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had extremely hairy armpits, where his hirsute arms met hideous knobbly shoulders. He smelt as foul as he looked. He had extremely ugly feet too, clothed in the shabbiest sandals I had ever seen on a professional man. One had a broken strap so it hung off his instep.
    He lolled in the shade of a statue of Scipio Africanus, that heavily togate hero with his firm mouth and a big nose. Men with expensive belts and women in tightly sealed carrying chairs visited Balonius to massage their healthy portfolios. A child would be sent to fetch them refreshments. I received a dish of olives and a fruit cordial, even though I admitted I was there on spec.
    It slipped by me at the time, as it was meant to, but I realised afterwards that Balonius never said a word about his client, the wealthy wife of Dillius. He might look disgraceful, but he was efficient. On Dillius Surus himself, Balonius was more forthcoming. First he told me Forum gossip was wrong: it wasn’t Dillius who was suing a dying grandfather. Balonius first thought that was Arulenus Crescens, the one who had recently abandoned a mistress and who had previously left his first wife when she was pregnant, but on reflection he decided the family litigant was Salvius Gratus, Laia’s brother.
    Balonius then happily gossiped that Dillius was impotent, had tapeworms, had been sued by a man to whom he owed thirty thousand sesterces (for an apple orchard where the trees had been felled by a jealous neighbour) and apparently it was also Dillius who owned the uncontrollable dog that had bitten the Temple of Isis priestess.
    ‘Oh, this fine specimen will get elected!’ I murmured.
    ‘He will. Done deal. His wife gave Domitian a troupe of performing dwarfs whose act is deemed the most indecent ever seen outside an Alexandrian brothel.’
    ‘That will be very useful information for my clients.’
    Or not. There was no way the pious Manlius Faustus would encourage his friend Vibius to compete in gift-giving lewd performers. Faustus had the tenacity to find out where you could buy rude little men, and the guile to get them for a good price, but he would disapprove too much to do it.
    ‘Now, what can you tell me about Trebonius or Arulenus?’
    ‘Nix. More than my life’s worth.’
    ‘Do they frighten you?’
    ‘Don’t they frighten you?’
    ‘I hope I am beneath their notice.’
    ‘Don’t be too sure. If you are asking questions, they will soon know.’
    I gulped. To some extent it was for show. Not entirely. ‘Well, never mind them. What about Vibius Marinus and Salvius Gratus?’
    ‘I thought you were working for them?’
    ‘Indeed I am – which is why I need to know exactly what libellous gossip is attaching to their glorious names.’
    ‘You are a sly one!’ Balonius scrutinised me with new respect. ‘Marinus seems to keep his head down. Seems to be relying on the “good family man” posture. Fathering babies is a talent, so who needs moral stamina? Gratus is so invisible I’ve never even heard of him.’
    ‘He won’t like that! He bounces around like someone who wants to be famous.’ And his sister thought herself wonderful too.
    ‘So what does your man Vibius want to be known for?’ asked the smelly broker, looking at me sideways.
    I gave him a mysterious smile and said that remained to be seen.
    Which was the truth. He was the friend of my most admirable friend, yet I had no idea.

10
    I was tired, though not as tired as I had feared I might be. I spent a little longer in the Forum watching the candidates as they went about, giving fine performances of men who could be trusted with public funds, religious duties or other people’s desperate hopes for the future: smiling, shaking hands, asking after the families of complete strangers, endlessly promising favours they would make no attempt to remember.
    As they criss-crossed between the temples, arches and statues, the men nodded to one another if their paths met, while their womenfolk looked daggers.