"Has he made advances to you?" I demanded suspiciously. I knew how I would react if I had Helena Justina to myself for days.

"Of course not."

"He's an idiot then!"

"He regards me as a mother-goddess, I believe. He pours out his heart to me. His heart is about as interesting as a burned cinnamon bun."

"Has he admitted he's a bad boy?"

"He doesn't know," said Helena, summing him up with furious clarity. "Whatever he does, he never even thinks about whether it's right or wrong."

I sucked my lower lip. "No fascinating hopes and joys? No undetected talents?"

"He likes hunting, drinking, wrestling—with opponents who are not too professional—and telling people about the future he has planned."

"He told me how good he was going to be as quaestor."

"He told me the same," she sneered. "I expect he tells everyone."

"I expect some are impressed."

"Oh lots would be," she agreed readily. "People think mere self-confidence equates to nobility."

She fell silent for a moment. "I'm confident," I mentioned, since she was obviously thinking it.

"You're confident for good reason. And when that's inappropriate you're filled with doubt. What Quinctius Quadratus lacks is judgment."

We were again silent. The slave had done his duty with a will, and the room quivered with steam now. Wetness streamed over my forehead from the hair flattened on my head. I scooped water from a basin and threw it over my face and chest. Helena was looking very flushed. "You've had enough," I warned her.

"I don't care. I'm just so pleased to be with you, to be talking to you."

It was too hot to touch another person, but I took her hand and we exchanged a slippery embrace.

"Why do we hate him?" I mused after more reflection. "What has he really done? Other people think he's wonderful."

"Other people always will." Helena had clearly had plenty of time to evaluate the hero.

"He's likable."

"That's what makes it so bad; he could be worthwhile, but he's chosen to waste his potential. We hate him because he is bound for success, which he doesn't deserve. He is an empty shell, but that will not prevent him rising."

"His underlings will buoy him up."

"And his superiors will avoid the effort of reporting his inadequacy."

"He'll introduce stupid procedures and make terrible decisions, but by the time the results show he'll have moved on up the ladder and be wreaking havoc somewhere else."

"And he will never be called back to answer for his mistakes."

"It's the system. The system is rotten."

"Then the system must be changed," said Helena.

 

Left to myself I would have sunk into a heavy sleep, but I managed to rouse us both enough to wash in the warm pool. "So what's the story of poor young Constans?"

"I told you most of it."

"You were with Aelia Annaea?"

"Tolerating Quadratus was becoming too much. Optatus took to finding excuses to ride into Corduba. Aelia and Claudia came to rescue me; we sneaked off in the Annaeus carriage, and then we spent the day at Aelia's house."

"This was today?"

"Yes. Then this afternoon a desperate message came for Claudia Rufina to rush home because of the tragedy. Her brother had been working on the estate; I think maybe there had been some trouble about the life he had been leading—that party you went to with Aelia's brothers has had its repercussions throughout the neighborhood. Anyway, Rufius Constans had promised to reform himself. Hard work was his way of showing it."

"What caused the accident?"

"New stones had been delivered for an oil press, and he went to inspect them. Nobody thought he would attempt to move them on his own. When he failed to return for lunch with his grandmother a servant was sent out, and he was found dead."

"An accident," I repeated.

"Nobody else had been there. As for Quinctius Quadratus, he was here; we all know it. Without question he is unable to ride. He could never have got to the Rufius estate. Besides, why would he harm his young friend?"

I shook my head, unable to suggest an answer. Then I did say, "I saw Rufius Constans before I left. He and his grandfather were at the proconsul's palace, trying to gain an interview."

Helena looked at me. "Intriguing! But you cannot ask Licinius Rufius what they were doing there. He and his wife will be heartbroken over their loss. So much was invested in Constans."

"And so much wasted," I agreed, in my most republican mood.

"They had probably gone to ask the proconsul for support in advancing the young man's career!"

That was not how it had looked to me. The old man had been too urgent in his manner, and the boy too sullen-faced.

Because of the cramped layout of the bathhouse, we had to return through the warm room to reach what passed for a cold plunge. It was in a kind of cupboard to one side, built off the cold room with the cloak-hooks. Even before we pulled back the curtain which concealed the pool, I had an inkling of something suspicious. Then Helena Justina exploded. "Oh really! I don't believe this thoughtlessness!"

I did. Somebody had bathed in the small pool so vigorously they had swooshed almost all of the water out onto the floor. Before I squashed down on the sitting ledge and splashed myself as best I could to cool down in the remnants, I glanced back into the outer room. There were wet footprints everywhere, and the blue tunic I threw on the bench had now disappeared. Whoever had used the cold water must have been lurking in the pool when Helena and I first entered. Whoever it was could have overhead all we said. Luckily the thick doors to the warm rooms would prevent sound emerging once we had passed through them.

Frankly, if it had been Quadratus eavesdropping, I found it hard to care.

* * *

I was pretty well incapable of movement now. When I struggled from the pool, dripping sporadically, Helena had to find a towel and dry me down herself.

"So are you going to tell me your own adventures, Marcus?"

"Oh mine are just horses, wine, men's talk, and women in their boudoirs getting undressed." Helena raised her eyebrows and I thought it best to produce a rapid, lightly censored version of my time in Hispalis. She was not best pleased with the part about Selia, I could tell. Being an informer had taught me to recognize growling and grinding of teeth.

"Bad news, Falco."

"I won't have that! I protest I'm innocent."

"I think you made up the whole story." She had guessed that I had pruned it. "What a puzzle your dancer is! Is she the killer? Is she seeking the killer for Laeta? Will her ravishing figure distract you from your family loyalties? Will she beat you up again? Or will she just beat you at your own game?"

I tried not to wince as Helena moved to buff up certain lower regions that preferred softer treatment. "Spare me the exotic massage... A procurator called Placidus had a dagger gash that proves what she wanted. Selia was not after my body, unless it was dead. I beat up her guards and captured them; they will stand trial before the proconsul on the basis of a report I've left with the vigiles about that night in Rome. I was supposed to stay—material witness—but I waved my pass from Laeta and pleaded urgent secret work."

"Dry your own feet please," said Helena. "I'm too large to reach—"

"You're adorable. Better than a Syrian bodyslave—"

"When have you been cosseted by a bodyslave?"

"They fling themselves on me all the time. Beautiful girls with terrific hands, and slinky boys with very long eyelashes..." Helena's chin came up. "There's one more thing I haven't told you yet. The cook told me that while I was resting one day a woman came here looking for you."

"Selia?" Was she pursuing me?

"It can't be," Helena informed me coolly, drying her own hair. "This one was here three days ago, Falco—when according to you, you were pinning the unclad Selia to a cosmetics table in Hispalis. I had not realized you were so sought after."