“Why?”

“Somebody complained. The sight of scampering goslings had annoyed some ancient retired old Flamen Dialis.” The Flamen Dialis was the Chief Priest of Jupiter, top greaser to the top god in the great Olympian Triad. This menace who loathed fledglings must be a humorless traditionalist of the worst type.

Maybe he had slipped on their mess, which the goslings frequently deposited in large quantities. You can imagine the problems we now had at home.

Gaia blinked. “You must not upset the Flamen!” she commented, in a rather strange tone.

“I shall treat this Flamen as he deserves.” I had managed not to meet him face-to-face; I just heard his moans from a harassed acolyte. I meant to avoid him. Otherwise, I would end up telling some powerful bastard where he could shove his wand of office. As a state procurator, I was no longer free to do that.

“He is very important,” the girlie insisted. She seemed nervous of something. It was obvious the Flamen thought too much of himself. I hate members of ancient priesthoods, with their snobbery and ridiculous taboos. Most of all I hate their undercover influence in Rome.

“You speak as if you know him, Gaia!” I was being satirical.

That was when she floored me: “If his name is Laelius Numentinus, he’s my grandfather.”

My heart sank. This was serious. Tangling with some hidebound king of the cult priesthoods over a couple of ill-placed goslings was a bad enough start to my new post, without him finding out his darling grandchild had approached me, wanting me to act for her. I could see Helena raising her eyebrows and wincing with alarm. Time to get out of this.

“Right. How do you come to be here, Gaia? Who told you about me?”