"Who was Marcellinus?" I enquired.

Magnus scowled. "Architect for the old house. Worked here for years."

"Know him?"

"Before my time." I wondered if he had paused slightly. "He was halfway through planning his own rebuild when Vespasian approved this complete redevelopment." Magnus pointed out where areas of the site contained unfinished foundations for some vast buildings, not in the current design. "The Marcellinus scheme stopped dead. I can't work out what his plans involved. But his foundations are hefty a real menace to our own west wing. Not that we let a dirty great outcrop of unfinished masonry get in our way! Ours is just slapped on top…"

"Togidubnus seems to have been on good terms with Marcellinus. What happened to him? Dismissed? Died?"

"Just too old. He was retired. I think he went quietly. Between ourselves," muttered Magnus, "I've got him down as an evil old bastard."

I laughed. "He was an architect, Magnus. You would say that about any of them."

"Don't be cynical!" quipped the surveyor- in a tone of voice that showed he shared my view.

"Did Marcellinus go quietly?"

"He's not entirely gone," grumbled Magnus. "He keeps niggling at the King about our plans."

Helena had been gazing around. I introduced her. Magnus accepted her with much better grace than had Pomponius.

"Magnus, is it feasible to incorporate the old house in the way the King wishes?" she asked.

"If it is decided at the outset, it's perfectly possible and will save money!" He was a problem-solver, who happily set about proving his point to us. "You understand that we had a serious problem of levels here? The natural site slopes with a big gradient to the west- plus another tilt south towards the harbour. Streams feed into the harbour. In the past there have been drainage problems, never really solved. So, our new scheme raises the ground base in the lower-lying areas, hoping to rise above the damp."

"The old house will then be left stranded too low?1 I put in.

"Exactly."

"But if the King accepts the disruption of having all his rooms in filled…"

"Well, he knows what a building site is like!" Magnus laughed. "He enjoys change. Anyway, I sketched out a drawing myself to see if it's do-able. His garden courtyard would be sacrificed '

"For schematic unity?" Helena murmured. She had listened well.

"Integrity of concept!" Magnus quipped back. "Otherwise, Togi can keep pretty well the same room layout, with new floors which he will love choosing- new ceilings, cornices, et cetera, and redecorated walls. Oh, and he preserves his bath house, handily at the end of his domestic corridor. With the Pomponius plan, Togi would have to live way across the site- traipsing around in a loincloth with his oil flask whenever he wants a scrape down."

"Hardly regal," said Helena.

"No fun during an October gale!" I shuddered. "With an equinoctial wind howling in off the Gallic Strait, you could feel as if you were right among the breakers, shaking hands with Neptune. Who wants sand in his privates and sea spray messing up washed hair? So," I asked lightly, 'is the bath house to be rebuilt at all?"

"Upgraded," replied Magnus, perhaps a little shiftily.

"Oh! Pomponius is making a concession, then?"

Magnus was turning back to his diopter. He paused. "Stuff Pomponius!" He glanced around, then told me in a low voice, "We have no official funding for a bath house. Pomponius knows nothing about this. The King is organising the bath house refurbishments himself!"

I let out a breath.

"Have you been involved, Magnus?" Helena asked with cheerful innocence. She could ask brazen questions as if they just came to her coincidentally.

"The King asked me to walk the area with him," Magnus admitted.

"You could hardly refuse!" Helena sympathised. "I have a particular interest," she continued. "I just had a terrible time with some bath builders in Rome."

"Gloccus and Cotta," I put in, sounding bitter. "Notorious!" Magnus showed no reaction.

"Togi is lucky to have your advice," Helena flattered him.

"I may have made one or two technical suggestions," reported the surveyor in a neutral tone. 4It anyone accuses me of drawing up his specification on my off day, I'll deny everything! So will the King," he added firmly. "He's a game, determined sod."

"I presume he's paying. What contractors is he using?" I ventured.

"Oh don't ask me, Falco. I don't get involved with bloody labour, not even for a nice old king."

"The wild garden is coming along, if you like greenery," Magnus called after us, guessing well. Needing to clear our heads of nonsense, we both leapt at the invitation.

It was a peaceful haven. Well, it had a sea view as we had been promised though the shore was taken up with a jetty where a ship was unloading stone very noisily.

A sea inlet ran through the area. Water features must be popular. The wild garden also had a significant pond site; mucking out of a disgusting kind was in hand. Herons from the landward and gulls from the seaward sides stood around, hoping for excavated fish among the muddy silt. Apart from the deep channel that was being created out in the harbour, the beaches were low along this coastal reach, and riddled with water courses and creeks. It made everywhere brackish and damp.

Once again, we were on an artificial terrace, three hundred feet of it, providing eventual occupants of the south wing with an informal vista, against which lapped the waves now controlled by a mole and gates lest Oceanus should behave too naturally. Behind the westward range of the palace a new domestic-services complex was already going up, including an obvious bake house and a monster grinding stone. Once the palace itself rose to its full height, those buildings would be hidden; the observer would only see artificial parkland sloping away to the sea and well-tamed woods beyond the inlet. The concept was strongly reminiscent of the 'urban countryside' devised by Nero when he filled the whole Forum with trees, lakes and wild animal parks, for his extravagant Golden House. The effect here, in rural Britain, was somewhat more acceptable.

Gardeners were toiling away. Since this was to be a 'natural' landscape, it required elaborate planning and constant hard work to keep it looking wild. It also had to remain accessible to those who wished to stroll here while lost in contemplation. Random specimen shrubs struggled listlessly against the salt and surf. Ground-cover plants rampaged healthily across the paths; sea-holly scratched our ankles. Grottos were being cemented; they would be delightful once shrouded in violets and terns. But their fight against sea, and marsh, and enduring bad weather, had given the workers an air of desperate fatality. They walked in the slow way of men who did a great deal of leaning against the wind.

To demand of these poor locals a 'natural' plot was a grim trick. They must now have gardened for Togidubnus for several decades. They knew too well that nature would forge its own way past fenced boundaries, slithering over walls, sprouting with giant weed fronds against their tender Mediterranean specimens, gobbling up precious slips and undermining exotic roots. It was all too wet and cold, and made us long for Italy.

We met the landscape specialist I had glimpsed at the project meeting. He confirmed the craziness.

"It won't be too bad in the formal courtyards. I'll plant them out three times a year with colour; prune the permanent in spring and autumn; then just turn over the lot to be mowed, hoed and trimmed. No need to touch it otherwise."

He shouted instructions to men who were hoisting a heavy rope about, using its sluggish bends to devise an attractive layout for a winding path.

"But this is hard work." Helena waved an arm, then chilled, she pulled her stole closer around her, tucking back loose strands of hair that had been freed by the wind.