It was good to say his name, but I had had enough. Perhaps it showed. I had drunk enough too, and may have given the impression I was likely to be sick. Despite this, Frontinus refilled our cups. Then he hunched up on the bench, obviously ready to talk.

“Falco—Falco, what’s your given name?”

“Marcus,” I admitted. Same as Festus, as Frontinus must have known.

“Marcus! Jupiter, I’ll call you Falco. How are you knotted up in this, Falco?”

“There’s a reward for the silver pigs.”

“Now, laddie, that’s not on!” He became wonderfully paternal. “This is political; leave it to the Guards. Festus would tell you, and as he’s not here, you take it from me. Listen, I’ll spell it out. After four new heads of state in less than twelve months, Vespasian makes a relaxing change, but some odd types are still after him. You know how it is—they come sidling up when you’re off duty, little men with something big to sell—”

“Silver pigs!” Everything fell into place. “Ex Argentiis Britanniae. Financing a political plot. Who’s behind this?”

“That’s what the Guards want to know,” Frontinus told me grimly.

I sensed a movement in the men around him. I said carefully, not looking at any of them, “Loyalty to the Emperor.”

“If you like…” Julius Frontinus laughed.

They pride themselves on loyalty. In their time the Praetorians have physically hoiked new Emperors onto the throne. They crowned Claudius that way, and in the Year of the Four Emperors even a barbered booby like Otho could snatch the Empire once he swung Praetorian support. To buy them would take a private mint. But someone had braved the British weather to arrange just that.

“When they approached me,” Frontinus said, “I asked for proof. Stalling for time. They turned up two days afterwards with a hallmarked bar. My troopers were tracking the weevils back to their biscuit when they scarpered and dropped the loot.” Having tried to lift it, I could see why. “We lost them, and when we went back we had lost the bar too. Once we put spies into the waterfront drinking holes we soon heard of a drayman who was boasting he had found something that would win him a golden thank you from the Emperor himself. Someone less gentle than the Guards obviously heard of him too.”

He gave me a heavy stare. There was a cold, wet patch on my undertunic against the hollow of my chest. It had nothing to do with the drink.

“Vespasian’s no fool, Falco. He may have jumped up from nothing, but he did it on clever judgement and guts. We reckoned he must be on to this. And now here you are! You informing for the Palace, sunshine? You on some special payroll to cover Vespasian if the Guards let him down?”

“Not as far as I know, Julius…”