It would have been incorrect to gossip with the young lady of the house even if I had remained in her uncle’s employ. I try not to upset senators by meddling with their wards in their own front halls where the servants see everything that goes on. If I spoke to Sosia at all—which I must do now, since her noble personage had spoken to me—any chat must be quick. And we should stay in the hall.

I scuffed the marble floor tiles with my heel.

“Oh Didius Falco, please!”

From sheer spite I followed her.

She led me to an internal courtyard I had not seen before. Glaring white stonework fought the cold black-green of clipped cypress trees. There were cooing doves and a bigger fountain which worked. A peacock screeched behind one of the lichen-covered urns, which were planted with stately white lilies. It was a cool, pretty, quiet place, but I refused to sink into the shade under the pergola and be soothed. Sosia sat; I faced her, on my feet, with my arms folded. In some ways this was just as well; however much I was tempted to slide an arm around her, I had denied myself the chance.

She was wearing a red dress hemmed with damson braid. It emphasized the paleness of her skin beneath the artificial colours she applied. Leaning towards me with a pinched and troubled face, she was for a moment a wan little creature. She seemed apologetic on behalf of her family, though as she tried to win me over she became more earnest than I had ever seen her. Somebody at some time had taught her how to stand her ground.

“I overheard. Falco, you can’t let Vespasian be murdered; he’s going to be a good Emperor!”

“I doubt it,” I said.

“He’s not cruel; he’s not mad. He leads a simple life. He works hard. He’s old, but he has a gifted son—” This came out with spirit; she believed it, though I knew such a theory could not originate with her. I was surprised to find the Emperor could claim such support, for he lacked all the traditional advantages. None of Vespasian’s family had ever held high office. I did not blame him for that; neither had any of mine.

“Who stuffed you with this horsehair?” I raged.

“Helena.”

Helena. The cousin she had mentioned. The senator’s daughter, the one some poor sap of a husband with a great deal of luck had managed to divorce.

“I see…So what’s she like, this Helena of yours?”

“She’s wonderful!” Sosia exclaimed at once, but then she decided with equal certainty, “You wouldn’t like her much.”

“Why’s that?” I laughed.