Helena drew me aside and spoke in a low voice. "I found out what I could. The party ended very late. People were exhausted, and most of them tipsy. Beds were found. Marcellinus and his wife slept in separate quarters…" I did not comment. Helena and I shared strong views about that. Still, this was an elderly couple and he was an artistic type. "This morning the servants were all drowsy so the wife herself investigated his non-appearance. She just walked in, and came upon the horror." Helena was shaken. Maybe she imagined how she would feel if she found me like that.

"What is she like?"

"Decent. Respectable if not cultured. Not his freed woman there would have been rank and a dowry, I'd say."

"He would want a wife who brought him money- expensive tastes."

"She has not yet absorbed what this means." Helena herself in a crisis always saw instantly what it would involve. Helena conquered bereavement, fear, or any other tragedy by fiercely planning how to deal with it. "I told her we think the killer will be long gone and there is no threat to others. She could not take it in. She is not even calling for justice yet."

My voice rasped harshly. "If the killer comes from Anacrites, he is justice- imperial justice executed sneakily and summarily."

"Don't blame the Emperor." Helena sounded tired.

"Oh let's pretend Vespasian does not know what his Chief Spy fixes- or his filthy methods. No. Be realistic: Vespasian does not want to know."

I knew Helena would resist. "Inform Vespasian if you want to, Marcus- but he won't thank you!"

Helena supported the Flavian regime, yet she was a realist. Vespasian maintained a pretence that he hated spies and informers- yet the imperial intelligence service still flourished. Titus Caesar had made himself commander of the Praetorian Guard, who ran the spies network (on the rationale that they were using it to protect the safety of the Emperor). From what I heard, rather than disbanding it, Titus was planning to restructure and expand the team.

Even my own work for Vespasian was part of this system. Being freelance rather than on the palace payroll did not absolve me from the ordure of undercover work. I had approached this mission openly- yet in the preparatory stages even I had considered whether I could accomplish more on site disguised as a fountain expert.

Any casualties in my work were unavoidable. I never sought to cover up my actions with executions. When tragedies happened, I hoped the dead deserved their fate. But Anacrites would say the same. Perella slitting throats in far-flung provinces was only a means to liquidate offenders with maximum efficiency and minimum public outcry- using cost-effective means.

"But why Marcellinus?" I had spoken out loud.

Helena and I moved to an anteroom together so she was able to speculate with me, unheard. "For Anacrites to go this far seems very strange. Marcus, surely Marcellinus' only sin was being too cosy with the client? A cold letter from Vespasian should have dealt with that."

"That was my reaction. I had intended to recommend recalling Marcellinus to Italy, whether he wanted to go or not."

Helena was frowning. "Perhaps it isn't Anacrites. Could Claudius Lacta be at the back of this?" She could be as suspicious as I was. Lacta was a senior bureaucrat who meddled in major initiatives of all kinds. He was a keen enemy of Anacrites and no friend to me. Whenever he could, he set the two of us against one another.

I could not reconcile myself to that suggestion. "Lacta briefed me for this trip. While it's true I had suggested Anacrites to Vespasian as an alternative, I've never seen Anacrites working with Lacta -well, not since they started jostling each other for position- and I've never known Perella to work with anyone other than Anacrites either."

"So this is just the Chief Spy and his overseas agent. Every time we come abroad, we have the same problem of Anacrites dogging our footsteps," Helena grumbled.

"If he's done this, I'm assuming it's his personal initiative. Anacrites

is not supposed to know that I am here."

"Did you ask Lacta to keep it confidential?"

"Yes because I thought Lacta would enjoy deceiving Anacrites."

"Ha! Perhaps Anacrites found out?"

"That would make him a good spy! Don't wind my ratchet, lady."

We sat quiet, perusing the decor while the situation sank in.

"Look around you, Marcus," said Helena abruptly.

I had hardly taken in the layout and styling of this villa. That was partly due to the crisis, but also I felt I was in familiar surroundings. Now I saw what Helena meant. We had ended up in reception rooms that could be part of the 'old house' back at the palace. I suppose it was natural. Marcellinus was the architect. He would impose his personal style. Yet the similarities were eerie…

Its floor had multi-coloured cut work stones… a calm geometry of pale wine-juice red, aqua blue, dull white, shades of grey, and corn. Well, well. There was a blue-black dado and a painted cornice with an effect just like plaster bathed in evening light. Glancing from the window (fine-quality hardwood with long-life workmanship) I could see that the exterior materials were all equally familiar too, especially the grey stone, close to marble, which I knew came from a fine British quarry on the coast. The huge bath house looked just like the one at the palace.

Helena stood at my shoulder.

"I presume," she murmured, 'the aristocracy will have seen the King's palace and want their private homes to be just as grand. Friends and family of Togidubnus in particular."

"Agreed. And Marcellinus was best placed to ensure his villa had positively the best of everything. So he shows Britain how to adopt Romanisation -right down to our sophisticated corrupt practices."

Helena pretended this came as a surprise. "Are we Romans so bad?"

"As in all things, sweetheart, Rome leads the world."

"And are you saying Marcellinus stole these expensive materials from the palace?"

"I am not in a position to prove it- but until this moment, I was not looking for that kind of evidence."

"And now the truth just met your eyes."

"Very tastefully. In beautiful colour configurations, all skilfully worked."

Maybe someone else had been looking for the necessary evidence. Outside a familiar white-clad figure moved in a courtyard. Magnus.

He had been very keen to accompany us, and after we discovered the corpse he had gone off alone to poke about. Finding an opportunity to explore Marcellinus' villa was his reason for coming with us, probably. I marched out to join him, sinister, dexter, sinister, dexter.

"Don't tell me you're looking for "lost" property!"

I had found Magnus frantically pulling covers off piles of stacked materials. In his triumph, he forgot our disagreement when I accused him of the other killing. "Jupiter, Falco! He had some depot!" Excitement left him bright-eyed.

Marcellinus was storing all a home enthusiast could want and these were not mere samples. Fine goods were assembled here in large quantities. A renovating handyman would have gurgled with delight at this collection of building sundries. Roof tiles, floor veneers, flues, drains" Ceramic water pipes!" crowed Magnus.

"I keep a few things at home myself I mused. "I follow the "it might come in handy one day" principle."

Magnus turned to face me. "Couple of spare tiles for when your annex loses that wonky patch in the next storm? Timber off cuts Sack of tesserae to match your special floor in case some idiot kicks up a corner? Don't we all!"

"And architects do it on a grand scale?"

"Not all of them," Magnus said grimly.

"Maybe this stuff has been paid for."

Magnus only let out a harsh guffaw.

"I'd ask the grieving widow for a sight of the relevant invoices," I rasped, 'but it seems heartless."