The hulk circled the room, giving us a good look at his superb physique and his heavy burden. He ended before the general, and hailed him as Caesar. Caesar responded with a haughty gesture. The giant dumped the carpet on the floor, then sprang back; he made a conjuring gesture. Of course we knew what was happening. We had all heard the story of the very young Cleopatra having herself delivered so provocatively to the susceptible old Roman general.

Well, we knew more or less. The cod Caesar pointed with his swagger-stick. In response, the carpet was unrolled by the big man, a yard at a time, to jerking drumrolls that were timed to derisive kicks of his enormous foot. Almost at the end, the audience gasped. Something appeared within the roll - and not what most people expected.

A large snake poked its head out, reared up suddenly and eyed us with a nasty expression. It had madder eyes than most and it definitely enjoyed scaring us.

It was not an asp. It had the distinctive diamond markings of a python.

Albia jumped back against me and I put an arm around her. Helena’s expression became quizzical; she was almost laughing.

The giant bearer flung the rest of the carpet open. A figure unravelled slowly, with balletic grace. Once revealed as a spectacular piece of womanhood, she burst into life.

Up leapt this Amazon of stupendous presence, wearing more eye paint than the best-equipped pharaoh. She boasted faux-gilt sandals and a red and blue Cleopatra necklace that could be real enamel. It adorned a bosom on which weary kings might rest their head in gratitude. Snake-headed bracelets were tight around better biceps than those of the monster who had carried her in the carpet. There was an explosion of draped white costume, very short and so transparent my eyes watered.

‘Aaah! What is she doing?’

‘She will dance with the snake, Albia.’ Helena murmured faintly. ’All the men will think it very rude, while the women just hope they are not asked to volunteer to go and touch her snake. He is called Jason, by the way. Her name is Thalia.’

‘You know them?’

To prove it, the snake-dancer recognised us. She favoured Helena with a huge, lascivious wink. This was not bad, given that when she did it, our friend Thalia was lying on her back with her legs around her neck, while the snake - who was, in my opinion, not entirely to be trusted - coiled himself three times around the tender parts of her person and stared up her loincloth. Assuming she was wearing one.

I never gamble, since it is of course illegal for a good Roman - but if I had, then from what I knew of Thalia’s racing form, I would have placed a large bet that underwear was absent.

XXII

Due to the late hour, much remained unsaid. After the performance ended, to wild applause, we signed to Thalia that we had to take young Albia home. Thalia waved gaily, mouthing back that she and I would talk soon - a mixed thrill, given my unease at the possibility that this wild woman had shared a ship to Egypt with my father. I could see that they knew each other; the timing of their arrivals might not be coincidence.

Nothing daunted Thalia. She turned up at our house for breakfast, her daywear only slightly less amazing and her manner only marginally less loud. Thank the gods she did not bring the snake.

‘He is tired. But he would love to see you, Falco. You must drop by - we have our tents by the Museion. Thalia was one of the Muses,’ she said educationally to Albia. I filled in for her that Thalia was an extremely successful businesswoman, who traded in animals, snakes and stage people.

‘Isn’t that dangerous?” wondered Albia, owl-eyed.

‘Well, the people can bite.’

‘I am surprised they dare.’

‘Only when invited to, Falco!’

‘Not in front of the children, please . . . Thalia was the Muse of Comedy and rustic poetry,’ I spelled out. ‘The “blooming” one! How appropriate. Thalia, blossom, I can’t believe they let you pitch a circus tent in the Museion complex. The Director’s a pontificating bastard; he’ll go nuts.’

Thalia let out a feral laugh. ‘So you know Philetus!’ She did not elucidate. ‘So - Flavia Albia, was it? - how do you come to be with these dear old friends of mine, my poppet?’ Albia was not yet aware she was being eyed up skilfully as a potential acrobat, actress or musician.

‘Compared with your exotic charms,’ I told Thalia, ’for Albia merely to have been orphaned as a baby during the Boudiccan Rebellion in Britain - as we think she was - seems a tame start. Don’t get ideas. Even in those hot-headed moments when she hates us for not understanding her, my foster-daughter is never going to run away to the circus. Albia has already had enough adventure. She wants to learn secretarial Greek and book-keeping.’

‘I could use a bent accountant,’ Thalia joked back. She must be doing well. ‘You’d have to be versatile and tickle up the python when he’s bored.’

Albia looked interested but I cut in firmly. ’Is Jason still a handful?’

‘Worse than a man, Falco. Talking of being a menace, your father is a right case.’

I breathed carefully. ‘So how did you hook up with Pa?’

Thalia grinned - a wide, rascally grin that she shared with Helena. ‘He heard I was coming out here and fixed a berth on my ship. Of course, your name swung it.’

‘I suppose he paid no fare? Well, you’ll know next time.’

‘Oh Geminus is all right . . .’

Had I not been sure that Thalia had a full-time old flame called Davos, I might have worried. Pa had a past. Even the bits I knew about were lurid. He had always been up for barmaids, but now Flora, his girlfriend of thirty years was dead, he seemed to think he had extra freedom. Yes, my mother was alive. No, they had never divorced. Since she and Pa had not spoken or been in one room together since I was about seven, she did not inhibit him. In fact Ma reckoned she had not counted for much when they lived together either. According to Pa, that was vindictive and unjust. So probably true, then.

‘How is the trusty Davos?’ I asked. He was a traditional actor-manager, with some talent. I had found him congenial.

Thalia shrugged. ‘Touring tragedy in Tarentum. I opted out. I like that play with the bloody axe murders, but you can have too much gloom thrown at you by a chorus of black-robed women. Besides, there are never good parts for my animals.’

‘I thought Davos was a good thing.’

‘Love of my life,’ Thalia assured me. ’I can’t get enough of his thundering virility or the way he picks his teeth. I’ve known him for years, which is cosy and familiar . . . But good things are best kept in a fancy box for festivals. You don’t want them to go stale, do you?’

‘What brings you to Alexandria?’ Helena then asked Thalia, smiling.

‘The future lies in lions. That monstrous new amphitheatre creeping up in Rome. It’s almost up to roof level and they are planning a grand opening.’

‘Plenty of wild beast importers will make fortunes,’ I said, picking up her lion reference. It was a trade I had investigated once. I was working on the Census at the time, so I knew all about the fabulous sums involved. ’But I never saw you as selling meat for slaughter, Thalia.’

‘A girl has to earn a living. It’s a damn good living or I would opt out. I don’t really agree with going to all the trouble of capturing and keeping complicated wild animals if you just want them to die. It’s hard enough to keep them alive in captivity in any case. But I’m no sentimentalist. The money’s too good to ignore.”

‘So now you’re in Egypt, are you travelling south where the beasts live?’ Helena asked.

‘Not me. I like the easy life. Why struggle, when there are men daft enough to hunt them for you? I have special contacts, some of them at the zoo.’

I wondered if ’special contacts’ were as exotic as ‘special dancing’.