BIRDY'S APPOINTMENT of Honorius to work with Falco and Associates caused a storm among the associates. We made a silent, angry party when we attended the praetor's office for the pre-trial arraignment.

The situation looked black for our client. Paccius and Silius had formally joined as co-accusers. There was little to choose between the evidence each informer produced against Negrinus – as Honorius had said, there was virtually no evidence. The praetor awarded Paccius the privilege of first speaking. Paccius won this right to lead the case only because he had reached the praetor first with his original deposition.

They asked for a three-week delay for investigations. For our purposes, this was too short. Honorius asked to extend the period, but was overruled. No reason was given. He was overruled either because the praetor thought he was too junior to count, or because the praetor just hated his face. Yes, Birdy had stuck us with a liability.

Worse followed. When we requested trial in the murders court, surprisingly at first the praetor seemed to like the idea. I reckoned he was worried that a case which had already been trawled through once in the Senate might start to look like a legal mess if all the same evidence were regurgitated with a second defendant. As the arbiter of what came to trial, it might make him look indecisive. He would be even more anxious if my associates came to him in the next few weeks with yet another new accused! So far, nobody knew that part of the plan.

Caught by surprise, Paccius and Silius made no immediate objection to our request. However, they did not need to. The praetor disapproved of anything the upstart Honorius wanted. 'Metellus Negrinus is a senator, an ex-quaestor and ex-aedile. We cannot subject him to trial on a level with tavern knifings, like killers who are little better than slaves. Request refused!'

Paccius and Silius smiled at us pityingly.

I myself made a further application on Negrinus' behalf `Sir, the accusers' case is based on their proposition that our client was jealous and angry because he was cut out of his father's will. We appeal to have Paccius Africanus produce to us a copy of the will.'

'Paccius has it?' The praetor sat up sharply on his curule stool. Those X-shaped folding seats have no back support. A firm posture is required in the honourable magistrate who uses his symbol of authority. You see magistrates lying on massage slabs at the baths, groaning about their lumbar pain. It's a hazard of the job. In court, they tend to slump in boring moments, then jerk into a more rigid position if they are caught out by something said.

This one hated legacy-chasing. 'Paccius Africanus, can you explain this?'

Paccius rose to his feet smoothly. I gave him credit for a calm reaction. `Sir, for legal reasons only, the deceased Rubirius Metellus assigned me his heir. I gain very little. I have to reassign everything to others. The estate is mainly governed by a fideicommissum.'

`Held in trust?' snapped the praetor. He said trust as if he was referring to some repulsive bodily function. `Held in trust for who?' Long words did not trouble him, but we could tell he was startled; his grammar had slipped. When Rome's chief magistrate forgets how to operate the dative case – especially when the illustrious one is using the interrogative in its accusatory mood with a full blast of unpleasant emphasis – then it's time for the clerks from the Daily Gazette to take notes for the scandal page.

`Various friends and family.' Paccius eluded the question as if the outrage it suggested had never occurred to him. `I shall send a copy immediately to Falco's home address.'

I thought the praetor shot me a look as if he longed to be asked to lunch so he could see the sensational note tablet. In view of his brusque treatment of Honorius earlier, I refused to do him favours. We then all consulted our notes, as if we were now checking for any other trivial points we could throw in to distract ourselves from serious issues. Issues like justice for the innocent.

Neither side found any, so we all went home.

To my surprise the copy arrived within a couple of hours. The will was on the inner sides of two waxed boards. That's normal. It was so short only one board was written on. Metellus senior had named Paccius Africanus his heir, thus leaving him all his debts and responsibilities, plus the religious safe keeping of the family's ancestral masks and household gods. Metellus had bequeathed small sums to each of his two daughters, after allowing for the amounts in their dowries. Both his son and his wife were specifically ruled out of inheritance, though each was given a very small lifetime maintenance allowance. I mean very, very small. I could have lived on it, but I had once been nearly starved and accustomed to cockroaches as fellow lodgers. Anyone who grew up in senatorial luxury would find the allowance tight.

Everything else went to Paccius, who was to pass on the money intact to Saffia Donata.

`This is odd.' Honorius took it upon himself to comment first. `We need to show this to a wills expert. Silius uses one -‘

'Old Fungibles is supposed to be the best,' Justinus disagreed coldly. `We should avoid anyone who works with the opposition, Falco.'

`Old Fungibles?' I croaked.

Aelianus jumped in smartly: `Interchangeable items; often consumables… A nickname, presumably.'

`Where did this mobile comestible come from?' I asked, still unconvinced.

'Ursulina Prisca,' Justinus grinned.

`Oho! Give me his details then,' I instructed, also grinning. We did not explain to Honorius the in-joke about our client, the litigious widow. `I'll take along the will for advice; Aelianus can come too.' Honorius looked put out; that was tough. He was our law man, but I needed to re-establish good relationships with my own team. The Camilli cheered up, seeing Honorius snubbed. Justinus offered to hunt down more herbalists, still chasing the purchaser of the Metellus hemlock.

Justinus was now spreading out his search from the Embankment in ever-increasing circles. This tedious tramp could take him weeks. He might never track down the right seller. Even if he identified the one, he might never persuade him to give evidence in court. But for Justinus it had become a challenge.

`What can I do?' wailed Honorius plaintively.

`Read up the facts. Plan your arguments for when we go to court.'

`A defender who is familiar with the case? That will be a novelty!' Aelianus sneered.

Honorius gazed at him. `I gather you are the cruel satirist in Falco and Associates.'

`No, that's my sister,' Aelianus returned. `When Helena Justina assesses your professional worth, you'll come out of it like a raw grape skin after a wine-pressing.'

He made it sound as if he was looking forward to watching Honorius being pulped.

I told Honorius to make his presence felt with the Senate clerks and get Birdy a trial date.

As experts go, Old Fungibles was a babe – not the seventy-year-old I expected. More like thirty, though he looked forty. He was a grey little fellow who lived and worked in a one-room hole-in-the-wall unit, in a side road among furniture makers and metal workshops. The booth was spartan; the man seemed obsessed. He was colourless, but clearly extremely intelligent. My guess was that he had been some barrister's slave from a young age. He must have been trusted to carry out detailed work, and he had devoured information. Freed early, no doubt on the death of his master, he inherited enough legal codes to set up in his own business. Now he wrote wills and interpreted them. His real name was Scorpus. He acknowledged with good humour that we could call him Fungibles.

We all sat on stools. I wondered how the man could do brain-work here. From nearby premises clanged the ceaseless din of metal-beating. In the narrow street outside, people passed to and fro gossiping loudly. Some proprietors would have offered refreshments. Fungibles merely told us his fee (which was as basic as his living quarters, yet somehow I had faith in him), then he dived straight into our consultation.