‘Exactly.’ Petro tried to winkle crumbs of the stale bread we were gnawing from between his teeth. The crumbs clung on resolutely. Junia must have Apollonius spread it with cow-heel glue as some new gourmet fashion. ‘The crucial parcel didn’t sound significant initially—which was a clever ploy. The Seventh thought they could forget about it. So let’s think: why dispatch a load of cheap stuffing via an expensive courier?’

‘Obvious: something costly was concealed inside.’

‘You bet.’

We sat quiet for a beat, thinking.

‘Anyway—don’t let’s get too excited too fast. Fusculus has gone to ask the carter about it on the sly. We still have to pretend we’re not intervening in Anacrites’ case. If the cameo was in the courier’s parcel, then it’s a lead—but you and I need a long, hard think about the implications . . .’

‘I’ll start thinking too much now, unless you distract me. So, what about the teacher with the numerical sideline?’

Petronius perked up. ‘Found him. Easy. The mathematicians list is one of the shortest: thank you, Jove. Volusius may have died eight years ago. At any rate, he vanished from our records—which is hard to achieve, once we have a rascal in our blotted scroll.’

I groaned. ‘Dead end?’

‘Not quite.’ Petronius gave up on Flora’s breakfast and threw what was left of his bread to a pigeon in the street. It flew off, affronted. He sniffed the acetic posca then dashed that into the gutter too. ‘He lived with his mother, off the Clivus Suburanus, close to the Porticus of Livia. I’m whacked and old dames don’t have enough verve to keep my eyes open. I’m going home to bed but you, being a layabout with time on your hands, may fancy a chat with her.’

I said I was always available to do work the noble Lucius found too much for him. And while he could only chat up pretty things of twenty, I was more versatile and could charm even older women.

Petronius let me get away with that, because he was bursting with one further fact. ‘While I had the old documents spread around the room, my eye fell on something.’ Calm by nature, he seemed excitable now: ‘I found one of the Claudii!’

‘Speak, oracle!’

‘I’m sure it’s him. Two years ago, a Claudius Virtus, newly arrived in Rome from Latium, appeared as a person of interest.’

‘What had he done? Joined a dodgy religion?’

‘Depends how you categorise cults, Marcus. We have him down as taking an interest in astrology.’

‘Stargazing?’

‘People-forecasting—wickedness. I hate that stuff. Life’s dire without finding out in advance what will be dumped on you by Fate.’

‘According to Anacrites, when he turned on me recently, when Fate gives you anything worth having, if you dare to enjoy your good fortune, remorseless Nemesis will fly up to snatch it away.’