`There's no future in this case,' I said. Justinus made a small mutter of dissent. He had doubts about my motives, like his brother. I started to walk. They followed me, their steps sluggish. I heard one of them kick at a kerbstone, then yowk as he hurt his foot. They had wasted an evening. They were annoyed and dispirited.

After walking for a while, they calmed down.

`We don't have much work,' said Justinus. `Marcus, I was sure you had decided that we would set out to find Birdy privately.'

`I thought of it.'

`But no?'

`It's winter, no money in it – and I've grown up, Quintus.'

`I was with Quintus,' his brother confessed. `Waiting to hear you declare you would like to get to Birdy first!'

We all laughed gently.

So we marched through Rome as the winter night descended. Our steps were light and fast, keeping ahead of trouble. We stole a lantern from a portico, so wild shadows flickered around us. Ice was forming on silent fountains; there would be heavy frost by morning. At the Forum, the Camilli left me, peeling off towards the Capena Gate. I walked briskly down the Sacred Way, turned a corner after the empty Basilica, and went home to my wife.

SHE WAS waiting for me. Before I put in my latch-lifter, Helena threw open the door.

She was not waiting for me. Ignoring me, she moved back inside and stepped to one side so somebody else had a clear space to walk out. I recognised him instantly. Albia followed; she was driving the man ahead of her. I raised my eyebrows. He had his hands up and he looked scared. I was scared too, for a moment. I saw that Albia was holding the tip of a large kitchen knife rather hard against his back.

The man stopped. Well, he had to. My own knife was out, and pressing on his chest.

`Better stand still.' I could afford to speak gently. We were eye to eye and he could see the menace in my mind. `I don't allow the women of my household to be troubled by male visitors while I'm out.

Albia moved back against Helena, lowering her weapon. They clutched each other, no doubt in relief. Looking over his shoulder I could see they were not too badly frightened, more pleased with themselves. I knew who the man was. He was trouble, but not in any way I couldn't handle. Helena and Albia had dealt with him successfully even without me.

I sheathed my dagger. He took heart and spoke. `You must help me, Falco!'

I grinned at him. `Good boy. You know the procedure. Now you'll say, Oh Falco, I have nowhere else to turn!'

He opened his mouth obediently – well, I already knew he was easily influenced – then he stayed silent, feeling stupid. I gripped him by the shoulders, spun him around, and marched him quickly back inside.

'Metellus Negrinus, men who have gone into hiding from a praetor's enquiry should not stand too long out in the street. We informers get paid a bounty for turning in fugitives!'

WE GAVE him food, watered wine, warmth, a wash in a hand basin. We promised him a bed, safety, a quiet night. First, he had to talk to us.

`Understand this,' I said tersely. Albia had brought us soup; she banged down his bowl in front of him, splashing the low table. I spooned mine up daintily. Our chattels were growing in style and quantity slowly, but we possessed rather fine bronze spoons, a gift to me from Helena years ago. I hoped Metellus would not steal any. You never know with corrupt aediles. Luckily no one had thought to let him have one of our fine-weave Spanish napkins; I had paid for them myself `You are charged with murder. You have refused to answer. Tomorrow your accuser will meet with the magistrate and have you formally named as a fugitive. I have enough trouble with the authorities. Once that happens, I will not harbour you in my house.'

`You should meet the praetor, face up to it,' Helena advised him.

`I can't do that.'

Our next question should have been, why not? But there was something going on here. I was prepared to probe carefully.

Helena had already told me Negrinus rushed into the house earlier that evening, demanding to see me. He was dishevelled and dirty, also greatly agitated. She had made sure Albia stayed with her. When he decided they were lying about my whereabouts, Helena became nervous and Albia, still at heart a street child, fetched the kitchen carver.

`You need a bodyguard to tangle with my ladies. You should have brought your lictors, aedile.' Since the New Year his term as aedile had ended, but I noticed he still accepted the title from me. Disgrace had not given him any sense of shame. `It's never hopeless,' I urged. `Your sister escaped the charges against her. The praetor may decide that a further prosecution is vindictive. He could throw out the charge against you.'

Negrinus looked up, his face aglow. `Would he?'

Doubt descended. `I said it was possible. Look, what has Paccius got on you?'

The sandy-haired man pushed away his bowl. He had hardly touched anything. Normally I reckoned he would be a determined eater; it had made him chubby fowled and too round in the stomach. He did not look as if he exercised. Now he was dejected, utterly spent mentally. I could see why people shoved him around.

We were in our winter dining room. By his standards it must be plain, but we liked the dark walls with their fine tracery of golden candelabra designs, dividing formal panels. Helena gave Albia the nod that she could disappear if she wanted to; she left, after glaring at Negrinus. Never having had a home until now, she was doubly defensive of our house. I noticed she let the dog run in; Nux experimented with a sharp woof at the stranger, then lost heart and came over to lick me. Helena quietly cleared dishes aside on the low wooden serving table. I lit more oil lamps. I wanted Negrinus to know he would be here until he came clean.

`Let's go right back. Your father was convicted of evil practices involving your duties as aedile; you were implicated but not charged. Do you have any comment?'

Negrinus sighed restlessly. He must be used to this. `No, Falco.'

`Well, it colours how you will appear. I take it you accept that? Next comes the nonsense with your sister Juliana and the apothecary; she got off, but that too paints "murder" all over your family in the eyes of a court.'

'Paccius knows that my father did not really want to commit suicide.'

`They had discussed it after he lost at the first trial?'

`Yes.'

`Paccius is likely to say so in court then,' Helena joined in. `An accuser with personal knowledge?- The court will believe anything he cares to say. Did Paccius directly advise your father to kill himself?' Her voice was low, belying what I knew to be strong feelings.

`Yes.'

`And what did you think?'

`I didn't want to lose Father. We were close. But I suppose I could see the arguments about not paying out all our money…' His voice faltered when he said it, however.

`If you were close, and you cared for your father – can we assume you thought he cared for you?' I asked.

`I thought so.' Negrinus spoke in the same despondent tone as when he had answered previously. `I always thought so.'

`So why did he cut you from his will?'

A faint flush coloured the man's fine skin. Gingery types find it hard to conceal their feelings – though interpreting the signals is not always easy. `I don't know.'

`You must have some idea.' He shook his head.

`I realise this is upsetting – but Paccius will interrogate you when you give evidence.'

He stared at me. `You know his intentions?'

`He tried to hire me tonight – to look for you. He told me, your distress at being omitted from the will is your murder motive. It figures. Of course you're annoyed. You are the only son. This is not just about the money, Birdy. It's your social and domestic position at stake. This is about who takes over religious responsibility in your family, who honours your ancestors, who makes offerings to the family gods. You expected to take on your father's role.'