Vnds' The planned extra height of the dramatic west wing with its audience chamber posed a problem the designers must always have

\

ii own about- how to link it aesthetically to the colonnades of

Adjoining wings; where they abutted at the corners they would be

much lower. Now Pomponius and Magnus were having one of the jong site discussions where such matters are thrashed out, feeding each

Ather with suggestions- then each finding insurmountable difficulties

;ja any idea that was put forward by the other man.

"We know we have to step the colonnades," Magnus was saying.

"I don't want any variation in the visuals '

"But you're losing five foot, off twelve foot, max. Unless you raise the ceilings, only dwarves will be able to walk in the ends of these vings! You need graded head space, man."

"We lift the colonnades, in gradual stages-'

"Bitty. Much better to employ single flights of steps. Vary your roof line if you want. Let me tell you how '

"I have made my decision," Pomponius asserted.

"Your decision's crap," said Magnus. He was frank, yet given that surveyors tend to be hot-headed know-it-alls, he spoke amiably enough. He was only concerned to explain the good solution he had devised. "Listen- at each end, put in steps to move the people up to the west wing. Then, don't just run the lower colonnades along level until they bump into the big stylobate. Put in one taller column on each wing. Raise the colonnades at top height."

"No, I'm not doing that."

"These columns will need thicker diameters," Magnus pressed on, deaf to the objection. "It gives better proportions and if you tidy off with roof features, they'll be carrying more weight."

"You're not listening to me," complained the architect.

"You're not listening to me," the surveyor answered logically.

"The point is," piped up Cyprianus, who had been listening to both patiently, 'if we go with Magnus, I need to put in our order for the over-height columns now. Those in your main run are twelve foot. You'll be going up to fourteen, fourteen and a half, for the larger ones. Specials always take longer' Not even Magnus was listening to him.

It was clear they would be wrangling over the corner design for hours yet. Days, possibly. Weeks, even. Well, be realistic; call it months. Only when the builders reached the point of no return would this design feature be settled. My money was on the Magnus plan. But Pomponius was, of course, in charge.

Seated on a great limestone slab, from time to time the engineer put in, "What about my tank?" No one so much as acknowledged him.

From its placing, the slab under his backside seemed to be part of a preliminary mock-up of one of the colonnaded walks that would line the interior garden. I deduced it was part of a gutter that would lie at the foot of the stylobate and catch the run-off from the roof. Its deep hollowing at least provided a shaped perch while the engineer waited to be heard.

Pomponius and Magnus moved off slightly, still going endlessly over the same points. This probably often happened. Delaying the decision might allow time for new ideas to form; it could prevent expensive mistakes. They were not exactly quarrelling. Each thought the other was an idiot; each made that plain. But this seemed to be a perfectly routine con flab

"Finials!" cried Magnus loudly, like an exotic obscenity. Pomponius only shrugged.

I parked on another slab of limestone and introduced myself to the engineer. His name was Rectus. He must suffer from cold feet, for he wore knitted grey ankle socks in his battered site ankle boots. But his wide body must be tougher; he had only a single tunic, with short sleeves. Bushy eyebrows flourished above a big Italian nose. He was the type who always saw disaster coming- but who then without despair attacked the problem practically. Gloomy in aspect, he was a doer and solver. But he never gained the self-confidence to cheer up.

H5"So you have a problem with a tank?" I sympathised.

"Nice of you to notice, Falco."

Tin here to apply bandages to this project's wounds."

"You'll need a few rags."

"So I'm learning, Tell me about your tank."

"My tank!" said Rectus. "Well, I just need to remind those fart-arses to build it before they get any further with their farting stylo bates It sits on a stone base, protruding into the garden, for one thing. I want a cavity dug out and the base laid. The sooner they put the tank in the happier I shall be. Never mind the farting levels of their fancy colonnades."

I glanced at the sky a typical British grey all over. "So what is this pet tank?"

"Settling tank for the aqueduct."

"Aqueduct?"

"Oh we have all the amenities here, Falco. Well, we will do."

"Right!"

"I got approval for the aqueduct from the governor himself, during his state visit."

"State visit?"

"Came to introduce himself to the Great King."

run?"

"Believe it!" he marvelled. "We had to build a new latrine, in case the governor wanted a shit."

"He must have been delighted! Is this my pal Frontinus?"

"He spoke to me!" exclaimed Rectus excitedly. Frontinus was extremely down to earth.

"Frontinus enjoys the company of experts. And," I said, grinning, 'he was commissioner of waterworks in Rome. He does like aqueducts."

"It will only be a small one." Rectus subsided into embarrassed diffidence.

"Still, you got your aqueduct… I know it has to have a settling tank. Otherwise your pipes would clog- so what's the problem, Rectus?"

"Not included in the budget. Should have been a provisional sum."

"A what?"

"Notional costing. The aqueduct itself is to be funded as a provincial amenity." I had wandered into the picturesque byways of Treasury bureaucracy. "But the collection tank is on our site, so it's our baby. Cyprianus can't arrange the work for me without a pig's pizzle docket." Bureaucracy had summoned its own range of swear words. "Since it was never allowed for, Pomponius has to issue me a variation order first. He piddling well knows he has to do it, but the bastard keeps putting it oft."

"Why?"

"Because that's the kind of fart-arse bastard Pomponius is."

We fell silent. Rectus was still waiting for his talk with the architect. I had no firm plans.

I was looking at the place where the workmen had begun building up the great base for the spectacular west wing. "That platform base will be five feet high, am I right? With its colonnade sitting on top of it?"

"Revetted," said Rectus. "Towering like a bloody great bulwark on a frontier fort."

"With a massive blank wall facing the garden, won't the overall look be extremely bleak?"

"No, no. Same thought struck me. I've been talking to Blandus about that."

"Blandus?"

"Chief fresco artist." Possibly the mysterious visitor who missed me when I was bathing. "They want to paint it- naturalistic greenery."

"A mock-garden? Can't they have real flowers?"

"Plenty. When you look back towards the east wing they are going to install flowering trees on trellises, and beds full of colour will camouflage all the lower stylo bates But all the internal walls behind the colonnades are to be painted, mostly picked out discreetly. This big wall has its own design. It will be a spread of bold dark green creepers, through which," said Rectus, pretending to mock although he seemed to like the concept, 'you can peep at what seems to be another part of the garden."

"That's some thought!"

I was intrigued by Rectus. Some of the workers here seemed to inhabit closed compartments. They only knew about their own craft, had no clue about the overall scheme. He took notice of everything. I could imagine him spending his lunch-break wandering into the architects' offices in the old military complex, to gaze at site plans just out of curiosity.