In the chaos, we slipped away. To shed its weight while I was looking after Helena, I left the bag of gold for Petronius to take to mother’s for me—warning him it belonged to ma, so he had better not risk milking the contents for himself. Then I headed back fast on the way we had first come. Soon we were much too far west, but in quieter streets, the river side of the Aventine, near the Probus Bridge. I brought us south past the Atrium of Liberty, stopping by Pollio’s Library to catch a hasty drink from a fountain. While I was about it, I washed my filthy shoes and legs. Helena Justina tentatively began to do the same, so I gripped her heels and swabbed her feet like a very brisk banquet slave.

“Thank you,” she murmured quietly. I gave my grimmest attention to cleaning off her beaded shoes. “Are we safe now?”

“No, lady. We’re in Rome, in the dark. If anyone jumps us they will probably knife us out of sheer disappointment that we’ve nothing left to steal.”

“Oh don’t fight!” she cajoled me.

I did not reply.

I was trying to decide what to do. I reckoned both our homes might be being watched. Helena Justina had no friends nearby; everyone she knew lived further north. I settled on taking her to stay with my mother.

“Have you realized what this is all about, ladyship?”

She read my thoughts. “The silver pigs are at Nap Lane!” It was the only explanation for her ungracious husband’s last-minute legacy. “His name was in our stolen letter; he realized he was now proscribed. He created that codicil in case he was betrayed by his collaborators, to deprive them of funds in revenge—but what did he imagine I would do with the ingots if I found them?”

“Return them to the Emperor. You’re honest, aren’t you?” I asked her in a dry tone.

I tucked her feet into her shoes again and began to walk.

“Falco, why are they chasing us?”

“Domitian overreacting? Titus hinted we were suspicious about your legacy. And he may have listened outside the door before he came whistling in. What’s that?”

I caught a chuckle of sound. A bevy of horsemen swirled out of nowhere. A tall-sided garden rubbish cart was grumbling past empty; I dragged Helena aboard, jammed up the backboard, and we lay, petrified, while the horses dashed by.

Perhaps it was coincidence; perhaps not.

Two hours had passed since we left the Palace; the strain was beginning to tell. I peered out, saw a man on horseback, then ducked so hard I banged myself half-unconscious before I realized I had only glimpsed a statue of some ancient general going green about the wreath. Something snapped.

“This cart seems to know where it’s going,” I muttered. “Let’s just keep down!”