“You are telling me you starve the chickens in advance, I suppose? And I imagine,” I suggested, “you could make the dumplings crumbly, to help things along?”

The chicken-keeper sucked his teeth. “Far be it from me!” he lied.

One reason I despised the College of Augurs was that they could manipulate state business by choosing when the auspices should turn out favorable. Lofty personages who held opinions that I hated could affect or delay important issues. I don’t suggest bribery took place. Just everyday perversions of democracy.

The Sacred Chickens’ main function was to confirm good omens for military purposes. Army commanders needed their blessing before leaving Rome. In fact, they usually took Roman chickens to consult before maneuvers, rather than relying on local birds who might not understand what was required of them.

“I always like the story of the consul Clodius Pulcher, who received a bad augury when he was at sea, chafing to sail against the Carthaginians; the irascible old bastard threw the chickens overboard.”

“If they won’t eat, let them drink!” quoted the chicken-keeper.

“So he lost the battle, and his whole fleet. It shows you should respect the Sacred Birds.”

“You’re just saying that because of your new job, Falco.”

“No, I’m famous for being kind to hens.”

I made notes on a tablet, so it looked good. My instructions for my position as procurator were typically vague, but I would prepare a report even though nobody had asked for one. That always makes officialdom jump.

My plan was to suggest making the coop legs one inch longer. I would enjoy thinking up a spurious scientific reason for this. (Experience suggests that since the time of King Numa Pompilius the average length of weasels’ legs has increased, so they can now reach higher than when the statuory Sacred Chcken coop was first designed. ..)

Duty done there, I sought out the Sacred Geese, my other charges. They rushed up, hissing in a way that reminded me that their keeper’s specialist lore included warnings that they could break my arm if they turned nasty. Unlikely. Juno’s geese had learned that humans might be bringing food. After I checked them out, they waddled after me relentlessly. I was returning to Helena, whom I had left feeding the baby in a secluded spot. A retinue of feather pillows on legs did not help my dignity.

She was waiting back at the Auguraculum, tall and stately. Even after being with her for four years, the sight of her made me catch my breath. My girl. Unbelievable.

Julia was now wide awake; last night, after being scrubbed and scolded about the ink episode, she and her grandfather had fallen asleep together. We crept away to a spare bedroom, leaving him in charge. There were plenty of slaves in the household to help him out if necessary. We had made love that morning without the risk of a nosy little witness appearing at the bedside.

“Lightly stained with woad!” Helena giggled. “She and Papa were rather well tattooed.”

I put my arms around her, still yearning with intimate affection. “You know how laundries bleach things-maybe somebody should have peed on them.”

“Papa preempted you with that joke.”

We were facing east, squinting into the pale morning sun. Behind us was the temple; to our left, the vista across the Field of Mars and gray-silver hints of the river; more to the right, the augurs’ long scan towards the distant misty hills.

“You don’t seem a happy gooseboy,” said Helena.

“I’m happy.” I nuzzled her neck lasciviously.

“I think you are planning to make trouble.”

“I’ll be the most efficient procurator Rome has ever had.”

“That’s exactly what I meant-they don’t know what they have done appointing you!”

“Should be fun, then.” I leaned back, turned her around to look at me, and grinned. “Do you want me to be respectable but useless, like all the rest?”

Helena Justina grinned back wickedly. I could handle becoming pious, so long as she was prepared to stick it out with me.

The city was stirring. We could hear beasts bellowing below, in the Cattle Market Forum. I caught a faint whiff from a tannery that must offend the refined nostrils of the gods-or at least their snooty antiquated priests. It reminded me of the ex-Flamen Dialis, who had complained about the goslings. That reminded me of his troubled granddaughter.

“What are you planning to do about Gaia Laelia and her family?”

Helena pulled a face at the suggestion that it was her responsibility, but she was ready: “Invite Maia to lunch-I have not seen her yet, in any case-and ask her about that royal reception.”

“Am I supposed to come home for lunch too?”

“It’s not necessary.” She knew I was dying to be in on what Maia said. “So,” she retaliated, “what are you intending to do about that body Aelianus found and lost?”

“Not my problem.”

“Oh, I see.” Appearing to accept it (I should have known better), Helena mused slowly, “I don’t know that I approved of my brother being set up for the Arval Brethren. I can see why he thought it would do him good socially, but the appointment is for life. He may enjoy feasting and dancing in a corn wreath for a few years, but he can be rather staid and serious. He won’t endure it forever.”

“You know what I think.”

“That all the colleges of priests are elite cliques, where power is traditionally wielded by nonelected, jobs-for-life patricians, all dressing up in silly clothes for reasons no better than witchcraft and carrying out dubious, secretive manipulation of the state?”

“You old cynic.”

“I am quoting you,” said Helena.

“What a misery!”

“No.” Helena pulled a dour face. “You are an astute observer of the political truth, Marcus Didius.” Then she changed tack: “In my opinion, unless it is already known who killed the man Aelianus found, then my brother should make it his business-with your technical helpto discover the murderer.”

“Why’s this? So that he can inform the rest of the Arval Brothers and in gratitude they will elect dear Aulus to fill the vacancy?”

“No again,” scoffed Helena. “I told you he is better off without them. So that when those snobs gratefully offer him membership he can make himself feel better by crying ‘No thank you!’ and marching out on them.”

Sometimes people suggested that I was the hot-headed one.

“So you will be investigating this with him?” she grilled me.

“I have no time for unpaid private commissions. Helena, my darling, I am very busy making recommendations for the care of things that honk and cluck.”

“What have you suggested to Aulus?”

“That he trots back to the Sacred Grove this morning and pretends to be making official enquiries.”

“So you are helping him!”

Well, I had said he could use my name as a cover, if it persuaded people to take him seriously. “It’s up to him. If he wants to know the truth about his mysterious corpse, he has plenty of free time and a good reason to be asking questions. He’ll have to find all the attendants who were working at the pavilion yesterday, and speak to the priests at the various temples; that will take him all day and prove whether he’s serious. I bet he discovers nothing. The experience will douse his ardor and perhaps be the end of it.”

“My brother can be very stubborn,” warned Helena in a dark voice.

As far as I was concerned, Aelianus could play with this curiosity as long as he liked. I might even give him a steer or two. But the swift removal of the body and the secrecy with which it had happened looked ominous. If the Arval Brothers had decided to hush up the incident, now that I was loosely attached to the state religion myself, I had to hold back. Once I had been a fearless, interfering informer; now the damned Establishment had bought me off. I had held this post for just two days, and already I was cursing it.