"Don't you want criminals punished?"

"I find what happens too routine; that's why I dislike it."

"It's for the public good," I disagreed.

"At least they are being seen to pay a penalty," Euphrasia put in.

"If you don't think it's humane," I wrangled with Helena, "what else do you think we should do with a monster like Thurius? He put unknown numbers of women through horrendous experiences, killed and dismembered them. Simply to fine him, or send him into exile, would be intolerable. And unlike a private citizen, he can't be ordered to fall on his sword when he is apprehended and disgraced; he's not conditioned to do it-and anyway, he's a slave; he's not allowed a sword unless he's confined in the arena and is fighting as a punishment."

Helena shook her head. "I know that prisoners being condemned to die in public is supposed to warn others. I know it's vengeance for the public. I just don't want to be there."

Saturninus leaned towards her. He had been listening in silence while we argued. "If the state orders an execution, should it not be carried out openly?"

"Perhaps," Helena agreed. "But the arena uses punishment as a form of entertainment. That's sinking to the criminals' level."

"There is some difference," the lanista explained. "To extinguish life in the arena, by the swipe of a lion's paw or with the sword, should be quick and fairly efficient. You called it routine-but to me that is what makes it permissible. It's neutral-dispassionate. It's not the same as torture; it's nothing like this criminal Thurius deliberately inflicting prolonged pain, and gloating over his victims' suffering."

His wife biffed him with one graceful hand. "Now you're going to tell us about the nobility of a gladiator's death."

He was blunt. "No. That's waste; it costs money; every time I have to see it I feel sick. If it's one of mine who dies, I'm angry too."

"Now you're talking about your expensively trained professionals, not condemned men," I smiled. "So you'd like to see fights where they all walk away? Just a display of skill?"

"Nothing wrong with skill! But I like what the crowd likes, Marcus Didius."

"Always the pragmatist?"

"Always the businessman. There is a demand; I provide what is wanted. If I did not do the job, someone else would."

The traditional excuse from suppliers of vice! That was why lanistae were called pimps. Since I had eaten at his table, I refrained from saying it. I was tainted too.

Euphrasia liked to stir things, apparently; she had a provocative streak: "I think you two guests have a big disagreement about cruelty and humanity!"

We lived as man and wife; by definition our disagreements were never sophisticated.

Helena probably resented a near stranger commenting on our relationship. "Marcus and I both agree that an accusation of cruelty is the worst insult you can offer anyone. Cruel emperors are damned in the public memory and removed from the record. And of course ‘humanity' is a Latin word-a Roman invention." For an unsnobbish woman she could lay on a superior air like honey on a cinnamon plait.

"And how do Romans define their wonderful humanity?" asked Euphrasia satirically.

"Kindness," I supplied. "Restraint. Education. A civilized attitude towards all people."

"Even slaves?"

"Even lanistae," I said dryly.

"Oh even them!" Euphrasia glanced sideways at her husband wickedly.

"I want vicious criminals punished," I said. "Watching it gives me no personal pleasure, but it does seem right to be a witness. I don't feel I lack humanity-though I do concede, I am glad to live with a girl who has a fuller share of it."

Euphrasia was still harping: "And so you are eager to see Thurius fed to a lion?"

"Certainly." I half turned on my elbow to look squarely at her husband. "Which brings us rather neatly to the particular lion who had been booked to do the job."

For a brief instant our host let his guard slip and his displeasure show. It was evident that Saturninus did not wish to discuss what had happened to Leonidas.

Twenty-nine

EUPHRASIA KNEW SHE had said the wrong thing: Leonidas was a closed subject, though she may not have been told why. Without turning a hair, she waved the servants to clear away the dessert course. Four or five discreet waiting staff moved in on silently padding feet to lift out the tables, complete with their litter and used bowls; these slaves conveniently passed in front of our couches, causing a break in the conversation. It gave Saturninus time to recover his composure. The dark furrow on his brow cleared.

He was never going to be easy when cornered, however. "What," he asked me directly, "does Calliopus say happened?"

He was too clever to be finessed. "Some of his bestiarii released Leonidas during a prank at the barracks, allegedly. The lion played up and ended the night with a spear in him. The ringleader is supposed to be a certain Iddibal."

"Iddibal?" Saturninus' curiosity sounded genuine.

"A young bestiarius in the Calliopus troupe. He looks like nothing special-though he may be running wild. He has some woman openly chasing after him."

Saturninus was silent for a second. Was that because he knew Iddibal had had nothing to do with the Leonidas incident? Then he spoke, as if closing the matter, or trying to: "Calliopus ought to know what happens in his own yard, Falco."

"Oh I reckon he knows all right!"

"That sounds as if you suspect something else happened, Falco," Euphrasia interjected. Her husband shot her another irritated look. She had a mercurial way of being all tact one minute, then turning willful on him.

I cleared my throat. I was starting to feel weary, and would have preferred to shelve this. Helena reached over and squeezed my hand. "Marcus Didius is an informer; of course he believes all he is told!"

Euphrasia laughed, perhaps more than the irony demanded.

"Is it true," Helena then asked Saturninus, "that you and Calliopus are serious rivals?"

"Best of friends," he lied valiantly.

"Somebody said you had quarreled when in partnership?"

"Oh we have had a few skirmishes. He's a typical Oean-a devious buffoon. Mind you, he would probably say, trust a Lepcis man to insult him!"

"Is he married?" Helena asked Euphrasia.

"To Artemisia."

"I see her as somewhat downtrodden." I revived and joined in again. "My partner and I unearthed signs that Calliopus has a mistress-and as a result he's currently supposed to be involved in a huge quarrel with his wife about his after-hours activities."

"Artemisia is a nice woman," Euphrasia declared firmly.

Helena scowled. "Poor thing then! Do you know her well, Euphrasia?"

"Not well." Euphrasia grinned. "She is from Oea, after all, and I am a good Lepcis citizen. I see her at the baths sometimes. She wasn't there today; somebody said she has gone to their villa at Surrentum."

"For Saturnalia?" Helena arched her fine eyebrows in astonishment. Surrentum has the best views in Italy and in summer is delightful. December can be bleak up on any seaside cliff, however. I did hope that the work of Falco & Partner had not caused the poor woman's exile.

"Her husband thinks Artemisia is in need of sea air," Euphrasia jeered; Helena tutted angrily at the unfairness of men.

Saturninus and I exchanged self-righteous male glances.

"Do your skirmishes with your old partner," I asked him bluntly, "include the escapade with your leopardess at the Saepta yesterday? I heard that Calliopus' men were at the scene."

"Oh he was behind it," Saturninus agreed. Well, there was no point in his denying it.

"Any firm evidence?"

"Of course not."

"And what can you tell me about a sack of grain that found its way off the Arx today and turned out to be poisonous?"