Anacrites then brought in the ploy he’d tried on me last night: he mentioned his plans for a dinner party, inviting Petronius too. ‘I had such a wonderful time when Falco and Helena entertained me at Saturnalia—’ Saturnalia may be a time for patching up feuds, but believe me, I was pushed into that hideous arrangement. ‘Such a glorious family atmosphere . . . Have you eaten with them at their house, Lucius Petronius?’ Of course he had! He was my best friend, living with my best sister. ‘I feel it’s time I issued some invitations in return . . .’

Previously noncommittal, Petronius Longus straightened up. He looked the spy directly in his weird eyes, which were almost two-toned, one shifty grey, one browner—and neither to be trusted. He stood up, placed both fists on the spy’s table and leaned across, full of menace. ‘I live with Maia Favonia,’ my pal declared heavily. ‘I know what you did to her. So no thanks!’

He strode out.

‘Oh dear! I was hoping to smooth over any unpleasantness, Falco!’ Anacrites was ghastly when he whined.

‘Not possible,’ I told him with a sneer, then I followed Petro from the room.

Outside, Phileros was hanging about nervously with such an enormous tray of confectionery his stretched arms could hardly hold it. Petronius cared about the poor, since he so often had cause to arrest them. He had ascertained it was all paid for out of the spy’s petty cash, not the shabby clerk’s own pocket. So we swept up as many cakes as we could carry, and took them away with us.

We gave them to a tramp, of course. Even if they were not dosed with aconite, to eat anything provided by Anacrites would have choked us.

There was no chance we would allow Anacrites to have our case. Earlier in the day Petronius and I had agreed on the same system as the last time he tried muscling in. We would proceed as normal. We would simply keep out of the spy’s view. Once we solved the case, we would report to Laeta.

According to Petro, he had Rubella’s support. I did not press for details.

Although we had implied to Anacrites we had reached a dead end, we had plenty of ideas. Petronius had issued an all-cohorts notice to look out for the runaway slave called Syrus, the one who had worked for Modestus and Primilla then was passed on to the butcher by their nephew. Petro’s men visited the other cohorts to inspect any slaves they had found roaming. There was another alert too: for the missing woman, Livia Primilla, or more likely her body.