The property qualification for the second rank is land worth four hundred thousand sesterces; Titus Caesar could not have realized what a ludicrous observation he had made. In some years the Falco income was so low, I qualified for tokens to claim the corn dole for the poor.

Ignoring the imperial jest, I pointed out that for twenty years Flavius Hilaris had been Vespasian’s friend.

“Falco, it’s a sad fact that when a man becomes Emperor he has to look twice at his friends.”

“When a man becomes Emperor, sir, his friends may look twice at him!”

He laughed again.

Outside the door subdued voices were murmuring insistently now. Titus was staring into space.

“Has Flavius Hilaris been asked to write again?” I asked.

“We sent out an urgent message by signal flare, but traffic is very heavy because of the Triumph. A reply should come back after tomorrow.”

“Do you still need it?”

It was then he finally turned over Sosia’s tablet so I could read what it said for myself.

“I’m afraid so,” Titus said.

There were various scratches on the tablet’s pale wood; my hunch had been right, Sosia was a heavy-handed scribe. I could trace clear marks, strokes, even individual letters, all the way down the page.

But it was impossible to decipher the missing name.

LV

Titus Caesar folded his arms.

“Well, it changes nothing really. We shall just have to find out for ourselves. Have you any idea which brother it is?”

“No, sir. It could be the senator, who appears so anxious to help your father, but may be doing that to obtain the opportunity to sabotage our efforts. Or equally it could be his brother, who was certainly a close associate of Atius Pertinax. I suppose it could conceivably be both.”

“Falco, how long have you had these suspicions?” Titus asked me curiously.

“Caesar, if you wanted mere speculation, I could have handed you a list a thousand names long six months ago—”

Still gripping his arms across this chest, Titus tipped up that famous Flavian chin. “Hogging this family’s involvement to yourself? You’re attached to them obviously?”

“No, Caesar,” I insisted.

We were on the verge of heated argument. No surprise; I had already quarrelled at some time or other with everyone else connected with the case. But Titus, with his strong sentimental streak, abruptly capsized. He threw back his head even further and exclaimed in a sad voice, “Oh Falco; how I hate this!”

“You hate it,” I told him crisply, “but you will have to deal with it.”