“I bet you keep a note tablet with a formal list of queries that you and he pore over at a set hour every day!”

“You have a peculiar notion of our daily routine.”

I smiled gently. “No, I just thought you might pin down Titus Flavius Vespasianus in the same way that Helena tackles me.”

They both laughed. They were laughing at me. I could bear it. I was a happy man. I knew Antonia Caenis was going to land me the job I wanted, and I had high hopes that she might do more than that.

“I suppose,” she said, still being direct, “you want to explain to me what went wrong about promoting you?”

“I expect you know what went wrong, lady! Domitian was of the opinion that informers are sordid characters, none of whom is worthy of inclusion in the lists for the middle rank.”

“Is he correct?”

“Informers are far less sordid than some of the musty gargoyles with clammy ethics who people the upper rank lists.”

“No doubt,” said Caenis with the slightest suggestion of reproof: “The Emperor will bear your strictures in mind when he reviews the lists.”

“I hope he does.”

“Your remarks could indicate, Marcus Didius, that you would not now wish to be aligned near the musty gargoyles.”

“I can't afford to feel superior.”

“But you can risk outspokenness?”

“It's one of the talents that will help me screw cash from Census cheats.”

She looked severe. “If I were writing minutes of this meeting, Marcus Didius, I should rephrase that as ‘recovery of revenue'.”

“Is there to be a formal record?” Helena asked her quietly.

Caenis looked even more stern. “Only in my head.”

“So there is no guarantee that any reward promised to Marcus Didius will be acknowledged at a future date?” Helena never lost sight of her original aim.

I leant forwards abruptly. “Don't worry It could be safely written on twenty scrolls, yet if I lost favour they could all be lost in the archives by inattentive scribes. If Antonia Caenis is prepared to support me, her word is enough.”