“A free meal never comes amiss. I have heard a theory that election to be the new Master actually depends on a kitchen inspection, rather than the man’s religious qualities.”

“I can believe that.” Rutilius smiled. “Look, are you two going in to the feast? I am sure I can arrange it-”

“Not tactful, I’m afraid.” Taking a chance that he belonged to the inner circle who knew all about the murder in the Grove, I added, “My young friend Camillus had the misfortune to discover a bloody corpse last night. You may have heard the story. We were just here asking some awkward questions. The Brothers are clearly sensitive about the incident; our faces won’t fit at the party.”

Rutilius glanced about, as if making sure we were not overheard. “ Yes. I just came from the Palace; we were talking about exactly that. It’s why I am late. Titus and Domitian Caesar would normally have been here-”

“Policy decision? It’s tricky protocol,” I sympathized. “If they stay at home over a tragedy that nobody could help, it looks coldblooded. But if this murder blows up into a scandal on the lurid page of the Daily Gazette, the princes will not want their names linked.. .. Let me guess: the lads in purple have been struck wth an inexplicable stomach upset, and you are bringing their sincere apologies?”

“Domitian has a stomach upset,” Rutilius agreed. “Titus elected for suddenly remembering the birthday of a very ancient aunt.”

“Ah well, he gets a quiet evening in the arms of the phenomenal Berenice.”

“Wonderful for both of them! Falco, I must dash inside-”

We bade him good evening and left the marine-style villa. After a while Aelianus asked, “So what did you make of all that?”

“Intriguing. A woman goes mad and knifes a relative-only she dresses it up as a religious sacrifice.” I paused. “It must have taken some doing. The killing would have been difficult, even in a frenzybut then, after that strenuous effort, she had to maneuver the corpse to drain out the blood…” We both grimaced.

“Is this murder just an act of sudden madness, Falco, or do you think the victim had upset her particularly?”

“Well, something probably triggered her action. Not at the Games. A previous incident, because there was quite a lot of planning involved. She had dressed herself up as a priestess, and gone to the Grove equipped with sacrificial implements.”

“Do you think she and the man traveled there together?”

“Doubt it. He would have wondered about the religious accoutrements. A woman of standing would not normally travel out of Rome alone, though. She got there somehow. She must have had transport, if not a companion.”

“For a woman of standing, discreet transport is no problem. Half the scandals in Rome rely on it. So she took herself to the Games and confronted the man, fully intending to kill him? There can be no mitigating circumstances-yet now what, Falco? The crazed killer is simply returned to her family? Sent home in the same discreet transport, presumably! And allowed to continue her normal life?”

“Well, the Master said they are going to guard her,” I said dryly. “If it was her husband she killed, perhaps all they have to do is ensure she never remarries. Though no doubt if she does, they will issue the new chap with a warning never to turn his back when she’s slicing smoked meat.”

“Oh, wonderful! Was that rude old man we passed earlier at the Master’s house a relative coming to beg the Arvals to sanction the coverup?”

“Seems likely.”

“Well, I think it’s disgraceful if they get away with it.”

Since he had been born into the top circle where such cover-ups were permissible, I refrained from comment. What was to gain by publicizing this woman’s tragedy? A trial and execution would only be an added misery for her relatives. They could afford drugs to calm her and guards to restrain her. Plenty of perfectly ordinary Aventine families have batty old aunts who are kept well away from the kindling axe.

I walked with Aelianus to the senator’s house to make sure that no muggers jumped him, then made my own way over the Aventine. Several times on the dark journey, I thought I heard footsteps following me, but I saw no one. In Rome, at night, all sorts of suspicious noises can make you nervous once you let yourself start hearing them.

THE NEXT DAY was the last in May. I looked it up in my calendar of festivals, an abomination that I now had to consult on a regular basis like a dutiful procurator. Today I could have voted or been a juror in a criminal case-had anybody wanted me. No one did, and so the last day of the month just seemed to slip away quite pleasantly. Anyone can be a responsible citizen when most of the world thinks he is still abroad.

I watched the day go. I was suffering belated weariness after sailing home. And I was uneasy. Acting as Procurator of Poultry had taken over my life. A major festival of Juno Moneta fell tomorrow (nagged the calendar). My place would be there. Even attending this junket would be a first for me, let alone serving as nursemaid to a set of geese. The geese were to exhibit their annual tasteless triumphalism over a sample of supposedly guilty watchdogs, poor stray curs who would be rounded up and ritually crucified. It was not my idea of a genteel nod to history.

Today, however, I was loafing at home, left in charge of young Julia while Helena dodged off somewhere. When, like a pompous head of household checking up on his wife’s social life, I asked for details, she just looked at me with a guileless expression that meant she was being devious. Whatever it was, she took Nux as a chaperon, plus enough bread rolls for a good lunch, her private note-tablet and stylus, and several sponges; then I spotted her hiding my best hammer under her cloak. I doubted she was visiting a girlfriend to discuss embroidery designs.

“Helena, is it possible, companion of my heart, that you are hiding something from me?”

“You do not want to know, darling!” Helena assured me. “Enjoy your day.” Her parting tone was kindly and brave, like that of a farmer who has delivered his favorite horse to the butcher with a full nosebag.

I would have spent my time in men’s activities-Forum, baths, shops, tracing Petronius to whichever wine bar he had chosen that day for his break. Having Julia with me hampered that. But I did visit Pa’ s warehouse at the Saepta Julia in order to broach Maia’s money problems; he was out. Even Petro had made himself invisible, though his comrades at the patrol house reckoned he was working.

“Sounds too diligent.”

“Maturity comes to everyone, Falco.”

“If that’s happened to Lucius Petronius, he needs a surgeon right away!”

“No, somebody just happened to mention lettuce in his hearing-not thinking about his wife’s lover, of course.”

“Oh no! He went off in a sulk?”

“Touchy tyke.”

Still carrying the baby, I went to the Forum anyway. Julia loved the crowds. The sleazier they were, the more she gurgled appreciatively. My family would say, at least there were no doubts about her fatherhood.

At the back of the Temple of Castor was the bathhouse I frequented. I took a risk. Glaucus, the austere proprietor, had a strict entrance policy. His establishment was intended to be a haunt for serious professional men. He banned women. Nor did he tolerate pretty boys or the pederasts who lusted after them. To my knowledge, nobody had ever been mad enough to turn up with a one-year-old baby before. We got past the doorkeeper on the wings of sheer novelty. Brazen daring carried me through the changing room, and I was heading for the gymnasium when I heard the rasp of Glaucus being sarcastic to some unfortunate he was training with weights; I chickened out and decided to keep fit another day.