Petronius Longus and Petronius Rectus drove us all mad, maundering on at one another about the value of their stolen ox and abandoned cart. At least that ended when Rectus took his leave at the Via Appia. He returned to his farm in the Lepini hills. ‘He was my bloody ox as well!’ shouted Lucius Petronius after his departing brother.

I knew why he was so livid. The theft showed him up. He expected another ear-bashing from the cousins who owned part-shares in Nero. They were bound to suggest that an officer of the Roman vigiles ought to be able to hang on to his draught animal, especially when stuck in the middle of wetlands that were famous for criminal activities. ‘My barmy brother was in charge of him—I should have known what was coming!’

I was welcomed home quietly. Helena had a sniff at me to ensure I had been using the anti-insect ointment. Ever the thoughtful husband, I had made sure I rubbed in some more just before I turned my door key. Helena herself was still subdued. Once we would have rushed straight into bed together, but with the baby’s death so recent that would not happen.

I prowled around, checking the house. Things seemed well under control. Helena ran a good household and she had grown up in a senator’s house, full of staff. Slaves from Pa’s house were being tried out here a few at a time. I had never been able to buy good ones because I found the process so uncomfortable, but these seemed to know what was expected of them.

‘Just tell me which you want to keep,’ I told her, discussing slaves in order to avoid more painful subjects. Tired as I was, I raised a laugh. ‘I can’t believe I said that!’

‘All you need to decide,’ Helena answered drily, ‘is whether you intend to continue your old frugal life, or should I now plan domestic extravagance and show-off socialising? We need more style. I changed from pottery beakers on the breakfast table—Gaius found some flagrant gilded goblets at the warehouse that I think will pass as morning water cups, though they won’t do when we are entertaining consuls and international trade moguls.’

‘Oh I leave all that to you, fruit. Don’t skimp; just commission new from the most fashionable designer.’

Helena continued the joke. ‘I’m so glad you said that. I’ve found a man who does the most marvellous art glass. I think it is important, Marcus, that our girls grow up knowing the finer things in life—even if they promptly break it . . .’