Titus Flavius Vespasianus. The back of my throat, which had been tingling from a fiercely peppered sauce, rasped with dry ash. Two employers: Titus and Vespasian. Or two rather important victims, if we got it wrong.

This cheery young general was supposed to be locked in siege warfare at Jerusalem; he had evidently dealt with Jerusalem, and I quite believed that he swept up in his conquest the fabulous Judaean queen. Who could blame him? Whatever anyone thought of her background and morals (she had once married her uncle and was rumoured to sleep with her brother the king), Queen Berenice was the most beautiful woman in the world.

“Helena Justina!”

My teeth ground on a fragment of lobster shell. Having pocketed a queen for himself, he need not have encroached so keenly on my personal naiad. I could tell he had impressed her by the quiet way she asked him, “You want to talk to Falco, sir; shall I withdraw?”

A pang of panic caught me when I thought that she might, but he waved us both rapidly into the room.

“No please; this concerns you too.”

We were in a chamber twenty-foot-high where painted figures from mythology leapt lightly about fantastic panels beneath arbours of intricate flowers. Every conceivable surface was lacquered with gold leaf. I blinked.

“Sorry about the dazzle,” Titus smiled. “Nero’s obscene idea of good taste. My poor father is in a quandary, as you can imagine, whether to put up with it or commit funds to building yet another new Palace on the site.”

I envied them the problem of whether to keep the Palace they already owned, or buy a new one.

Titus carried on gravely. “Some of the rooms are so disgusting we have had to seal them up. With a complex that sprawls across three of the Seven Hills we are still hard put to find modest family accommodation, let alone a really functional public suite. Still, more urgent projects first—” I had not come here to bandy taste in decor but he changed pace, indicating business, so I relaxed. “My father has asked me to see you informally, because a public audience might be dangerous. Your news about the stolen ingots being stripped of their silver has been hinted to the Praetorians. They seemed interested to hear it, loyal as they are!” He was ironic without appearing cynical.

“It still leaves the conspirators at large—” I replied.

“Let me bring you up to date. This morning we arrested Atius Pertinax Marcellus. The evidence was thin, but we must find out who else is involved. So…” He hesitated.

“The Mamertine Jail?” I asked. “The political cells?”

Princes had died in them; the cells were notorious. Helena Justina drew a sharp breath. Titus told her, almost without apology, “Not for long. He had a visitor—quite against the rules—don’t yet know who. Half an hour later the prison guards found him strangled.”

“Oh no!”