Dromo had the handcart, moaning repeatedly that it was overtaxing him. I heaved my own luggage in one awkward bundle over my shoulder, never complaining. An informer ought to travel light, certainly with no more than she can manage herself; she can be sure nobody will help. We cleanse society of undesirables, yet we receive few thanks. Small change and horrible overtures; no real gratitude.

We went slowly, not taking the route that led to the Aemilian Bridge with its miseries of yesterday, but walking down parallel with the Servian Walls, to the open monumental area between the Flavian Amphitheatre and the Temple of the Divine Claudius. This was near the Capena Gate. I called in to see Uncle Quintus, which was one way to a free lunch.

He was fine. We talked about work. He told me Aulus had sent a written judgement to the Temple of Ceres. After careful historical research, Aulus had advised that the temple’s reputation as a place of sanctuary derived from its plebeian past: thumbing noses at the upper class by offering refuge to those who had been arrested by patrician magistrates. ‘So Aulus recommends taking a hard line: one, the status war should be relegated to the past, as a gesture of new thinking. Bit of a shock for my tight-arsed brother to be a champion of liberal thinking, but he can do it if he closes his eyes and rushes at the idea … Two, the Aviola slaves should therefore be placed under arrest by Manlius Faustus, then passed to the usual authorities.’

‘To be charged with not assisting their master and mistress?’

‘I realise you are now saying only one slave is guilty of murder.’

‘Different household, Uncle Quintus. He also killed his own master, a freedman. When Cosmus is caught, he goes down, no question: execution.’

‘And the other slaves, Albia? Faustus commissioned you to exonerate them, but do you say it can’t be done?’

I nodded. ‘They are certainly guilty of conspiracy. I am off to a final reckoning with them, after which I suspect I can in fact show they are guilty of something worse than non-intervention. You know I am not sentimental and neither is the aedile. If Aulus rules that the slaves have no right to sanctuary, I shall give Faustus very good reasons to arrest them.’

‘Oho! Then your devoted aedile will be even more keen on you.’

‘I told you before; he’s not mine!’

I mimed a lute-plucking gesture. It did no good. Uncle Quintus would keep harping.