'My status!' she murmured drily. I sat quiet. 'I've had my turn. I was offered the chance to play Medea at Epidaurus once:' It must have been years ago, but I did not disbelieve it. Tonight she had given a crisp cameo performance as a priestess that had let us glimpse what might have been.

'I'd like to have seen that. I can visualise you raving at Jason and bashing the children: What happened?'

'Married Chremes.' And never forgave him. Still, it was premature for me to feel sorry for him when I had no idea what other crises had distorted their relationship. My work had long ago taught me never to judge marriages.

'Heliodorus knew about you missing this Medea?'

'Of course.' She spoke quietly. I had no need to probe for details. I could imagine the use he must have made of the knowledge; a world of torment lay in her very restraint.

She was a great actress. And maybe she was acting now. Maybe she and Heliodorus had really been passionate lovers – or maybe she had wanted him, but he rebuffed her, so she arranged his swimming accident: Luckily Helena was not present to pour scorn on these wild theories.

'Why did Chremes keep him on?' Even though she and her husband were not speaking to each other generally, I had a feeling they could always discuss the company. Probably it was the sole factor that kept them together.

'Chremes is too soft-hearted to boot anyone out.' She grinned at me. 'Plenty of people rely on that to keep their position with us!'

I felt my jaw set. 'If that's a jibe at me, I don't need charity. I had a job of my own before I met up with you people.'

'He tells me you're an investigator?'

I let her probe. 'I'm trying to find a young musician called Sophrona.'

'Oh! We thought you must be political.'

I pretended to be amazed by that idea. Sticking with Sophrona, I went on, 'It's worth a parcel if I track her down. All I know is she can play the water organ as if she had lessons direct from Apollo, and she'll be with a man from the Decapolis, probably called Habib.'

'The name should help.'

'Yes, I'm relying on it. The Decapolis region sounds ill-defined, too large for wandering about clueless like a prophet in the wilderness.'

'Who wants you to find the girl?'

'Who do you think? The manager who paid the fee for training her.'

Phrygia nodded; she knew that a trained musician was a valuable commodity. 'What happens if you don't?'

'I go home poor.'

'We can help you look.'

'That seems a fair bargain. It's why I took this job. You help me when we get to the Decapolis, and even if my scribing is crude, in return I'll do my best to identify your murderer.'

The actress shivered. It was probably real. 'Someone here: Someone we know:'

'Yes, Phrygia. Someone you eat with; a man somebody probably sleeps with. Someone who may be late for rehearsals yet turns in a good performance. Someone who has done you kindnesses, made you laugh, sometimes irritated you to Hades for no reason in particular. Someone, in short, just like all the rest in the company.'

'It's horrible!' Phrygia cried.

'It's murder,' I said.

'We have to find him!' It sounded as if she would help if she could. (In my long experience that meant I should be prepared for the woman to try to jeopardise my search at every turn.)

'So who hated him, Phrygia? I'm looking for a motive. Just knowing who he had dealings with would be a start.'

'Dealings? He used to try out his luck with Byrria, but she kept away from him. He hung around the musicians sometimes – though most of them would tell him where to put his little implement – but he was too wound up in his own black personality to have been involved in any special affairs.'

'A man who bore grudges?'

'Yes. He was bitter against Byrria. But you know she didn't go up the mountain. Chremes told me you heard the killer talking, and it was a man.'

'Could have been a man defending Byrria.' When I see an attractive woman, I'm seeing motives for all kinds of stupid behaviour. 'Who else hankers after her?'

'All of them!' said Phrygia, at her most dry. She pursed her lips thoughtfully. 'Byrria has no followers, I'll say that for her.'

'There were plenty of oglers waiting here for her tonight.'

'And was she visible?'

'No,' I conceded.

'That surprised you! You thought Byrria was young enough to listen to them and only I was old enough to see through their flattery!'

'I think you have plenty of admirers – but you're right about the girl. So what's with Byrria if she turned down Heliodorus and she can live without cheap popularity?'

'She's ambitious. She doesn't want one short night of passion in return for the long disillusionment; she wants to work.' I was reaching the conclusion that Phrygia hated the beauty less than we had supposed. Clearly she approved of intense dramatic ambition; perhaps she wished the younger woman well. It could be for that classic reason: Byrria reminded Phrygia of her younger self.

'So she studies her art, and keeps to herself.' That could easily drive men mad. 'Is anyone particularly soft on her? Who loves the dedicated Byrria from afar?'

'I told you: all of the bastards!' Phrygia said.

I sighed gently. 'Well, tell me if you decide there was somebody who might have been prepared to kick Heliodorus out of her path.'

'I'll tell you,' she agreed calmly. 'On the whole, Falco, taking action – especially for a woman – is alien to men.'

Since she still seemed prepared to talk to me, although I was one of those feeble specimens, I went through the list of suspects in a businesslike way: 'It has to be someone who came with you to Petra. Apart from your husband-' No flicker of emotion crossed her face. 'That leaves the two clowns, the wonderfully handsome Philocrates, Congrio the bill-poster, and Davos. Davos looks an interesting case – '

'Not him!' Phrygia was crisp. 'Davos wouldn't do anything stupid. He's an old friend. I won't have you insulting Davos. He's too sensible – and he's much too quiet.' People always believe their personal cronies should be above suspicion; in fact the chances are high that anyone in the Empire who dies unnaturally has been set on by their oldest friend.

'Did he get on with the playwright?'

'He thought he was mule dung. But he thinks that about most playwrights,' she informed me conversationally.

'I'll bear it in mind when I talk to him.'

'Don't strain yourself. Davos will tell you quite freely himself.'

'I can't wait.'

By now I had heard one put-down too many about the creative craft. It was late, I had had a miserable day, Helena would be fretting and the thought of soothing her anxieties grew more appealing every minute.

I said I thought the rain had stopped. Then I bade the Mother of the Company a gruffly filial goodnight.

Hardly had I entered my tent when I knew that I should have been somewhere else tonight.