Helena had been thinking fast. ‘Anacrites cannot have known originally what these men were. He must have taken them on to work for him—which we think was a couple of years ago—’ That was what Pius or Virtus, whichever we had held captive, had told Petro and me, though I did not remind her of the circumstances. ‘He found out later. Then he may have been attracted by a hint of danger attached to them. You know how he is; he would never admit that he made a mistake in hiring them.’

I agreed. ‘When he learned the truth, he would simply convince himself he had chosen ideal staff. He would think having a colourful background made them just right for his work’s “special nature”.’

Justinus barked with laughter. ‘So, being perverted murderers equates with “special intelligence skills”, does it?’

Aelianus had once been a recruitment target; he knew the spy’s sales patter: ‘Anacrites maintains that spying is a little over the edge of legality. That’s exciting. He sees himself as cunning and dangerous. He gloats that he can get way with using assassins “for the good of the state”—well, think about Perella.’

I thought it a good diagnosis: ‘He would tell himself he could control them. But when he came back from Istria and discovered the Modestus murder had drawn attention to the Claudii, faced with them getting out of hand, he tried to take personal control.’

‘Marcus, I’m afraid your involvement must have made it all worse for him,’ Helena told me ruefully.

‘Too right. Not only must he bury the problem before the Claudii are exposed, he has to distract me.’

Justinus blew his cheeks out. ‘And there’s no chance for us to expose his position, you know. He will only accuse us of interfering in some covert operation, endangering the Empire.’

‘We are stuffed,’ said Aelianus. He was young. He gave up easily.

I was older. I knew how the world worked. I was starting to think he had the right idea.

Petronius let out a grim laugh. ‘Well, one of the twins is dealt with. Either Pius or Virtus has been removed from society—without us even realising who he was.’

I myself would not have mentioned that again. Helena glowered. The Camilli sensed awkwardness and did not ask what Petro meant.

Of course it explained why Pius or Virtus would never admit his name to us—and why Anacrites also glossed over his men’s identity. It also explained why the agent—child of a cold, controlling father and a remote, neglectful mother, growing up with sadistic brothers—had managed to resist our interrogation.

And it explained the knives he carried. I tried not to look at Helena Justina as we both grasped that I had brought a perverted killer right into our house. I felt queasy remembering we had kept him here, in the same building as my wife and children.