Two pale, flat-chested girls in long white uniforms arrived with snack trays. The snacks were small but tasty; there was no obvious sign that house-slaves had nibbled them. Young boys with their hair oiled into silly points brought the first drinks, in garish decorated cups that the caterers probably supplied. Minas, who needed no cheering up, cheered up loudly. The women guests then demanded that Anacrites give them a tour of his house. Looking worried, he let himself be swept off; he had the expression of a man who knew he had left a pile of dirty loincloths on his bedroom floor and failed to close the cupboard containing his winged phallus lamps.

This left Minas, the Camilli and me standing in a square, each holding a crayfish tail and asking one another what in Hades we were doing there.

Justinus reminded me that we knew from a previous visit Anacrites kept obscene statues in a secret room. Minas brightened, hoping for a private view. ‘This should be a good night, Falco!’ he boomed. I saw Aulus, who had a keen idea of Minas’ liquid capacity, smile fixedly. ‘I am so looking forward to it!’ Minas confided to me, leaning close in a hideous aura of lunchtime wine and garlic. ‘This man must have very great influence, I think? He knows important people? The Emperor, perhaps? Anacrites can do us favours?’

I nodded gravely. ‘Tiberius Claudius Anacrites would be proud to know you believe that, Minas.’

32

We were called to dine.

The old dining room was indoors and a touch cosy. The hired hands had decorated its three crushed-together stone couches with coverlets in some shiny fabric the colour of pomegranate juice. They must have misjudged what kind of bachelor Anacrites was. A single rose, suspended from the centre of the ceiling, made the traditional statement that anything we said would be in confidence.

‘Surely,’ Albia piped up, all wide-eyed innocence, ‘only an idiot would mention any secrets in a spy’s house?’

‘Now I remember your daughter!’ cried Minas, clapping me around the shoulders so hard I nearly lost my footing (he had only just remembered me, I reckoned). ‘This minx is too astute!’

‘Oh these days intrigue is the only game in town, Minas.’ Thanks to the bagginess of the russet tunic, a good wriggle helped me slide free of the Greek’s grip. ‘Anacrites loves people to come here and commit treason. He gets a thrill thinking they are his guests so he can’t arrest them.’

Anacrites looked disorientated.

We were nine at dinner, naturally. To break convention would be too daring for our host. He must have given much thought to his placements, but when the rest of us arrived in the triclinium, Helena was shifting people around to avert awkward situations: making sure I could grill Anacrites; putting Albia and Aelianus apart; not imposing the bombastic Minas on anyone shy . . .