep the blood off so none marred the bride's highly expensive wedding gear.

Those with an aptitude for logistics will have worked out that to avoid disaster it was necessary to choose and purchase my animal the day before it was needed. I could not risk ending up as the wedding priest who had nothing to sacrifice. Having bought it, I then had to find somewhere to keep the thing.

Maia made Famia agree it could go to the Greens stable. The laundry yard would have been a more sensible overnight billet, but by then Lenia had become hysterical at the thought of any action that might bring bad luck. I could have stowed the woolly one with a neighbour, but I was afraid I would wake to the tantalising scent of roast mutton with garlic and rosemary.

I had to take the sheep to the stables myself. And on the morning of the wedding, I had to cross the city to fetch her back. I made a nice little lead for her. I felt like a clown. From the Plain of Mars to the top of the Aventine is a damned long way.

On the way home I decided to stop at the Temple of Castor baths, so I would be sweet-smelling and ready to put on my clean outfit. As a gesture to Lenia I took the sheep through with me and washed her as well. For some reason Glaucus was horrified. Don't ask me why. There was nobody important there in the morning, and I had paid her entrance fee.

Returning home I ran into turmoil as young women rushed around trying to deck the laundry with garlands while old crones sat sipping strong drinks and discussing other people's bowel problems. The facade on Fountain Court had been hung with elaborately painted sheets. The doorway was almost impenetrably blocked with a prickly fringe of branches and flowers. Unlit torches lining the street outside were crying out to be sabotaged by passing youths.

The whole neighbourhood had been disrupted by this ridiculous fling. Lenia and Smaractus had taken to heart the dictum that a good wedding should advertise itself. The back yard of the laundry was being used for huge bonfires, already slowly roasting various whole beasts. Fountain Court was full of delivery men and curious onlookers. As a temporary measure the unhappy couple were even using the empty apartment above the bakery, the one I had rejected summarily. There they had stored the amazing number of presents given to them, together with little parcels of sweets that would be bestowed on guests (in return for their ordeal, no doubt) and the nuts which Smaractus would fling to any onlookers watching the torchlight procession (as a symbol of fertility: dreadful thought). Smaractus was coming to live at the laundry after the marriage, so for one night they were even using the place opposite as a token `bridegroom's house'. Workmen had mended the floor and installed a bed.