It was the kind of bar that thinks it’s a brothel, or a brothel that pretends to be a bar. There was only a sketchy pavement presence. Moth-eaten curtaining hid the interior. They did not bother to have tie-backs. Whatever went on at the Dilly-Dally went on in hidden indoor places where the night sweeper always missed corners and the same dead mouse had been stiff on a shelf for three weeks.

We parked ourselves outside. After a long time the other man came out on his own, the fish-face. He waved an arm to Titianus mockingly. Faustus looked at us, then strode across to the bar on his own and went in. Moments later he reappeared, head shaking. Roscius was not there.

34

Titianus may have felt surprised that Faustus made no attempt to blame him. The aedile barely reacted; he merely asked what next?

Titianus had details of one last location supplied by Juventus. He led us to a street on the Cispian ridge, one of those happy havens that are lined throughout with eating places. Mostly you find these on seaside quays, where the restaurant owners all keep little boats and go out fishing. You eat fish, unless you are crazy. That day’s catch will be varied and though never as fresh as they tell you, much fresher than any other item scrawled on the menu board. Never, ever opt for the beef hotpot in a harbourside fish restaurant.

Roscius might choose any bar for lunch; Juventus had said it varied. We sat down to wait midway, at a place that had outside tables. Manlius Faustus imposed his punishment on the vigilis for what happened earlier. Faustus elected that now he and I would be the close cronies, with Titianus being made to feel left out, so he told Titianus to go inside to order drinks – not giving him any money.

‘A working threesome!’ exclaimed my client when the tired-eyed vigilis wandered back. ‘This reminds me of happy times, with you, me and Morellus, Flavia Albia.’ Faustus leaned back in his seat, in a relaxed pose with his hands linked behind his head. It sounded sociable, but Titianus looked unhappy, realising that the balance in our trio had shifted.

Titianus had been too easily conned by Roscius, so I allied myself with Faustus. ‘Dear Tiberius, I have not seen Morellus recently. Is he working on a case – or working on a love affair?’

‘Dice,’ announced Faustus, impressively deadpan as he invented. ‘There’s a three-day league at a dive called the Sweaty Armpit – you would love it; I must take you there some time − Morellus is in knots because gambling for money is illegal; he thinks I’ll pop along and close the place, then he’ll be blamed by the whole district. Of course it’s never going to happen; they paid the usual sweetener as soon as I told them to.’