"Grand!"

Pomponius thought I was being insulting. Perhaps I was. I grew up in overcrowded apartments, where the people flow-through was provided by Ma, wielding a broom on dawdlers' buttocks.

"Planned benefits include fine statuary and a dramatic marble-edged pool with a significant fountain feature," the architect warbled. "My intention is to dramatise the scale and the fine quality fittings without oppressing occupants, at the same time emphasising the sight-line through the hall to the formal gardens beyond. This is a superior concept cultured patrician living for a discerning, high-class client."

Togidubnus was munching an extremely juicy apple that took all his concentration, so the half-hearted flattery was lost.

"Also included in the east wing is a semi-public assembly hall. En suite private rooms, fitted out to a good standard and with their own closed-access courtyards, are designed with peace and relaxation in mind-'

"Won't they be rather noisy if they are located so near the main entrance?" asked Helena, rather too politely.

Pomponius stared at her. Arty types can manage tall girls with patrician accents and taste, but only as their own subjugated mistresses. He would have allowed her to hand round dainties at a soiree, but in any other context Helena Justina was a threat. "These are guest rooms for lesser officials, on temporary assignments."

"Oh Falco! I am looking forward to your next assignment in Noviomagus," Helena cried archly. (There was no way I intended to come back.) Immediately she urged Pomponius on again: "You mentioned the formal gardens?"

"The central court will combine visionary elegance with serene formality. A spectacular hedged walkway, forty feet in width, transports people to the audience chamber opposite. To the left and right, balanced harmonious parterres of extravagant size contribute grandeur tempered with the tranquillity of open space. Rather than stark lines, this main thoroughfare will be given a treatment of sculpted greenery, probably box: alternating topiary arcs and squares in grave dark foliage colourings – a reference to the best Mediterranean tradition."

"Why," I asked, 'is there a single tree marked up there?" A large specimen was marked in the north-west area of the formal lawns. It was in a rather strange position.

The architect flushed slightly. "Indicative, only."

"Have you a nasty drainage tank to hide?"

"The tree will relieve monotony!" put in the King. He sounded curt. He certainly understood his site layout. "When I come out of the audience chamber and stand looking to my left, a mature tree will relieve the bleak horizontal lines of the north wing-'

"Bleak? I believe you will find," Pomponius humphed, 'the elegant repetition '

"There should be another tree balancing this one in the opposite quartile, to shield the south wing similarly." Togidubnus interrupted coolly but Pomponius was ignoring him.

"Urns," he rattled on, 'will provide handsome talking points; fountains are being assembled to provide aural delight. All footpaths will be defined by triple hedges. Plantings are to be set within geometric sculpted beds, again with topiary surrounds. I have asked the landscape gardener to aim for sophisticated species-'

"What no flowers?" Helena giggled.

"Oh I insist on colour!" snapped the King at Pomponius. Pomponius looked set to launch into a hot defence of textured leaf contrasts then thought better of it. His gaze flickered to me. He was irritated that I had noticed the tension between the King and him.

"You may want to ask the landscape gardener to consult your own people about pests," Helena suggested blithely to Togidubnus. She was either diffusing the bad atmosphere- or being mischievous. I knew which I thought.

"Pests!" intoned the King at his man, Verovolcus. He was really enjoying himself. "Make a note of that!"

"Slugs and snails," Helena elaborated to Pomponius. "Rust. Insect damage '

"Bird nuisance!" contributed the King, with an intelligent interest. Between them, Togidubnus and Helena were winding Pomponius into fits of frustration.

"So tell me more," I interrupted: Falco, the voice of reason for once. "Your monumental entrance to the east wing clearly starts a series of impressive effects?"

"A breath-taking promenade," agreed Pomponius. "A triple succession: awe-striking physical grandeur as one walks through the entrance salon; next, the surprising contrast of nature in the formal gardens- completely enclosed and private, yet created on a stupendous scale; then, my visionary design for the west wing. This is the climax of the experience. Twenty-seven rooms in exquisite taste will be fronted by a classic colonnade. At the centre is the audience chamber. It is made the more imposing by a high stylobate base-'

"Don't stint your stylo bates I heard Helena muttering. Stylobates are stone block platforms giving height and dignity to colonnades and pediments. Pomponius was a man who seemed to place himself on an invisible stylobate. I cannot have been the only one who would have liked to shove him off it.

"The whole west wing is raised five feet above the level of the garden and other suites. A flight of steps against this platform fixes the eye line on the massive pedimented front-'

"Have you chosen a statue to stand before the steps?" asked the King.

"I feel…" Pomponius did hesitate, though not as awkwardly as he might. "A statue would detract from the clean lines I have planned." Once again, the King looked annoyed. Presumably he had wanted a statue of himself- or at least of his imperial patron Vespasian.

Pomponius rushed on: "Climbing the steps, gazing upwards, the visitor will be confronted with theatrical majesty. The royal audience chamber is to be apsidal, lined with benches in elegant contemporary woods. The floor will be created by my master mosaicist, supervising both construction and design in person. A stunning twenty-foot-wide semi-dome crowns the apse, with a vaulted ceiling, stuccoed, white ribs picked out in regal hues- crimson, Tyrian purple, richest blues. There, visitors will encounter the Great King of the Britons, enthroned in the manner of a divinity…"

I glanced at the Great King. His expression was inscrutable. Still, I reckoned he was game for it. Impressing folk with his power and wealth would be all in a day's work. If civilisation meant he had to pretend to be a god enthroned among the stars rather than simply the most accurate spearman in his group of huts then he was all for climbing up on his plinth and arranging constellations around himself as artistically as possible. Well, it beat squatting on a wobbly three legged stool, with chickens pecking your boots.

Pomponius was still droning on. '… My perception of the four wings is that each should be linked in style to the others, yet distinct in conception. The strong west wing formal garden east wing axis forms the public area. The north and south wings will be more private- symmetrical ranges with discreet entrances to exquisite room suites, set around locked-in private courts. The north wing, especially, will contain celebratory dining facilities. The south wing is lined on two sides with colonnades, one offering views of the sea. The east wing, with its grand entrance and meeting hall, serves public functions, yet lies behind the visitor on his progress forward. Once he enters the interior elements, the great west wing is the heart of the complex with its audience chamber and administrative offices, so that is where I have placed the royal suites-'

"No/' This time the King had let out a roar. Pomponius stopped warbling abruptly.

There was a silence. Pomponius had finally hit big trouble. I glanced at Helena; we both watched with curiosity.

"Now we have gone over this before," complained Pomponius, tight as a tick in a sheep's eye. "It is essential to the unity of the concept-'