'Sit down, Censorinus. You're blocking the light.' The legionary was induced to plant himself on the edge of my table. I kept my tone fairly civilised. 'There's a nasty rumour flying about that you've been slandering my famous brother. Do you want to talk about your problem, or shall I just thump you in the teeth?'

'There's no problem,' he sneered. 'I've come to claim a debt. I'll get it too!'

'That sounds like a threat.' I abandoned the stew but carried on with my wine, not offering him any.

'The Fifteenth don't need to make threats,' he boasted.

'Not if their grudge is legal,' I agreed, applying an aggressive edge myself. 'Look, if something's bothering the legion, and if it involves my brother, I'm prepared to listen.'

'You'll have to do something about it!'

'So tell me straight out what's griping you-or else we'll both forget about it.'

Both Epimandos and Stringy were listening. The waiter was leaning on his pots and picking his nose while he stared at us quite openly, but the cat had enough delicacy to pretend to be licking a dropped bread roll under the table. Flora's was not a place to arrange your elopement with an heiress or buy a vial of poisonous green jollop to wipe out your business partner. This caupona had the nosiest staff in Rome.

'Some of us lads who knew Festus,' Censorinus informed me self-importantly, 'chipped in with him in a certain venture.'

I managed not to close my eyes and sigh; this sounded horribly familiar. 'Oh?'

'Well, what do you think? We want the profits-or we want our stakes back. Straight away!'

I ignored the heavy-handed bit. 'Well so far, I can't say I'm either interested or impressed. First, anybody who knew Festus will fully expect to hear that he didn't leave overflowing jars of coinage under every bed he slept in.