'Had this man been drinking here last night?'

'Nobody can remember him, though he could have been.' They should remember. He must have been of a higher class than any regulars, even the nice businessmen.

'We just found him left here with his feet waggling -'

'Excuse me! Why were his feet waggling? Was the poor sap still alive?'

She blushed. 'Just a manner of speaking.'

'So was he dead or not?'

'He was dead. Of course he was.'

'How did you know?'

'What?'

'If only his feet were visible, how did anyone know his condition? Could you have revived him? You might at least have tried. I know you didn't bother; the centurion had to pull him out.'

She looked thrown, but carried on gamely, 'He was a goner. It was obvious.'

'Especially if you already knew that he was crammed down the well last evening.'

'I never! We were all surprised!'

'Not as surprised as he must have been,' I said.

There was nothing more to be gained here. We left the centurion to shift the body for safe keeping until the Great King was informed. Gaius and I emerged into the alley, which was used as an open drain. We picked our way past the daily rubbish and empties to what passed for a street. That was dingy enough. We were on terraced ground below the two low gravel hills on which Londinium stood. The area was right down near the river. In any city that can be bad news. The procurator's two bodyguards followed us discreetly, frontline soldiers on detached duty, fingering daggers. They provided reassurance – partially.

From the badly cobbled lane that connected this enclave to larger, perhaps less unfriendly vicinities, we could hear the creak of cranes on the wharves that lined the Thamesis. There were pungent smells of leather, a staple trade. Some towns have regulations that tanneries have to be out in the country because they reek so badly, but Londinium was either not that fussy or not so well organised. Attracted by the river's proximity, we walked there.