Petronius shot me a dark look. He thought I had known all along. In fact, I had only just decided for sure the coincidences added up.

To Laeta I breezed, 'Lucius Petronius and I are already on this. We have been working together; I am just back from reconnaissance.' Now it was Laeta's turn to look annoyed with me; he thought I was angling for payment. He was right too. 'If you are sending in headquarters assessors it makes sense to include me. I'll do it for my usual rates.'

'You're too expensive, Falco.'

'You can't afford to peel manpower off the Fourth Cohort. Petronius and I have history as a team; he can't tackle this alone - - and if Vespasian wants to distance himself from these freedmen, he knows I'm his man.'

To my surprise, Laeta reluctantly nodded. Probably he thought if this went wrong, he now had someone else to blame.

'It's more than neighbourhood annoyance,' said Petronius, impatient with our negotiations. 'The tomb death was not a singleton, an accident of tempers flaring; Modestus had been stalked, all the way to Rome. He was mutilated - the killer returned to the body for more of that after death.'

I saw Laeta moisten dry lips. 'I need to demonstrate we are dealing with more than one random murder.' He was still worrying over the bureaucracy.

'Modestus' wife is also missing, most certainly dead too. Not even a body,' said Petro. 'The killer may have kept her corpse for -'

'I see!' Laeta must be squeamish.

'Treats in the larder,' explained Petro relentlessly. Laeta closed his eyes. Petro scowled sombrely, mentally dwelling on the circumstances.

'Other murders are likely, going back over many years, Laeta,' I weighed in. 'Petronius reckons this killer will strike again, until he is captured and stopped.'

'Ah, one of those!' Laeta pretended to be a crime expert. 'No one has ever suggested the Claudii are that that bad.' bad.'

'When such murderers are exposed, people are always surprised,' I pointed out. 'He kept to himself, but he never seemed violent. None of us had any idea 'He kept to himself, but he never seemed violent. None of us had any idea - that's how repeat killers get away with it. Only with hindsight does it all seem bloody obvious.' - that's how repeat killers get away with it. Only with hindsight does it all seem bloody obvious.'

I was supposed to have the reputation for mischief, but it was Petro who asked, 'You came up through the imperial household yourself, Laeta. Did you ever encounter these backwoodsmen? Were you slaves together?'

Claudius Laeta battled a shudder. 'No; absolutely not. Though it's a small world. I am sure you could find palace staff who have met them in the past. . . But during their time in the imperial familia, familia, these were merely low-grade rural slaves. It is said they worked originally at a villa beloved of the Emperor Augustus at Antium. Nero tore it down - how typical of the man - - and rebuilt on a scale that he fancied was more glamorous. Probably at that time the Claudii were deemed superfluous. You know, there is a difference between rough country slaves, labouring anonymously in the fields as shepherds, mowers, tillers or harvesters, and those of us who are fortunate enough to be trained for duties close to emperors.' these were merely low-grade rural slaves. It is said they worked originally at a villa beloved of the Emperor Augustus at Antium. Nero tore it down - how typical of the man - - and rebuilt on a scale that he fancied was more glamorous. Probably at that time the Claudii were deemed superfluous. You know, there is a difference between rough country slaves, labouring anonymously in the fields as shepherds, mowers, tillers or harvesters, and those of us who are fortunate enough to be trained for duties close to emperors.'

'Understood!' Petronius could be a bastard. 'So, they were batch field workers . . .' He kept pushing. 'Your paths never crossed?'

'No.' Laeta remained polite but cold. 'You could ask Momus,' he added offhandedly to me. He managed to imply I had no scruples in my choice of personal contacts.

Momus started life as a gruesome slave-overseer. Since he lacked both intellect and morals, he had been assigned to a palace audit section; according to him, his job description was to audit the spies. Interpreting that as an order to cut staff numbers, Momus strove to make Anacrites fall down a very deep well or float off a high parapet. I got on well with Momus. Laeta, who was more fastidious, regarded him as a major disease - - but possibly useful.

'He is foul - though he knows the slave rostas. I intend to have a chat!' I assured Laeta happily. Now Laeta was wondering if Momus knew any secrets about him him and would Momus tell and would Momus tell me? me? 'Careful intelligence will be needed on this case, Laeta. I suppose it's a coup for you, grabbing the job from Anacrites?' 'Careful intelligence will be needed on this case, Laeta. I suppose it's a coup for you, grabbing the job from Anacrites?'

'So sad for him.' Claudius Laeta beamed, a disconcerting sight. 'I hear the Emperor has posted dear Anacrites on a mission to Istria -insultingly straightforward and boringly diplomatic. Here, he could have been gaining praise by saving the Emperor from association with the menace of the Claudii - Anacrites will be livid!' livid!'

Laeta was smiling. Petronius Longus and I were smiling too. The job stank. But we were all united in a bond of happiness that we had a chance to snatch credit away from the Chief Spy.

Before we left, Laeta found it in himself to say to me, a little awkwardly, 'I was so sorry to hear about your father and your child, Falco.'

He had left it too late in the conversation. It failed to come over as genuine. I brushed his condolences aside.

XIV.

As we left, Petronius and I took a detour past the smelly hutch Momus normally occupied; there was no sign of him. I did not make enquiries. Momus was grisly; I preferred not to know about his leisure time. His room must have been shabby to start with, but he had let it grow squalid; in a palace full of slaves with buckets and sponges he had no need to endure this. Even Petronius, who saw the world's worst in his work for the vigiles, raised an eyebrow at the rancid accommodation.

On the opposite side of a long corridor lay Anacrites' office. Now we knew he was away, I opened the door and invited Petro inside. They had met a couple of times and Petro had a personal interest. Anacrites, who made a habit of hanging around my family, at one time took a shine to Maia. Maia saw through him; sensing he was dangerous, she backed out of whatever relationship they had. His response was to send men who trashed her home, terrifying Maia and her four young children. Even now, Anacrites could not see how that vicious action only proved she was right to drop him.

I would pay him back. He thought he had got away with it. He still hung around my mother as if she had adopted him, and he greeted me like an old, affectionate colleague. He would learn.

The good result had been Maia taking up with Petro soon afterwards. He knew her story. He, too, had not forgotten. Like me, he was determined to deal with Anacrites one day, one day at the right moment.

The spy's room was cramped but at least clean. It had an almost medical smell; I had always noticed that, though never pinpointed the source. One of his staff must have endemic veruccas, or enduring the spy day in and day out had given someone migraines.

We strolled over and squinted sideways at the stuff on his table, deliberately shifting pens and styluses in subtle ways, to worry him when he came back. Everything had been laid out pedantically; he was bound to notice changes.

There were no confidential tablets; Anacrites was tenaciously secretive. Petronius looked with longing at some secured cupboards, but we were not in a mood to force locks. Usually, however late it was, our bugbear had a dandruffy clerk or one of his dreadful agents moping in here with him. As soon as he was sent abroad, they must have all rushed off. The room was strangely still and quiet. The strife and duplicity that emanated from it had been placed on hold.

We stared around, then Petronius shook his head slightly, bemused. I wriggled my shoulders as if to slough off the very air the spy had breathed. We left without a word.

By the time we emerged from the rambling old buildings, the night had taken a shift onwards. Still simmering with remains of the day's heat, Rome had become its darker self. Families and workers were back in their homes. The streets now carried streams of delivery carts, each alley ringing with the trundle of battered wooden wheels and the bloody-minded curses of crude drivers. Stray dogs ran for their lives from heavy-duty wagons that were so laden they could neither swerve nor stop in a hurry. Even the burglars and muggers who emerged at dusk kept their sandalled feet well back from the kerb. We sensed their presence, as they skulked through streets where they had conveniently blown out any lamps. None of them bothered us. We looked too capable.

I saw Petronius savour the warm air, trying to tell whether various wafts of smoke from baths and cookshops meant fire duty for the vigiles. He was in full professional mode, alert for any kind of trouble.

He and I made a few quick plans as we strolled, via the winding lane at the foot of the Capitol, back to our own haunts. He then returned to the patrol house, up on the Aventine. I watched him go, with that familiar fast, loping stride. Quietly I continued along the Marble Embankment to my house.

XV.

'Marcus' darling, you should be ashamed! Why ever didn't you tell us about the funeral?'

Let's call Marina my sister-in-law, though it had always been a title of convenience. She and my legionary brother, Festus, had never lived together, though the ditsy dumpling claimed they would have done, but for his tactlessness in getting himself killed. She still made out our scamp would have settled down on his return - a concept he guffawed at, as I more accurately recollected. Suggestions of marriage always made Festus need a very large veal pie and so much drink to wash it down he would fall unconscious on the caupona counter.

Still, he had loved children. Once Marina had a baby we all agreed to accept as fathered by Festus, she needed somebody to sponge off. The Didius family pitied her plight. We understood want. We admired efficient begging too. Little Marcia was a dear child (possibly a factor that should make us think she was not ours), so we subsidised Marina for her daughter's sake. I say 'we'. The others always left the fine details to me. By details, I mean actually handing out cash.

Inevitably my father's death had brought Marina, dragging Marcia, to pay respects (her words). She had her large beautiful eyes on the legacy.

'Marcia will be no trouble. I brought her a lunch pack. I'll pick her up when I've run a few errands . . .'

Marina was a fabulous specimen, though common. She turned heads so frequently she had no idea it was possible for a woman to walk past a scaffold, a wine bar, a fish stall or a cohort of soldiers without whistles and loud invitations to share grimy fellows' flagons. It looked as if the food she had so unnecessarily brought for her daughter was part of a workman's sardine ration, in fact. Women loathed her. Helena, and even young Albia, greeted her arrival with embittered sighs. While they hoped she would leave quickly, I prayed she had not worked out how much money to ask me for. She had, of course.

'You never even invited Marcia to your party at Saturnalia. Everyone ignores us nowadays. Whoever thought Festus would be so quickly forgotten? Marcia hadn't seen her gramps for ages and now she'll never have the chance again -' (Wails from Marina's well-primed daughter.) 'Geminus was so so fond of her; it's fond of her; it's such such a tragedy! And I blame you, Marcus.' a tragedy! And I blame you, Marcus.'

Since the child was listening, I refrained from spelling out that Geminus lost count of his grandchildren, and that my niece could have been brought to see Pa at the Saepta any day. Suitably prompted, he would have reminisced about Festus and handed out hot pancakes. Given his eye for a promising woman, Marina would probably have walked away with some piece of jewellery. The fact was, she had been too busy leading her life of play and pleasure - until she heard that Pa was gone and how much he had left behind.

Marina dumped Marcia on us 'to play with her little cousins'. Marcia was a fast-growing skinny-rib of ten, so she and my much younger girls had nothing in common, but Marcia spent hours diligently tying hair ribbons and my daughters were willing little dolls.

Primed by her mother, Marcia set about charming me in her own style. 'Uncle Marcus, just give us the money.'

What money?'

'A big bag of cash to make us feel less sad that Grandpa died.'

'How does that work?'

'Mother is happy, so I'm happy - and you will be happy too. You don't want us littering up your smart hall every morning.'

'Is that going to happen?'

'Yes, Marcus darling- -' Marcus darling- -' Marcia did a priceless imitation of her effusive mama. 'Until you give in, I shall be dumped here to work on you.' Marcia did a priceless imitation of her effusive mama. 'Until you give in, I shall be dumped here to work on you.'

I said I was packing for a business trip to Latium.

My niece turned withering great brown eyes on me. What she lacked in her mother's extraordinary beauty - - and she was on course to inherit most of that - she made up in character. If the character was dubious, it only proved a Didius really had spawned her. A handful at three, at ten she was now ferociously bright and spirited.

Marcia suggested that, if I was busy, I should simply give her the password for my Forum bankbox, then she would withdraw a sum she thought suitable. Nothokleptes, my banker, would probably be so surprised he would hand over everything.

I said Marcia must be joking, then we both collapsed in giggles.

Two days later it was Marcia, a dedicated gossip-winkler, who told me that Petro's brother was at Maia's house.

'Petronius must have sent for him. Auntie Maia is put out.'

'Nobody knew Lucius even had a brother!' Helena exclaimed. We were at lunch, tucking into our own goat's cheese, olives and flatbread, plus more sardines; Marina's scaffolder must be really keen on her, though he had a tedious diet.

'Lucius has a brother.' I wiped my oily chin on a napkin. 'Rectus. He lives in the country; Petro despises that.'

'His brother is always off-colour,' Marcia informed us. Information stuck to her like mud on a wall. 'He has marsh fever. First it nearly killed him, now it keeps coming back. But Lucius Petronius has turned down the official guide you were offered by the man at the Palace and asked his brother instead. He trusts him. Anyway, he's brought Nero.'

'Spot!' Helena and I corrected her briskly. Nero was an ox, of dubiously rakish character. Petronius, his poorly brother and some hick cousins jointly owned him. Calling the beast by the name of an emperor who had been damned-to-the-memory could be defined as an offence. I was once arrested for it in Herculaneum - - though the real reason was that Spot tried to rape a donkey. A snooty Herculaneum citizen, its owner, failed to see the funny side. Helena and I corrected her briskly. Nero was an ox, of dubiously rakish character. Petronius, his poorly brother and some hick cousins jointly owned him. Calling the beast by the name of an emperor who had been damned-to-the-memory could be defined as an offence. I was once arrested for it in Herculaneum - - though the real reason was that Spot tried to rape a donkey. A snooty Herculaneum citizen, its owner, failed to see the funny side.

'If this is the same ox, he's a sex maniac. I'm not driving him!'

'Why do you need a guide?' Helena interrupted, swift to pick up any detail I was trying to hide. She homed in on the fact that when I first discussed Laeta's mission, I implied Petro and I were just retracing my journey to Antium. She fixed me with accusing eyes. I acted casual. It never works.

'They need a guide,' Marcia piped up before I could stop her, 'to show them the way in the Pontine Marshes. That's where they have to find the murderers, if those men go into hiding and think nobody will ever dare to go after them there since it is so horribly unhealthy.'

'Thank you, Marcia,' I replied coolly. She gave me her clever-little-girlie smile. I would have biffed her, but refused to be dragged down to her level.

Helena Justina, my companion in work and my soulmate in life, was now inspecting me as if I was one of the more repulsive insects from the fetid swamps under discussion. 'O father of my children - -' She adjusted an ear-ring, an expressive punctuation. 'Would that be the Pontine Marshes which have such a reputation for disease and death?'

I wiped my chin again as if I had missed a smear the first time. I placed the napkin on the serving table, neatly alongside my foodbowl; I straightened my spoon, rearranged my chewed olive stones in a more aesthetic pattern, then could no longer stall. 'We may not have to go there.'

'But if you do, Falco?' Helena generally called me 'Falco' when I had let her down unspeakably - and had been so careless that she found out.

I had done my research. I spent the past couple of days in libraries -not what people generally expect of informers, but unless there is a good reason to hang around barmaids and Forum lags, I like to use reputable sources. The scrolls depressed me. 'The good thing,' I chirruped, 'is that we are going in summer, when much of low-lying, scenic Old Latium dries out.'

Unfortunately, Helena was well read too. 'Marcus, the modern theory is that drying out the land seasonally has only provided better summer breeding-grounds for flies!'

'Olympus, is that what they say?' I was genuinely glum.

A row of silver bangles jingled together on Helena's left arm. 'The flies are hideous. Even in the forests, clouds of them rise up at every step. The Pontine Marshes are so dangerous nobody will live there. What's that proverb - - You grow rich in a year, but you die in six months?' You grow rich in a year, but you die in six months?'

Sometimes I liked having a partner who supplied me with background. At other moments I understood the men who married girls who had no time for arguments as they devoted themselves to athletes and actors. 'I won't be staying a year - not even six months.'

'Six hours will be too long if the wrong fly bites you.'

'Either we can pin the killings on our man, or we come straight home. In any case,' I countered feebly, 'as Marcia said, Petronius Longus is in charge of the logistics. He is bringing the best possible guardian - his own brother.'

My niece Marcia gave us a sniff that reminded me of my mother at her most disparaging. 'Everyone thinks Petronius Rectus has gone off like a pint of bad prawns.'

Much later, that evening when the house was quiet, Helena Justina and I discussed my journey properly in my small private study. I sat in an old basket chair I kept there purposely, so she could lean her elbows on the arms while she told me what a swine I was. At other times, the dog jumped up on it. Tonight, Helena pinched my reading couch, so I was reduced to the chair and the dog jumped on my lap.

Helena had thrown off her shoes and her jewellery, pulled out the ornamental pins from her fine hair and was massaging her head with those long fingers as if the pull of a chignon had made her scalp hurt. But I was the real headache.

'Listen, fruit. The old rules apply. If you ask me not to, I won't go.'

Helena thought about that, for about two heartbeats, which was longer than usual in fact. 'The rule is we travel together, Marcus.'

Now I was stuck, as she intended. If I said it would be irresponsible and unfair to our children for both parents to risk death in the marshes, it just emphasised how stupid it was even for one of us to go.

Helena did not wait for me to bluster. 'I can't come. Julia and Favonia need me here for reassurance.' They had played up a lot after we lost the baby. They probably needed me here too. Typically, Helena did not waste breath pointing that out.

'I am sorry a big case has come up so soon. Well, maybe I'm sorry it has come up at all.'

'Marcus, I know you will always need to work.'

'I could become a full-time antique dealer, a permanent auctioneer. Do you want me to do that?'

Helena made an impatient gesture, left-handed; lamplight hit silver in a ring I once gave her. We had not addressed the issue of my future, but now we dealt with it. 'I think you will be good at it,' Helena told me, 'but you would hate to do it permanently. You enjoy being an informer - it was one of the first things that struck me about you. And you're very good. So be honest. You and Lucius Petronius have been offered a mystery and as usual you can't resist.'

'My connection with Modestus caused it. Apparently a new career won't save me from mysteries!'

'So your argument is, you owe something to Modestus? Not profits. I know what the statues brought in.'

'You checked!'

'I check a lot of things,' Helena said, to worry me. I grinned happily. I kept few secrets from her. She was too likely to expose me.

When the statues went forward to the amphitheatre project, their modest price was the best Geminus could negotiate. Vespasian never wasted cash. 'Pa always decried sudden swish rewards,' I said. 'He reckoned it's the regular accumulation of small sums that matters, not a hiccup that may thrill you for a moment yet never come again.'

Helena smiled. She had been oddly fond of my father, as he always was of her. 'He was right - though I believe he had his thrills too. What pleased your father could be a beautiful artefact - -' Often in the form of a willing woman, though I refrained from interrupting with that comment. 'But to him, any business finesse was delectable. You inherited it, Marcus. You get the same boost from your work. So you want the satisfaction of explaining what happened to this man and his wife, especially when nobody else can solve it. Then, since no one else will take them on, you and Lucius see these Claudii as your challenge.'

Helena understood - but explaining was not the point. 'You don't want me to go.'