By now outraged stokers and stevedores were swaying to their feet ready to spar with anyone, and not caring why. The monkey had been eating an apple while he waited until he was wanted. I clicked my fingers above his head, snatched his apple as he looked up, then drew back my arm like a javelin thrower to hurl the fruit at the gang who had followed us in. Baring his teeth, he leapt into their midst biting anyone whose face he could reach.

Helena Justina had found a low doorway; she ducked me out into the back alley before I could gasp. We never even had a drink.

Well, people don’t go to a brothel for a drink.

The space between the buildings was half a yard at most. Dark balconies hung over our heads hiding the sky. There was a smell as strong as lion’s piss and I banged my knee on an onion crate. Under my sandals I felt the soft slide of liquid mud which after a few steps welled up coldly between my naked toes.

As I limped bravely, the senator’s daughter helped me to hurry with her sensible hand gripping my arm.

“Didius Falco, I didn’t know you were shy.”

I glanced back over one shoulder, managing to mutter, “I didn’t know you were not.” Our steps jarred on the lava blocks of a properly paved street. “Now that we’ve been to a brothel together, can I call you Helena?”

“No. The floor show looked amazing; I was sorry to miss that.”

“I thought we should leave; that mangy ape was giving you a funny look.”

“It was a chimpanzee,” Helena Justina retorted pedantically. “And I thought he was rather taken with you!”

We slackened our pace but stumbled on until we came to a major street. Since we left the Palace the curfew had lifted and they were letting in the delivery carts. From all the gates of Rome ferocious vehicular activity converged on us; we covered our ears against the screeching of axles and cursing of carters. It was pitch dark, except where their lanterns bobbed. Suddenly there were shouts: we had been spotted. We were pursued by burly shapes. There was something about the way those shadows moved that convinced me they were soldiers. They came after us on unhurried feet, fanning down both sides of the highway, threading through the waggons like corks bobbing in a harbour, silently working their way through dark water into shore.

“More roughnecks! Better hitch a ride—”

“Oh Juno!” Helena wailed in despair. “Falco, not a cart chase up and down the Seven Hills!”