In the twelve years since I started, I have learned more and hope to continue to improve. Scholarship itself moves on. Once British archaeologists automatically called lead ingots “pigs.” Now (perhaps even arising out of interest in this novel) there is a debate about how those ingots were really formed—whether the molten metal would cool too quickly to run into channels, for instance, and whether real “pigs” ought to show snibs where they were broken off the main channel. On reflection, it does seem likely that the silver/lead ingots we see in museums were made in individual moulds. So it’s possible that when Falco describes the process to Petronius, he is wrong. Well, he is not infallible and it’s a scene I was always fond of, too. It shows their relationship well. I mention this, as it shows the problems an author can face in keeping up-to-date even after publication, but on reflection I have decided not to change the scene. Another thing I feel we cannot do is retitle the book, not least because The Silver Moulds would sound like plates of blancmange!

I admit mistakes and correct them later if I can. By publishing this book I set myself up as a target for “helpful” people who would feel driven to point out my errors. Once, I was mortified by this, but I now merely reflect that as a crime writer it is useful to observe the darker motives that afflict otherwise pleasant folk.

It seems to me that in fiction, which is not intended to be taken too seriously, ultimately only the narrative sense matters. Do readers believe in Falco’s world and his actions? Some find the leap of imagination hard, but in general yes they do. No author can please everyone. I can forgo the sceptics and the nitpickers, in return for the passionate faith of those who are convinced.

Luckily, there are plenty of those. From the moment The Silver Pigs appeared I began to encounter completely delightful readers, many of whom urgently want to say thank you. It is a great joy to me that many seem to feel they are writing to a friend and often they start by saying, “I have never written to an author before…” This very first book in the series brought my first letter from my official “Number One Fan.” He is Nigel Alefounder, a devoted supporter, though typically diffident about his vital role. He set the pattern: cheerful, intrigued, fascinated by the Romans, yet always very sensible about what this kind of fiction is really trying to do.