Charged with solving the problem, Faustus solemnly agreed with the Temple of Ceres authorities that it was important to take the correct action. This situation could easily turn ugly. They wanted to avoid censure. The public were shouting for a solution, preferably bloody. The Daily Gazette had already asked for a quotable comment and was about to feature the story in its scandal section; publication would fire lurid Forum gossip. The unseen eye of the emperor was probably on the Temple. Faustus had been handed a rather hot platter here.

As this dutiful man tried to come up with ideas, he walked to a bar called the Stargazer. There, while he pondered the meagre choice for breakfast, he ran into me.

2

I had seen the aedile coming − always a good idea with magistrates who can impose large fines. Anyone who runs a market stall, anyone with a pavement outside their premises, anyone whose profession is heavily regulated (any prostitute, for instance), loathes aediles. Informers like me avoid them. My relatives who ran the Stargazer would not thank him for eating there, given that part of his job was the regulation of bars. They would not thank me either. They would think he had chosen it because he knew it was my local.

I had first met Faustus a few weeks before, working jointly on an investigation and sometimes putting our heads together in this very caupona. I had known him to go about in disguise, though not today. He was a solid man in his mid-thirties, who came down the drab street with a steady tread. He had no flashy train of attendants, relying on his purple-striped tunic to deter trouble-makers. Aediles were not given bodyguards. They were sacrosanct, protected by religious laws. Besides, he was obviously tough; even when he was preoccupied, Faustus looked as if he punched his weight. That was assuming people even noticed him; he was not the kind of official who made a lot of noise wherever he went.

He cannot have expected to see me sitting at a table. He thought I was with my family at our villa on the coast, though I had recently come back to Rome because I was tired of sun, sand and fishing expeditions. Before anyone wonders, I was not hankering for Faustus. I might be a fancy-free widow, but a magistrate was way out of my league.

‘Flavia Albia!’

‘Manlius Faustus.’

Formal name terms. After he ordered a bread roll with Lucanian sausage, the Stargazer’s only deal that morning (or any morning), he took a seat at my table, though he asked permission first.

‘Mind if I join you?’

‘Always a pleasure.’

‘Good to see you.’

‘You too, aedile.’

Play acting. We were both unsure. The last time we met, I made embarrassing advances, which Faustus sensibly rejected. Despite my gaffe, the aedile had expressed a hope we might work together again. Being polite, I thought. Still, here he was in my aunt’s horrible bar.