"I quite liked her," Helena commented, resisting Euphrasia's condemnation.

"You're too tolerant. She's trying to force a confrontation with my husband and Calliopus. We're certain she's persuaded that dreadful man Hanno to back her."

"She had a terrible experience when the lion attacked her lover," Helena remonstrated gently. "I'm sure it wasn't her fault. I don't believe she ever asked for a private display in her honor. It seems to have been her fiancé's idea; she disapproved of it. He made a misjudgment, a typical male error. It's very sad for Scilla that Pomponius died that way."

"You know quite a lot about her then?" Euphrasia asked narrowly.

"She approached me first. Falco was off on a jaunt with my brother, so in a way I vetted her. As I say, I did feel for her. Some compensation for her loss would seem to be desirable."

There was a short silence.

"I was there of course," Euphrasia barked.

"Where, Euphrasia?" Helena may not have grasped immediately what she meant. I could tell she soon remembered that Saturninus had told me the four evening diners at the intended private show had been Pomponius and Scilla, plus himself-and also his wife. We should have asked Euphrasia for her version before this.

"At Pomponius' house. When the lion got loose."

"You saw what happened then?" Helena replied quietly.

"Oh yes. I shan't say any more; my husband would be furious. It was agreed that nothing would be said. Pomponius wanted it that way."

"I don't understand."

"Naturally, it was to protect her. Scilla, I mean. Pomponius was loyal, you have to give him that. When he realized he was dying, he was more insistent than ever. She had enough of a reputation without all Rome hearing about the lion incident."

"Well, Pomponius is dead now-"

"Stupid man!" Euphrasia snarled. "Don't ask me about it," she repeated. "But Scilla could tell you. Before you start feeling sorry for that little madam, Helena Justina, you should make her admit the truth. Ask Scilla," commanded Euphrasia resoundingly, "who really killed that lion!"

She swept to her feet. As she did so, she must have disturbed something, a small golden creature which darted along a skirting not far from where the baby was inspecting her own pink little toes on the floor.

"Is that a mouse?" Helena gasped.

"No, a scorpion."

I walked into the room, like a husband just returning from a morning on the quayside. Keeping up the charade, I let my face register all the right things: surprise at seeing Euphrasia, alarm at Helena's set white face, rapid reaction to the emergency.

I scooped up the baby; passed her to Helena; moved Helena out of the way; pushed past Euphrasia. I seized a vase and dropped it over the scorpion. Helena had closed her eyes, rigid with shock.

"Helena once had a bad scorpion sting," I explained tersely.

I shepherded them all from the room then went back to deal with the scuttling thing. After I had battered it to pieces, taking revenge for what the other had done to the precious girl I loved, I sat on my haunches in private for a moment, remembering how Helena nearly died.

I went out to find her. Holding her and Julia, hushing them, even I trembled.

"It's all right, Marcus."

"We'll go home."

"No; it's all right."

When we had settled down again, we realized that in the panic Euphrasia had taken her chance to avoid awkward questions; she had slipped away.

We could not ask my client what Euphrasia had meant, because Scilla still failed to appear.

Then, out of the blue next day, the elusive Scilla wrote to me. The letter was found on the doorstep in the morning, so there was no messenger to trace. It appeared she was now in Lepcis, though as usual, she was coy about her address.

She confessed that when she arrived here (which must have been some time ago) after she failed to find me she had hired someone else. She did not specify Romanus, though I reckoned it was him. He had managed to contact the two men for her, and there were plans for a settlement. I could send a bill to the house of Pomponius Urtica in Rome to cover any expenses I myself had incurred so far. My services were no longer required.

Paid off, eh?

Not me, Scilla. My clients were always losing heart and backing away; it was a hazard of the job. The mud they stirred up often took them by surprise and caused a rethink. It was not worth pressurizing them once they lost the initial impetus.

Nor, when a case had once attracted my interest was I ever in the habit of allowing myself to abandon it. I would stop work when I chose. Which meant, when I had satisfied my own curiosity.

Fifty-seven

THE NIGHT BEFORE the Games, Rutilius and I took a quiet walk out to the amphitheater.

We crossed the wadi by the harbor, then hiked along the beach, alternately hopping on rocky outcrops and sinking into soft white sand.

"This is hard going," Rutilius complained, stretching his calf muscles. "I'll arrange transport tomorrow. Will Helena want to come?"

I picked up a piece of cuttlefish. "Yes, sir. She says she's afraid I may end up in the arena fighting somebody."

"Is it likely?" He sounded shocked.

"I'm not stupid." Playing at gladiators meant permanent disgrace, with legal penalties.

All three lanistae were bound to attend the Games. I was expecting some sort of showdown: Helena Justina knew that. There was no point trying to hide it from her; she was far too sensitive. I was prepared for anything. So, therefore, was Helena.

"The work you get involved in can be dangerous?" Rutilius asked. "So what might be in store for us tomorrow, may I ask?"

"Sir, I don't know. Nothing, maybe."

Perhaps, but I was not alone in suspecting a crisis; this trip to reconnoiter the layout had been his idea. He looked calm, but I reckoned Rutilius Gallicus, special envoy of Vespasian, was as keyed up as me.

He had his own troubles. He had surveyed the land between Lepcis and Oea and was ready to announce results. "I'm just the latest sucker in a traditional line," he told me as we approached the stadium. Which we came to first. "Boundaries have been a source of bitter contention for a long time. There was a famous event when Carthage and Cyrenaïca were in dispute. Two pairs of brothers set out simultaneously running from Lepcis and Cyrene. Where they met was the new border; unfortunately the Greeks of Cyrene accused the two brothers from Lepcis of cheating. To prove their innocence they demanded to be buried alive."

"Olympus! Did it happen?"

"It did. There's a grand old commemorative arch over the roadway to this day… I have felt, Falco, the same fate may be waiting to ambush me!"

"Rome, sir, will applaud your sacrifice."

"Oh good. That will make it all worthwhile."

I liked him. The men Vespasian chose to establish order in the Empire were of a dry, down-to-earth type. They got on with the job, fairly and quickly, undeterred by incipient unpopularity.

"It's a good province," he said. "I'm not the first to come out to Africa Proconsularis and feel a tug. The place attracts strong loyalty."

"It's Mediterranean. Warm; honest; cheerful. Nicely exotic, yet still smacks of home."

"Needs a good sorting," Rutilius exclaimed.

"Helena is compiling a set of recommendations that she wants to hand in to the Emperor."

"Really? Did he ask you to do that?" Rutilius sounded surprised again.

I grinned. "He didn't ask. That won't stop Helena Justina ensuring he's told. And she is covering Cyrenaïca where we were first. She has listed everything from restoring the amphitheater at Apollonia to rebuilding the earthquake-damaged temple in the forum at Sabratha. She likes to be comprehensive. She's tackled the fight business as well. When they open the new Flavian Amphitheater, Helena thinks it should all come under state control: everything from gladiatorial training to the import of beasts. The legions should supervise provincial collection of wild animals. Imperial agents should be in control." I happened to know Helena had had the wonderful idea of suggesting that Anacrites should be put in charge of presenting the position papers on new policy. It would be a ten-year job-and would certainly keep him away from me.