We get a fleeting sense, by contrast, of the quality of life in the Subura from a grave inscription found on a tomb outside Rome. “Welcome to my new premises”, it reads. “A great improvement on my old ones. These are private, quiet and free”.

And the striking thing is that it is now all gone. That’s the thing about Rome, for all its monumental splendour, so much more is lost than remains. And it’s a reminder of just how much we’ve lost to walk up the Via Leonina or Via Madonna di Monti, (two modern streets that follow exactly the line of the ancient clivus Suburanus), and for there to be absolutely no physical vestige that remains. The atmosphere of those streets today may be reminiscent of their ancient ancestors - still lined with craftsmen’s workshops and high tenements - but it’s only the atmosphere, and only a hint at that.

The jerry-built wooden insulae of the Subura could scarcely stand up while they were still populated. As Rome’s population rapidly declined after the sack of the city in 410CE, they were abandoned and would have quickly collapsed. The wood turned to dust and scattered in the wind. That world, the world which most Romans would have recognised as their own, vanished leaving scarcely a trace. Just the cart-ruts in the Forum of Nerva.