He left. Since he was an aedile, I trusted him to take the silver away with him. On his way down the Clivus Suburanus, he would return it to Sextus Simplicius, to be reabsorbed into the Aviola estate. Dromo went with him as escort. An aedile may be sacrosanct, but it was crazy to hope he could carry a large sack, obviously full of bullion, down a public street yet not have it snatched from his sacrosanct grasp by irreligious criminals. And then have his skull kicked in by them, for taking a stupid risk.

As soon as Dromo came back and I had let him in, I went to bed. Clearly this was never going to happen with Manlius Faustus. Had I been sober, that thought would not even have occurred to me. Perhaps.

For some reason, as I lay awake, I thought back to the bar where we kissed. He was just play-acting. Just as well. If I had an affair with a magistrate, what trouble that would cause! I had no idea how I would ever confess to my father, whose views on the elite were firm and frequently stated. Still, I believed Faustus would not kiss and tell, and if there is one thing loving daughters learn early, it is how to keep secrets …

Not relevant, Flavia Albia.

Next day I prepared to finish my case.

Out of bed early. Stand-up wash, in cold water. There was not even the lukewarm pan that Myla used to tend in her desultory way. Dromo complained. I explained to him that now she was gone, somebody else had to do her work. He could have stirred up embers and put pots on trivets. I, however, could not because I felt queasy and should have been looked after by those whose duty was to tend to me.

‘You mean my master?’

‘Crazy caryatids! − You, Dromo!’

‘I thought so!’ he muttered, in my hearing, though as if to himself or the imaginary companion who shared his thoughts when he was unhappy. ‘“Being nice to Dromo” was never going to last!’

I took him to breakfast with me, at the good bar. I even gave him most of mine, since I felt no desire for food.

They had a canary in a cage on the counter. I refrained from ordering fried bird. It was bound to be some child’s pet. Besides, the thought of anything in oil risked what the aedile called an up-chuck.

I could not even fantasise these days without that man worming his way in. Time for a new case, with a new client.

From now on they would be ugly seventy-year-olds with brown eyes − and women at that.

I took Dromo back to the Aviola apartment, telling him we would load all our things onto his handcart and take everything away with us.

‘Have you solved the case then, Albia?’

‘Not quite, but this is as far as I can go.’