"Nothing at all." Petro lost any interest he had. Apparently.

"Out of your jurisdiction." I said it sympathetically. Petro was missing Rome.

He gave me a bitter, rather ambiguous smile. He even missed his work, it seemed. Maybe his conscience was pricking. I had still not extracted how he managed to bunk off on leave for a couple of months. I knew he was between postings, but his very request for a transfer off the Aventine would have used up any goodwill from his old vigiles tribune. The new one, presumably, just wanted Petro on the squadron-house bench as soon as possible.

"Any bar is a good haven for Lucius Petronius!" My rude sister was scathing. They had been bickering since Petro had reached us, bringing her children to rejoin her. He had done her a favor-not that Maia thought so.

"Good idea," Petronius smacked back, jumping up and sauntering to the door. Once, I would have headed after him, but I was a good husband and father these days. (Well, in public, I mostly managed to look like one.) Helena sucked her teeth anxiously. Maia shot Petro a superior look. By accident or on purpose, he slammed the door as he left.

The procurator and his wife tried to avoid showing how weary they were of their visitors' guests squabbling.

I closed my eyes and pretended to doze off. It fooled no one.

V

I used to believe," Helena complained to me privately later, "Lucius Petronius and Maia were trying to decide what they wanted. Sadly, I think they know now-and it's not each other."

My sister and my friend both had tragic histories. Petro, once seemingly respectable, domesticated, and kind to tabby kittens, had plunged into a crass affair. He had strayed from home before, but this was with a gangster's wife, which was disastrous. Even his tribune became touchy about it, and his wife divorced him. Silvia took his daughters away to Ostia, where she now lived with a low-grade seasonal street-food seller; she had humiliated Petronius as much as possible.