‘You’re an idiot!’ said Quintus to his brother—who did not deny it.

When we arrived at the bar, Petronius was already there. He had a man with him. It was a large place. They were in a room at the back, which they had managed to keep to themselves. Money probably changed hands for that.

Brief introductions ensued. ‘This is Silvius. He’ll tell you himself what he does—insofar as he can say.’

The draughtboard and counters had been allocated to our room, a cover for us being there; we seemed like an illegal gambling consortium. While drinks were ordered, I sized up Silvius. He was lean, scornful, capable. Maybe early fifties. A semi-shaved grey head. One finger missing. Been around the houses—on good terms with the householders, maybe even better terms with their wives. I would not like him staying in my house. That did not mean I could not work with him—far from it.

‘What are you thinking, Falco?’ Petro asked, with a mild smile that meant he knew.

‘Silvius is one of us.’

‘Honoured,’ said Silvius. He had an easy-going baritone voice that had ordered up plenty of flagons in its time. He had spent long nights in smoky bars, talking. Either he was a lyric poet, a speculative saucepan-seller—or he traded information.

The drinks came. Sides arrived simultaneously in pottery dishes. There would be no need for the waiter to trouble us again.

I saw Silvius eyeing the two young Camilli. Petro must have given him the rundown on us all. They had left their pristine togas in the clothes press and were turned out professionally: neutral tunics, serviceable belts, worn-in boots, no flash metal buckles or tags on their laces. Neither went in for jewellery, though Aulus had a rather wide new gold wedding ring; Quintus was not wearing his, but I thought he had had it on when he escorted his wife to the spy’s party. You could just about take these two down an alley in the Subura without causing a rush of pickpockets, though they still had to learn how to pass along the streets completely unnoticed. At least they looked nowadays as though they might see trouble coming. As they thickened up in their middle-to-late twenties, each looked as if he might be handy when that trouble reached him. Their hair was too long and their chins too clean-shaven, but if we were soon to have action, I knew they would enjoy making themselves more scruffy.

‘They will do; they are fit,’ I said in an undertone. Silvius heard it without comment. Both Camilli noticed the exchange. Neither flared up. They had learned to accept how you edged towards acceptance in new professional relationships. When work was dangerous, each man had to make his own judgements about people he would be dealing with. Aulus leaned back on the bench and subjected Silvius in turn to scrutiny.