Macro struggled to his feet and rubbed his back and then continued down the alley towards the rear of the house, where he knew the slave quarters would be. With a party in full swing there was a chance that the escorts of some of the guests might be waiting in the slave quarters that were always at the far end of the more opulent houses, kept at arms length from those they served. A short distance ahead the alley came to an end and Macro could hear a different set of voices now. Subdued conversation, lacking the high-spirited tone of the party guests. Macro adjusted his cloak to conceal his sword as best he could and then glanced round the corner of the wall. There was a wider thoroughfare here, passing between the rows of fine residences. Sure enough, there was an open gate at the rear of the house, illuminated by the flickering flames of torches mounted in iron brackets on either side. Several litters lined the street, their bearers hunched down in their cloaks beside the wall in an effort to keep warm as they waited for their masters to leave the party. Two burly men with clubs stood watch on the gate.

Taking a deep breath, Macro strolled out into the street and boldly approached the gate. The watchmen regarded him with vague interest. Macro raised a hand in greeting.

‘Good evening!’ He forced a smile. ‘You got a party going on here?’

One of the guards stepped forward and hefted his club so that the thick shaft rested in his spare hand. ‘Who wants to know?’

Macro drew up a short distance in front of him and frowned. ‘That’s an unfriendly tone, mate. Just asked a question.’

The watchman’s face remained expressionless. ‘Like I said, who wants to know?’

‘Fair enough.’ Macro shrugged and jabbed his thumb at himself. ‘Marcus Fabius Felix is the name. Personal bodyguard to one Aufidius Catonius Superbus, who managed to slip out of his father’s house to join his friends at a party up on the Quirinal. Muggins here has been sent by his adoring father to bring young Aufidius home. So, have you got him here?’

‘Don’t know,’ the watchman replied flatly. ‘Don’t much care either.’

‘Now don’t take that tone with me, friend.’ Macro tried to sound hurt. ‘I’m the one who should be feeling put out, having walked up and down these bloody streets for most of the afternoon and evening. This is the only party I’ve come across, so do us a favour and let me take the boy home.’

‘Nothing doing, friend,’ the watchmen replied with a flicker of a smile. ‘So piss off.’

‘Piss off?’ Macro’s eyes widened. ‘There’s no need for that. Just doing my job. Why don’t you go and ask your master, whatever his name is, if my boy is here? At least do that for me, eh?’