I could not help laughing. Faustus chuckled with me. Titianus knew Faustus and I were playing him up.

In fact Titus Morellus, Titianus’ counterpart in the Fourth Cohort, was stuck at home, recovering from a near-fatal attack by a serial killer. Morellus was a miserable character, but he had been brave. I knew Faustus visited the invalid from time to time, probably taking baskets of plums and toys for Morellus’ children. I could even envisage him slipping cash to Morellus’ wife Pullia; supporting someone who had suffered in a public role would be natural philanthropy for Manlius Faustus, a good citizen’s duty. Probably the kind of behaviour that had won him votes when he stood as aedile.

‘Where’s your waiter?’ Faustus asked. Titianus’ request for service had not worked. It was one of those bars. All frantic bustle, where strangers can never get a drink.

We were still waiting for any refreshment to appear when Titianus decided to give up. He claimed he had to be back at the station house; it was probably the end of his shift. He lingered, as if he thought Faustus and I should come too, but we stayed put on observation, waving airy goodbyes at him and insincerely promising to let him know what happened.

‘Don’t worry,’ murmured Faustus in a lazy tone. ‘I can look after Flavia Albia.’

Titianus could only amble off, while Faustus watched him go, rather narrow-eyed. When the aedile turned back to me, I thought he was going to be critical of me cosying up with someone else, but he merely looked delighted we had got rid of the man.

Faustus caught a server’s eye immediately. Titianus was still near enough to see how easily the aedile managed it.

We two had positioned ourselves side by side on a bench, both looking out at the street so we could watch for Roscius in two directions. The area was busy. I had a stole, which I pulled up over my hair; this was partly a professional move, so I looked different from when I was following Roscius. I rarely veiled up from modesty, but sometimes I liked the subtle extra level of privacy.

Faustus could sense a mood. ‘Feeling down?’

‘Polycarpus.’ I sipped my drink.

He nodded, then touched his cup against mine and slowly swallowed wine himself. The other tables were too close and crowded for us to talk about the case. At first we talked about nothing. We must have looked like a man and woman who knew each other, easy together as we enjoyed a small flagon of house wine (with a lot of water) in the warm sunlight.