When she had gone, Marcia and I walked onto the balcony hand in hand. We hauled out the hot-wine waiter, who had been snoring in a loincloth on a pallet, and waited in his foul fug until Helena Justina emerged into the street. We watched her climb aboard her chair, her head far below like a shining teakwood knob amidst a foam of snowy veils. She did not look up; I was sorry about that.

“That lady’s lovely!” decided Marcia, who normally liked men. (I encouraged that condition, on the premise that if she liked men when she was three she would grow out of it and leave me a lot less to worry about by the time she was thirteen.)

“That lady has never been lovely to me!” I growled.

Marcia gave me a sideways look that was surprisingly mature.

“Oh Didius Falco, don’t make such a fuss!”

I went to visit Pertinax myself. Everything I had told Helena was true; it was a stupid thing to do. Luckily the bullying lout was still not at home.

XLI

As chance would have it, I met Petro the next day. He whistled, then held me gently at arm’s length.

“Whew! Where are you off to, dazzler?”

In honour of dining with the lord of the civilized world, I was in my best tunic, buffed up in the laundry until all the old wine stains were almost invisible. I wore sandals (polished), a new belt (pungent), and my Great Uncle Scaro’s obsidian signet ring. I had spent all afternoon at the baths and the barber’s, not merely exchanging the news (though I had done that too, until my head spun). My hair was shorn so I felt as lighthearted as a lamb. Petronius inhaled the unusual wafts of bathing oil, shaving lotion, skin-relaxant and hair pomade amongst which I was making my fragrant way, then with one careful finger he lifted two pleats of my toga a quarter of an inch along my left shoulder, pretending to improve on the sartorial effect. This toga originally belonged to my brother, who like a good soldier reckoned to equip himself with everything of the best, whether he needed it or not. I was sweating under the weight of the wool, and my own embarrassment.

I said, lest my sceptical crony should deduce something incorrect, “Just taking a rancid old vinegar pot to a party at the Palace.”

He looked shocked. “Night assignments? Watch yourself, blossom! This could lead to trouble for a good-looking boy!”

I had no time to argue. I had spent so long at the barber’s, I was already late.