King Togidubnus tossed his apple core onto a dish. Age had not diminished his eyesight. His aim was perfect. "I disagree." His voice was cold. "Unity may be achieved by employing common features of design. Structural details and the med decoration will tie in any disparate elements." He was wielding the fancy abstract terms with an off-hand flourish easily the architect's equal.

Helena was sitting extremely still. There was a thin murmur among the King's staff, then they subsided expectantly. Grinning, Verovolcus seemed half bursting with excitement. I reckoned all the Britons had known that Togidubnus had a mighty beef; they had been waiting for him to explode.

Pomponius had been aware of this sub-plot too. He already had the rigid air of one who knew his client spent too much spare time reading architectural manuals. "Naturally there will be areas where we need to compromise." Nobody who says that ever believes it.

It was soon apparent what had made the King so angry. "Compromise? I, for my part, have conceded that my garden colonnade shall be ripped out, its fine rams' horns hacked off with bolsters, and its smashed capitals stacked up haphazardly for reuse as hardcore! I make this sacrifice for integrity of form in the new complex. that is as far as I will go."

"Excuse me, but including the old house is a wasteful economy. Remedying the levels-'

"I can endure that."

"The disruption would be intolerable but my point," argued Pomponius in a taut voice, 'is that the approved scheme envisages stripping the entire site for a clean new build."

'never approved that!" The King was dogged. Approval is always a problem when a project is to be paid for by the Roman Treasury yet constructed a thousand miles away for local occupation. Scores of liaison meetings routinely produce deadlock. Many a project founders on the drawing board. "My current palace which was an imperial gift to symbolise my alliance with Rome will be incorporated into your design, please."

The 'please' was simply terse punctuation. It marked the end of the King's speech, nothing more. The speech was meant as an order.

"Your Majesty may not appreciate the finer '

"I am not a fool."

Pomponius knew he had patronised his client. That did not stop him. "Technical details are my sphere-'

"Not exclusively! I shall live here."

"Of course!" It was already a hot quarrel. Pomponius tried wheedling. He ruined everything. "I intend to convince Your Majesty '

"No, you have failed to convince me. You must honour my wishes. I had an equitable relationship with Marcellinus, your predecessor. Over many years I would appreciate his creative skill, and Marcellinus in turn knew that his skill must be allied to my needs. Architectural drawings may look beautiful and be admired by critics but to be good, they have to work in daily use. You, if I may say so, seem to be planning only a monument to your own artistry. Perhaps you will achieve such a monument- but only it your vision is in harmony with

mine!"

With a flick of his white toga, the Great King was on his feet. Gathering his entourage, he swept out of the plan room. Servants scampered in his wake as if well rehearsed. Verovolcus, who probably spent much useless effort trying to advance his master's views in project meetings, shot the architect a triumphant glare then strode after the King, clearly well satisfied.

I might have guessed what would happen next. As his two assistants (who had previously let him suffer unaided) now swarmed up to mutter their sympathy, Pompomus turned on me. "Well, thank you, Falco," he snarled with bitter sarcasm. "We were in quite enough trouble before you caused all that!"

XV

helena and I walked out into the air. I felt subdued. This client project manager conflict was one of the problems I was supposed to clear up. It would not be easy.

Pomponius had rushed out ahead of us, supported by one of his junior architects. The other happened to leave later, while we were still getting our breath.

Tin Falco. Sorry, you are…?"

"Plancus."

"That was a bitter little scene, Plancus."

Troubled by the tension, he seemed relieved to be approached about it. He was the one with the flash scarab. It was pinned on a tunic he had worn too many times. Crumpled, yes; probably stained too. I preferred not to check. He had a thin, bristly face, with elongated arms and legs to match.

"So does this happen all the time?" I asked quietly.

It met with embarrassment. "There are problems."

"I was told the project is behind time and over budget. I assumed it was the old problem- the client kept changing his mind. But it looked today as though the Great King's mind is too firmly made up!"

"We explain the concept, but the client sends along his representative, who can barely communicate… We tell him why things must be done one way, he seems to agree that, then later there is a huge fight."

"Verovolcus goes back and talks to the King, who sends him back to you to argue?" Helena suggested.

"It must be a diplomatic nightmare keeping things simple- I mean, cheap!" I grinned.

"Oh yes," agreed Plancus weakly. He did not strike me as hot on cost control. In fact, he did not strike me as more than lukewarm on any subject. He was as thrilling as a flavoured custard that had been left on a shelf growing green fur on its skin. "Togidubnus demands endless impossible luxuries," he complained. That must be their cliched excuse.

"What, like keeping his existing house?" I reproved the man.

"It's an emotional response."

"Well, you can't allow that."

I had been inside enough public buildings to know that few architects owned or could appreciate emotions. Nor do they understand tired feet or wheezy lungs. Nor the stress of noisy acoustics. Nor, in Britain, the need for heated rooms.

"I saw no hot-air specialist on your project team?"

"We don't have one." Plancus was probably intelligent in some ways, but failed to apply his brain to wondering why I had asked. It ought to be a professional issue. He ought to see my point immediately.

"How long have you been out here?" I asked.

"About a month."

"Take my word then, you need to mention it to Pomponius. It the King has to use naked fire braziers all winter, your unified concept with the fine sight-lines is likely to go up in grandiose flames."

Helena and I walked slowly, hand in hand, across the spacious site. Seeing the plans had helped. Now I was finding my way around better; I could appreciate how the different ranges of rooms had been laid out. The neat footings ended feebly near the old house; this had been left as 'too difficult'. We found Magnus, the surveyor I met yesterday, pottering there. His gro ma was plunged in the ground, a long metal-tipped stave with four plumb bobs hung from two metal cased wooden bars; it was used for measuring out straight lines and squares. While one of his assistants played with the gro ma for practice, he himself was using a more complicated gadget, a diopter. A sturdy post supported a revolving rod set in a circular table, marked out with detailed angles. The whole circle could be tilted from the horizontal using cogged wheels; Magnus was underneath, tinkering with the cogs and worm screws that set it. Some distance away, another assistant waited patiently beside a twenty-foot-high sighting rod with a sliding bar, ready to measure a slope.

The chief surveyor squinted up at us, then looked around longingly at the unbroken ground; he badly wanted to set out the last corner of the new palace, where the south and west wings would meet and where the disputed 'old house' stood.

I told him about the scene we had witnessed between architect and client. Crawling out from his gadget, leaning away so as not to disturb the setting, he stood upright. He reckoned the animosity was normal, confirming what Plancus had told me. Pomponius had not dared to ban King Togidubnus from meetings, but he kept him at arm's length. Verovolcus came along instead and blustered, but he was a third party, with language problems. Pomponius took no notice of anything he said.