That sounded as if Calpurnia was a vicious old bat. Since my own life's companion certainly had presence, I was careful of my phrasing: 'She would have been no cipher in the marriage?'

'Oh no. She's a little defensive -'

'Bad tempered?'

'Let's say, very confident. Well groomed, but not wearing much jewellery. She seems cultured; there were reading-scrolls in the room. Mind you, there was a wool basket too, yet I reckon that was just for show! I can't see the lady actually spinning like a traditional good wife.'

'You suspect a slave had been sent out in a hurry to buy some wool so they could stage-manage appearances?'

'Could be. She had a mousy maid in attendance, to look modest.'

'How formal? Was she veiled?'

'Don't be silly, Marcus; she was at home. Her manner was reserved, but it should be, with nosy strangers coming to her house for days, trying to catch her out.'

'She was receiving well-wishers, though?'

'A queue of callers; I gathered I was lucky to find her alone. I felt that accepting condolences - from both genuine friends and even the wickedly curious - was an ordeal which Calpurnia Cara quite enjoys.'

'A duty?'

'A challenge.'

'She wants to test her own endurance?' I wondered.

'Oh I think she knows how capable she is,' Helena replied warmly.

The air temperature was dropping. Helena reached for her stole, which I helped to tuck around her. As usual it was a good excuse to explore her body affectionately.

'Do you want to hear this, Marcus?'

'Of course.' I was perfectly capable of groping a woman while extracting her evidence. My profession calls for a man to be physically adroit and mentally versatile, often at the same time. I could take notes while scratching my b.u.m too.

'She told me what you already knew. Nothing added and nothing different. It seems very well rehea.r.s.ed.' Despite the dusk, I knew that Helena had read my thoughts and smiled. 'That does not necessarily make it untrue.'

'Perhaps,' I agreed.

'One other thing -' There was a new note of mischief in Helena's tone. 'I didn't see the son, of course. I couldn't tell if he was in the house. They call him Birdy, by the way; I don't know why. I took the opportunity to ask one of the staff for an address for junior's divorced wife - ostensibly so I could pay condolences there too.' I said nothing. 'Unless you want to take over that visit?' she enquired, in apparent innocence.

'You know me so well.'

'I expect you will claim,' Helena scoffed, 'the divorcee may give us another side of the story. This may be a crucial breakthrough and you need to expose her directly to your experienced interrogatory skills?'

'My love, how comfortable it is to have a wife who understands my business.'

'Her name is Saffia Donata - and you need to know in advance that she is causing trouble!'

I said that sounded like exactly the kind of sweet little breakthrough I was looking for.

'She has three children and some money.' An excellent briefing. Helena Justina made a wonderful work partner - thorough, discreet, witty, and even fair to me. 'I did not ask if she is pretty.'

I said I could discover that for myself

VI.

NEXT MORNING I began to see why Silius Italicus was so secretive about where he lived: self-protection. We were still at breakfast when a message was brought up that Ursulina Prisca had arrived downstairs. I sent Justinus to get rid of her. I could be magnanimous. Let her have a few minutes of pleasure being rebuffed by a handsome, polite young fellow.

Once that role would have been mine. Now I was middle-cla.s.s, middle-aged, and full of middle-rank anxieties. When you have no money there is no point worrying. Once you obtain some, all that ends.

While dear Quintus interviewed the persistent baggage, using a side room which we kept tidy for that purpose, I kissed Helena, pulled a face at the baby, tickled Julia, locked the dog in a bedroom, and slipped out of the house. (Leaving home in a hurry was much slicker when I was single.) If Ursulina decided our boy was adorable, she might dig in her talons. My youngest brother-in-law was very polite and hated saying no to women in distress. I knew that all women were hard as nuts, but he would easily be manoeuvred into taking the commission. Fine. He could do it. Now our team had a nagging granny specialist.

I was off to try my skills on a much more difficult female. Forget the divorcee. My motto was. .h.i.t them gently to see what happens - then hit them again, hard. I was going to revisit Calpurnia Cara.

There is a trick informers use. If you have a.s.sailed a house once in the afternoon and want another attempt, go next time in the morning. If the household is wealthy, they may work their porters in shifts. Mind you, many rich families work their door porters to death, thinking that the provision of a cubicle with a stool means the porter has an easy life. It's a boring career, and that can work to your advantage. On the whole though, door porters become obstructive, maybe because sitting on a stool all day cuts off the circulation painfully in their legs. It affects their brains too. They get above themselves. I hate the swine.

The Metelli, as I might by then have expected, kept their porter in situ all day. I observed this from the same unfriendly snackbar where I had rested my trotters on the counter yesterday. This meant I might have to wait around for hours before that other informing trick: knocking on the door at lunchtime when the porter takes his meal break. Luckily, I did not need to wait so long. While the door was open for a delivery, I heard the porter ask another slave to stand in while he went off for a pee.

Thank you, G.o.ds!

(Which reminded me again that I was Procurator of the Sacred Geese of Juno, and I ought to say h.e.l.lo to my fat feathered charges, now I was back in Rome.) 'Morning. My name is Didius Falco; I was here yesterday on business with your mistress. Could I possibly see her again for a few minutes, please?'

'I'm supposed to ask the steward,' the stand-in said. 'I think.' He was a kitchen worker normally; he had an ap.r.o.n on, stained with oil and sauce.

'That's right,' I agreed, smiling helpfully. 'The other Ja.n.u.s - what's his name?'

'Perseus.'

'Perseus asked the steward yesterday.'

'Oh he asked him, did he? Well, that's all right then. She's in the garden; this way, sir -'

The stand-in had left the door open. a.s.suming my helpful guise, I pointed out that while he escorted me to find Calpurnia Cara, wrongdoers might sneak in. That worried him. So he stayed there but gave me instructions how to cross the atrium, pa.s.s through a colonnade, and find the garden area by myself. I handed him a quarter denarius. It was the least I could do. I knew, though he apparently did not, he had just earned himself a severe beating for letting loose an informer in the house.

It was worth a quiet wander around. I like gardens. This peaceful enclosed s.p.a.ce between wings of the silent house had a damson tree and ancient twining plants fastened up pilasters. Inside the house there was that faint impression of not having enough slaves around to keep the place smart, but the garden was well tended. Puddles and damp earth showed that plants had been watered, though whoever brought the buckets had moved on. I could see at once that Calpurnia was not there.

This was tricky. Or rather, for an informer it was excellent.

I spent a long time walking about. No town houses have enormous grounds, but I explored colonnades, peered into empty ground floor rooms, poked into stores. Though light on attendants, it seemed a well-run, organised establishment. That fitted. Corrupt n.o.bles have to be efficient, or they get found out. True, Metellus had been exposed - but he had fallen victim to an informer, and informers notoriously target victims unfairly. Left to himself, he might have fleeced the state and its contractors for many more years and died 'with honour'.

At the back of the house soared the old Servian Walls, the ancient fortification we called the Embankment. Approaching, quite suddenly I came upon a woman alone. She was dressed in dark clothes, though I thought that reflected her glum nature rather than mourning. I had reached the farthermost part of the garden, a small patch of dry earth with vegetable trenches and a fan-trained fig tree. She was standing, apparently in a reverie, on a gravel path that was flanked by tired herbs, outside an outhouse that had been partly carved into the side of the Embankment.

'd.a.m.ned wasps' nest,' she muttered, seeing me. She was pretending her eye had just been caught by something. It sounded mundane, but her face had hardened. 'What are you doing here? Who do you think you are?'

'Would you believe a wasp exterminator?'

'Stop your nonsense.'

'I apologise.' She was right about the nest. Insects were flying to and fro, entering the roughly constructed building above a corner of the doorway. 'Marcus Didius Falco -'

'Ah yes!' she jumped in, with an acid tone. 'From Silius. You sent your wife on an exploratory mission yesterday.'

She turned away from the shack, which was chained up. I noticed she was carrying a large bunch of metalwork - the traditional matron, in possession of the household keys. 'Calpurnia Cara, I take it?' I asked, a neutral response to cover up being caught out. The woman, who had a permanent expression of distaste, nodded slightly. Trying to distract her, I asked, 'What do you keep in the garden store?'

'Unwanted household goods. Your wife was unwanted too, I may say.'

It was a neat link, but I decided not to play word games: 'Helena Justina was merely curious about the work I have taken on -'

I am not a fool, Falco.' Calpurnia Cara was annoyed, though at the same time she somehow accepted that annoyance was bound to happen. She began to walk back to the house; meekly I went with her. She looked to be in her late fifties, a heavy woman, her step slow and a little awkward. Had she been my grandmother, I would have offered an arm, but this grand matron was far too austere. She took pleasure in telling me how she had outwitted us: 'My adviser dined here yesterday. We have to be careful; my family has attracted unpleasant notoriety. I showed him a list of visitors. Africa.n.u.s spotted her.'

Paccius Africa.n.u.s had taken an interest in me, then. He must already have known my connection with Helena Justina, before he saw yesterday's list. Our a.s.sociation was unusual, yet Helena and I were hardly well-known names in public life. So: Paccius Africa.n.u.s had been digging.

'Who let you in?' Calpurnia demanded. It boded ill for my crony on the door.

'Perseus had been called away -'

'Called away?' I had the impression Perseus might have caused exasperation in Calpurnia before. Well, that would make him a typical door porter.

'Call of nature.' In fact I was starting to think that nothing as easygoing as nature would occur in this establishment.

'I'll see about that. What did she want him to do? Pee into the atrium pool? It has been known; put-upon porters are aware that their nagging owners use the run-off from the pool as spare drinking water.

We had reached the colonnade that fronted the atrium. I was led smartly round the sphinx and the pool. I was on my way out.

'I have nothing to tell you,' Calpurnia informed me. 'So stop bothering me. I know you have been to our formal witnesses and they have affirmed all that happened.' She was keeping very well informed. The normal porter was back, looking unconcerned at his lapse, as porters tend to do. 'Perseus! Put this man out.'

'Had your husband discussed his intentions with you?' I squeezed in.

'Metellus did nothing without my knowledge,' Calpurnia barked.

'Did that include his business life?' I enquired coolly.

She pulled back quickly. 'Oh none of that had anything to do with me!' As if a stronger denial were called for, she went on, 'Load of spiteful, invented stupidity. Viciousness. Collaborators. Silius ought to be exiled. Destroying good men -'

Goodness played no part in the business ethics of the Metelli, as I knew the facts.

I was leaving as ordered, when Calpurnia Cara called after me. 'Your wife was trying to extract the whereabouts of my ex-daughter in-law.' I turned back. 'I am sure my staff were very helpful,' Calpurnia stated in a dry tone. 'Don't bother with Saffia Donata. She has nothing to do with any of this and she is a mischief-maker.'

'Nonetheless, I am sorry to hear of your son's so recent separation from the mother of his children.' Since the Metelli were so keen on form, or the appearance of form, the dig seemed apt.

'Child!' barked Calpurnia. 'Her other brat came from another source.' I raised an eyebrow at her wording. Had immorality occurred? 'Previous marriage,' she explained impatiently, as if I were an idiot. Clearly nothing untoward in the bedroom arena could be allowed to touch this family. 'We took her on for that reason. At least we knew she was fertile.'

'Oh quite!' Best to accept patrician motives for marriage. Choosing a bride because she is capable of having children is no more crazy than believing some girl worships you and has a sweet temper - both of which are bound to prove untrue. 'In fact, I understood that Saffia Donata has three children.' So Helena had said, and she would have remembered accurately.

'We shall see!' replied Calpurnia Cara harshly. 'She claims she's pregnant. It may happen. She's no loss,' opined the ex-mother-in-law, as she vanished from sight, jingling her keys.

It was nice to find relationships that so closely followed tradition. Had the harsh mother-in-law been fond of her son's wife, I would have felt disconcerted.

VII.

NO WAY out. I needed an appointment with the fertile divorcee.

Saffia Donata lived nearby now. She had rented an apartment close to the Market of Livia, just through the Esquiline Gate. The Embankment stood between her new abode and the Metelli like a symbolic barrier. I buffed through the hawkers and puppeteers who congregate in the shadow of the ancient fortification, using an elbow where necessary. I was among a lot of smart habitation. To the east where the Metelli lived in the Fifth Region were no less than five public gardens; to the west where I was going were the elegant Third and Fourth Regions, dominated by the Gardens of Lollia.n.u.s. Very nice. Not so fine, once you realise that all these glamorous green s.p.a.ces have been built up with many feet of topsoil on what used to be the Esquiline Field - the graveyard of the poor. Never stop to breathe the pretty flower scents. The graves of the poor still stink.

Pregnant women do not scare me. Still, I did not roam about by myself in Saffia's new apartment. I might easily have sneaked around a bit. She was still moving in and there was chaos. When I turned up and was admitted without trouble, men were everywhere moving furniture (quality stuff; Pa would have made an offer for it). I saw a lot of treasures having their corners knocked off. Ivory items and silver inlaid sets of delicate stuff with goats' feet were being hauled around as casually as the battered joint stools at my mother's house which people had kicked out of their way for thirty years. There were enough bronze candelabra to light an orgy. I bet some found themselves dismantled into convenient pieces and hidden in packing wraps, ready for the no-questions resale market.

Saffia was, I could report to Helena, very pretty. She was younger than I expected. Twenty-five at most. She had dark hair, tightly wound about her head. Light swathes of drapery kept her cool, but seemed almost indecently thin on her swollen torso. A maid wafted rosewater about, to little purpose. Saffia was barefoot, reclining against cushions on a couch, her embroidered slippers resting on a footstool.

I could rea.s.sure my beloved that this peach was too ripe for stealing. It looked as if Saffia was carrying twins and that they were due next week. She had reached the restless stage, unable to make herself comfortable, and sick of friendly people asking how was she finding the wait?

'I am sorry to bother you -'

'Oh Juno, I don't mind,' she uttered wearily, when I introduced myself. I had said exactly what I was there for. Deluding a young, divorced woman in her home would be dangerous. 'Ask me anything!'

In view of her condition, I was surprised to be received. Something about this offhand young matron seemed common; her openness to a male stranger was out of place in the patrician world. Yet her accent was as upper-crust as Calpurnia's and her welcome soon felt acceptable. There were other attendants constantly in the room, pottering with ornaments on gilt-legged marble sidetables. She was as well chaperoned as any witness I had ever spoken to.

'I hope this is not inconvenient. I can see you are still in mid-move here - Do you mind if I ask, is your divorce a recent event?'

'Straight after the trial ended. My father was horrified by the verdict. We are a very respectable family. Papa had no idea what he was getting me into when I married Birdy. And my ex-husband was furious. He doesn't want his boy to be a.s.sociated with such people.'

I ignored the self-righteous stuff and stuck to facts. 'Your first husband gave you a son, and Metellus -?'

'My daughter. She is two.'

I should have said, so is mine. But I was gruff in interrogations. To me, informers on duty are solitary grousers, not given to domestic chat. I thought it best to say, 'Would you prefer me to speak to your legal guardian, by the way?'

'That's up to you. I have one, of course.' Saffia did not seem to mind dealing with me. She did not name the guardian either. I had shown willing. The last thing I really wanted was to be fobbed off with some jumped-up freedman who had been put in charge of her contracts and accounts, just to look respectable. He was probably of low rank, and I doubted if he saw much of Saffia. This was not that frequent situation where the legal stand-in has an eye to marriage with his charge. Divorce and Saffia were no strangers. Remarriage in the highest social circ.u.mstances was what she expected, and soon. The Augustan laws would give her six months, if she wanted to avoid loss of privileges. I felt she was an expert. I could see her swapping husbands more times yet - probably raising her status every time.

'Excuse my ignorance; I don't know who your ex-husband is?' I was certainly intending to visit Negrinus; now I reckoned her first cast-off might be worth an interview too.

'Oh he's not involved at all, don't worry about him.' I guessed the first ex had begged to be kept well out of her troubles with the second; Saffia was loyal enough to comply. Interesting. Would she be so loyal to Negrinus?

'Is it rude to enquire why that marriage was terminated?'