I lived halfway to the sky. The girl was entranced. Used only to desirable spreads at ground floor level, with their own gardens and access to the aqueducts, she probably missed the disadvantages of my eagle's nest. I dreaded that the foundations would collapse and six layers of habitation collapse in a puff of plaster dust, or that one blazing night I would sleep through the fire watchers' alarm and fry in my own fat.

She made a beeline for the balcony. I gave her a moment and then went out to join her, genuinely proud of my view. The view, at least, was fabulous. Our block stood high enough on the Aventine to see over its neighbours towards the Probus Bridge. You could spy for miles, out across the river and the Transtiberina Sector to the laniculan Mount and the west coast countryside. It was best at night. Once the delivery carts stopped their racket, sounds became so intense you could hear the water lapping on the Tiber's banks, and the Emperor's sentries grounding their spears behind you on Palatine Hill.

She breathed deeply of the warm air, rich in city smells cook shops and chandleries, and the aromatic waft from the stone pines in the public gardens on Pincian Hill.

"Oh I wish I lived somewhere like this' She must have seen my face. "Condemned as a pampered brat! You suppose I don't realize you have no water, no winter heat and no proper oven so you have to carry in your meals from a hot pie shop She was right, I had supposed that. Dropping her voice, she sprang on me, "Who are you?"

"You read it: Didius Falco," I said, watching her. "I'm a private informer."

She considered this. For a moment she was uncertain, then she became quite excited: "You work for the Emperor!"

"Vespasian hates informers. I operate for sad middle-aged men who think their wicked wives are sleeping with charioteers, and even sadder ones who know their wives are sleeping with their nephews. Sometimes for women."