“I’m afraid the new Emperor is famous for that! He needs four hundred million sesterces to restore the Empire to prosperity, and in his list of priorities you stand somewhere after rebuilding the Temple of Jupiter and draining the great lake in Nero’s Golden House. He’ll be relieved Helena Justina is ensuring you don’t starve! So, Didius Falco, as her friend in court, let me tell you your client’s ex-husband has left her a rather unusual bequest.”

“Any bequest from that leaking pustule is unusual in my book. What is it?” I demanded.

Titus sucked the back of his thumbnail, though it was perfectly manicured.

“The contents of a pepper warehouse in Nap Lane,” he said.

XLIII

I concealed my excitement, thinking fast.

“What do you think he had in mind, sir?”

“I have had men searching to find out.”

“Anything there?”

“Nothing for us. For the lady, a lavish pantry of spices and enough perfume to bathe like Cleopatra every day of her life.” He turned, with a changed tone. “Helena Justina, has this upset you? Pertinax had no family except his adoptive father; perhaps he retained affection from when you were his wife.”

That did upset her. I sat still; it was not for me to tell her whether Pertinax felt affectionate—or whether she should want him to.

Titus went on worrying her, while her startled brain spun.

“A traitor’s goods are forfeit—but recognizing your assistance, my father wishes your legacy to stand. In due course, this gift will be released to you—”

She was frowning. I would have liked to watch Helena demolish a Caesar, if only as a variation from demolishing me. Instead I advised sensibly, “Helena Justina, you ought to tell Titus Caesar now about the people who came to your husband’s house, the ones we discussed at Massilia.” Mentioning Massilia I tensed, trying not to think about the error I made at the inn. Helena received my encouragement as noncommittally as always.

Helena Justina repeated the story for Titus in her straightforward style. He demanded names; she stated her list. I remembered some of them this time, though they still meant nothing to me: Aufidius Crispus, Curtius Gordianus, Gordianus’ brother Longinus, Faustus Ferentinus, Cornelius Gracilis…

Titus jumped for a notebook, making swift strokes with a stylus in rapid shorthand, omitting the bother—or danger—of calling in a secretary. He was famous for the speed of his own shorthand anyway.

While he studied the names I enquired, “Is it indiscreet to ask whether your brother was coerced?”