This rant had had no effect. Balbinus' eyes, some colour you wouldn't bother to notice, wandered to me. He seemed to realise I was an outsider, and was hoping for some sympathy. `You had your chance,' I told him, before he could start whining. `The benefit of a jury trial, in the calm of the Basilica. Six lawyers. A jury of your equals, who heard about your activities without allowing themselves to be sickened. A judge who, even while passing sentence, was polite. Meanwhile outside, market traders still had their takings grabbed by your rampaging street gangs. Near destitute old women were being tricked out of their savings. Men who dared to resist your hold-up thieves spilled their lifeblood into the gutter. Female slaves were sold into prostitution by angry mistresses after your footpads snatched the shopping money -' Petronius moved slightly. I fell silent.

`Is there anything further you wish to tell me about your business?' Petro's request was formal; a vain hope.

`I am innocent,' Balbinus intoned solemnly.

Petro's sarcasm was milder than I expected: `Oh, for a moment I thought you were going to surprise me and admit something.'

His men were on edge, wanting to retaliate, wanting something to make them feel good.

Petronius held out his hand, palm upwards. `You can keep what you stand up in. I need your equestrian ring.'

With automatic obedience, the big rissole pulled off the badge of his lost social status, struggling to wrench it over his first knuckle bone. He looked puzzled again. `May I have a receipt?'