The leader of the actors turned up, still dressed as the chief shepherd and emitting a belch after his supper. He confessed he had employed a few extras to pad out the parade today. This included the shepherdess with the big brown eyes (whom he rather clearly remembered). She had presented herself when he was auditioning; he had no idea where she came from, though her name was supposed to be Selia. He said she wasn't local, though by that he merely meant she did not come from the immediate confines of Corduba; Hispalis would still be a possibility. I had just let the killer of Valentinus slip right through my fingers. And needless to say, all the slaves Annaeus had sent out to look for her came back empty-handed.

"I'm sorry." The actor appeared pretty genuine. "Next time I'll ask for references."

"Why?" I scoffed bitterly. "Do you think she'd admit she was up to no good? Anyway—are you constantly being offered the services of undulating women?"

He looked shamefaced. "No," he mumbled. "Though that was the second one this week."

"And what was the first one like?"

"Older, though she could dance better."

"Why didn't she get the job instead of Selia, then?"

"She wasn't from around here." Trust a local to take precedence. He looked even more ashamed, then rallied with his big

excuse: "Well, Selia was thoroughly professional; she even brought her own sheep!"

"She's abandoned it now!" I retorted. She was a professional killer—and if she could claim a whole sheep, whoever was paying her expenses must be allowing her a substantial daily rate.

TWENTY-SEVEN

 

I spent the night at the Annaeus house. The notables let me feed at their table (well, their tenants' table). They loaned me an empty cell in their slaves' barracks. It was near the well, so I even managed to get something to wash my wounded neck—and there was all I could wish for to drink. What civilized people. Next morning their steward sent me away on a very slow horse which he said I could borrow indefinitely since its useful life had run out. I said I would report my gracious treatment by the Annaei to the Emperor. The steward smiled, openly showing his contempt.

The three sons had come home at dawn. I met them thundering in as I rode away. On principle they left me in a cloud of dust again, though the initiative had gone out of them to some extent and they were all looking faintly tired. As far as I knew the daughter was still out. Women have more stamina.

The Camillus estate lay bathed in sunlight when I finally rode back. As I expected, Helena had already followed up her promise to go over to the Licinius Rufius spread and pursue the next suspect for me. Marmarides, looking annoyed at having his nose put out of joint, told me Marius Optatus had driven her.

It gave me time to bathe and change my tunic, then to hang around the kitchen until the cook found me the kind of nourishing breakfast certain old women like to lay before an honest young man who is known to have fathered an almost-born baby and who clearly needs his strength built up. As I enjoyed the food, she cleaned my cut neck with a thyme wash and stuck on some sort of salve. Needless to say, its main ingredient was olive oil.

Helena returned to find me still being pampered. She grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and inspected the damage. "You'll live."

"Thanks for the loving concern."

"Who did it?" I winked; she took the point. We walked outside to the shady area of garden near the house, where a bench was placed under a fig tree on a wall. There, safe from being overheard, I told her about the shepherdess. Helena winced. "You think this pageant queen all bundled up in smelly wool is the 'dancer from Hispalis'?"

I did not want to say I had definitely recognized her, since that gave a false impression of me gawking too keenly at women. "Striking down men from behind certainly seems to be her trademark. But Anacrites and Valentinus were then rammed against walls. Apart from the fact that there were none available last night, if it was Selia, she made no attempt to follow up."

"Maybe she relies on her two musicians to do the dirty work, and didn't have them with her."

"Then what was the point of the stone? It seemed random— more like a warning than anything."

"Marcus, if the stone had hit you on the head, would you have been killed?" Sparing Helena's feelings, I said no. It certainly could have done more damage. But stone-throwing takes a good aim.

"Don't worry. What it's done is put me on my guard." Helena frowned. "I do worry."

So did I. I had been struck by a recollection of Anacrites mumbling "dangerous woman" when I said I was coming to Baetica. I now realized it was not Helena he had meant. He too must have been warning me—about his assailant.

To lighten the atmosphere I related my experience with Annaeus Maximus. "I gained some insight into his attitude. His family is in a political trough. He is socially crippled by what happened to Seneca. Undeserved or not, the taint has lingered. Wealth alone might recapture the family's old luster, but they've clearly lost heart too. Maximus certainly does not want a career in Rome, though he doesn't seem to mind being the big boy around here. Still, the Annaei are yesterday's heroes, and now it all depends whether running Corduba will be enough for them."

"Will it?"

"They are not stupid."

"What about the younger generation?" Helena asked.

"Running wild with great panache." I described what I had seen of the sons and the jewel-clad daughter.

Helena smiled. "I can tell you about the daughter—including where she stayed last night!"

I pricked up my ears. "Scandal?"

"Nothing like it. Her name is Aelia Annaea. She was at the Licinius Rufius house. Despite the alleged feud between their families Aelia Annaea and Claudia Rufina, the other fellow's granddaughter, are good friends."

"How sensible you women are! And so you met both of them today?"

Yes. Claudia Rufina is quite young. She seems genuinely good-natured. Aelia Annaea is more of a character; the bad girl enjoys knowing that her papa would hate her to accept hospitality from Licinius when the two men aren't speaking."

"What does Licinius feel about it?"

"I didn't meet him."

"Aelia sounds a bundle of trouble. And if Licinius encourages her to upset her father, he sounds a wicked old man."

"Don't be a prig. I liked Aelia."

"You always like rebels! What about her little friend?"

"Much more serious. Claudia Rufina yearns to endow public buildings and earn a statue in her honor."

"Let me guess: the Annaea babe is pretty—"

"Oh you thought so?" Helena asked quickly; she had not forgotten me saying that I had seen Aelia Annaea at her home last night.

"Well, she's rich enough to get herself admired for her necklaces, and she's polite," I corrected myself. "Honestly I hardly noticed the girl... Nice sapphires!"

"Not your type!" Helena sneered.

"I'll decide my type, thank you! Anyway, she was being picked up by someone last night; I bet she's betrothed to the handsome god I saw in the carriage when she went off. I suppose the Rufius poppet with the commendable social ambitions will be very plain—"

Helena's eyes were bright. "You're so predictable! How can you ever judge human nature when you're so bound up in prejudice?"

"I get by. Human nature makes people fall into distinct pigeonholes."

"Wrong!" Helena said crisply. "Claudia is just rather serious." I still reckoned Claudia Rufina would turn out to be plain. "The three of us had a civilized chat over a refreshing tisane. And you're wrong about Aelia Annaea too."

"How's that?"

"She was happy and lighthearted. Nobody has burdened her with a future husband of any kind, least of all a good-looking untrustworthy one." Helena Justina had never liked handsome men. So she claimed, anyway. There must have been some reason why she chose to fall for me. "She was overdressed in jewelry, but wore nothing like a betrothal ring. She is very direct. If the situation called for it, she would have asked for one."