Low-cut shrubs and shaped bushes surrounded a paved area around a large oval pond. Here and there pieces of sculpture stood atop small marble columns. Even though it was a chilly night the guests of the house sat outside, warmed and illuminated by the braziers arranged on the paving stones around the pond. There were at least a hundred people at the party, Macro estimated. Mostly younger men, like Lurco, expensively dressed. In among them were a number of women in short tunics, the customary attire of prostitutes. Most wore lurid make-up, faces powdered white and eyes outlined with kohl, and their hair was carefully arranged in tresses and curls. Slaves moved among the throng with jars of heated wine that left thin tendrils of steam in their wake. Macro licked his lips at the sight and hoped there might be a chance of getting a quick jar in at the River of Wine once he and Cato had completed their night’s work.

Macro edged a little further forward so that he might have a better view, keeping low to the top of the wall where one of the boughs of the poplar stretched over the alley. He searched the crowd for Lurco and easily picked him out in his blue cloak, standing with a group of men his own age, clustered about a brazier as they drank. The centurion was grinning as he and his companions listened to one of their number who had his back to Macro. The brazier threw his outline into sharp relief as he gestured with his hands and the others roared with laughter.

Having picked out Lurco, Macro methodically scrutinised the other guests and had almost satisfied himself that there were no faces he recognised when his gaze fixed on two women standing aside from the rest, talking animatedly in the faint red hue of the nearest brazier. Macro squinted, straining his eyes to make sure of what he was seeing. There was no question of it, the woman on the left was Agrippina. What the hell was she doing here? Macro watched her for a moment before turning his attention to her companion, a tall, slender woman with dark hair, unfussily pinned back into a bun. There was something familiar about her, but Macro could not place her and he frowned with the effort of trying to remember and then gave up. He had seen enough from his vantage point and still needed to discover the identity of the owner of the house.

Macro wriggled back and carefully swung his legs over the side of the wall before easing himself down. He tried to feel for the holds he had cut into the bricks earlier but his boots stubbornly refused to find them. With his arms tiring, Macro took a breath and let himself drop down into the alley. He landed awkwardly and fell back heavily on to his buttocks, jarring his spine.

‘Fuck!’