For some reason, when I left the Palace, the night seemed full of threats and unhappiness. Rome had its seamy side. I seemed more aware of it tonight. I noticed caterwauling and unhappy cries, both near and distant; there seemed to be a bad smell everywhere, as if while I was in the Palace some major disaster with the drains had occurred. Darkness insinuated lower areas, creating pools of menace where there ought to be streets. Monuments that stood amidst a few lights looked cold and forbidding instead of familiar.

Back at my house, however, there was peace. The children were in bed, perhaps even asleep. Albia was in her room, plotting against Aelianus. The lamplight was mellow, there was food and drink on a side table, a sleepy Nux thumped her tail at my appearance then went straight back to snoring in her happy doggy dreams.

I sat sideways on a reading-couch with a cup of wine in one fist, not even drinking yet. Helena curled up beside me. She was sweet-scented from the baths and now wearing an old, comfortable red gown, no jewellery, with her hair loose. She put a light rug over her bare feet for comfort, wriggling her toes. I looked for signs that her grief for the baby was diminishing; she allowed my scrutiny, though with pinched lips as though she would flare up if I asked the wrong question. But then she took my hand; she was judging my progress back to normality just as I assessed hers. I too concealed my feelings, as I rubbed my thumb over the silver ring on her third finger.

Once we both relaxed, I told her about being pushed to and fro at the Palace. Sharing news was our habit, always had been. I passed on what Laeta and Momus had said, while Helena at first listened. When I ran out of details and sipped my wine slowly, she spoke up.

‘Anacrites has commandeered the job because he is jealous, perennially jealous of you—and of your friendship with Petronius. He thinks you have a better life than him. He is afraid you may jostle him aside and gain favours from the Emperor. He wants what you have.’

‘I don’t see it.’ I put down the winecup; Helena reached over and sipped thoughtfully, before replacing the cup. I half smiled but kept talking. ‘Sweetheart, he has status; from what I hear, he has money too. Jupiter knows how he got there, but he’s top man in intelligence. Even that time he took out of action with his head wound never seemed to affect his position. He has a secure career, salaried and pensioned, very close to Vespasian and Titus—whereas I’m a luckless freelance.’