“The Flamen Quirinalis is my father’s second cousin.” As far as I knew, this was pure invention. Being related to the priest of Quirinus, the deified Romulus, would place Helena in high circles, if true, and was designed to intimidate. “The Flamen Martialis is ninety and renowned for groping women.” Not many people would know the unsavory habits of the priest of Mars. “I believe the Emperor is very concerned about how to deal with it…” Incorrigible girl. “So you are not one of the patrician group,” Helena’s cool voice concluded, insulting the man if he was at all sensitive about his status. “Which, then, shall I tell Falco has called on him?” she cooed.

“I am the Flamen Pomonalis.”

“Oh, poor you! That’s the lowest of all, isn’t it?” Excluding the novelty newcomers who honored the deified emperors, there were fifteen priests in the College of Flamens, three culled from the aristocracy to attend the major deities, and the rest, who sacrificed to gods most people had never heard of and who were recruited from the plebeian ranks. No one I knew had ever been selected; you had to be a pleb whose face fitted. “Do you have a name?” demanded Helena.

“Ariminius Modullus.” I could have guessed it would be an awkward mouthful.

“Well, if this is about the goslings, Falco has the matter well in hand.”

“The goslings?”

“The Flamen Dialis has some objection to small birds, I believe.”

This made little sense to Pomona’s pointy head. He sounded so wound up that his birchwood prong must be shooting right out of his bonnet. “I have come about Gaia Laelia!”

“Well, so I assumed.” Helena knew how to reply to an overexcited supplicant with maddening calm. “The child came here with an intriguing complaint. You need to know what was said.”

The flamen must be biting his lip as he worried about what had been discussed yesterday.