A similar charge is often laid against informers. We too are supposed to be amoral vendors of overheard dirt, gutter know-alls who fabricate freely if we cannot produce hard facts; deliberate mixers, self-seekers and stirrers. It's even regarded as a suitable insult for people to call us comedians:

Abruptly Grumio lurched to his feet. There was a restlessness about him I had overlooked before; perhaps I had caused it by discussing his work. That does depress most people.

For a moment I felt I had annoyed or upset him. But then he waved a hand amiably enough, and sauntered off.

'What was all that about?' asked Helena curiously, coming up as usual just when I had been assuming she had her head down in business of her own.

'Just a history lesson about clowns.'

She smiled. Helena Justina could make a thoughtful smile raise more questions than a dead mouse in a pail of milk. 'Oh, men's talk!' she commented.

I leaned on my chin and gazed at her. She had probably been listening, then being Helena she had done some thinking too. We both had an instinct for certain things. I found myself being niggled by a sensation she must have shared: somewhere an issue that might be important had been raised.

Chapter XXVII

To the great surprise of all of us, within the hour Chremes came rushing back to announce he had secured the theatre; moreover it was for the very next night. Obviously the Gerasenes had no notion of fair turns. Chremes and Davos had happened to be demanding attention from the booking manager just when that grafter received a cancellation, so for the proverbial small fee we were allowed to snap up the vacancy, never mind who else had been waiting around town.

'They like an easy life here,' Chremes told us. 'All the booker wanted to be sure of was that we'd pay his sweetener.' He told us how much the bribe had been, and some of us were of the opinion it would be more profitable to leave Gerasa now and play The Arbitration to a nomad's herd of sheep.

'Is this why the other troupe packed their traps?'

Chremes looked huffed that we were complaining after he had pulled off a triumph. 'Not according to my information. They were a sleazy circus act. Apparently they could cope when their chief trapezist had a fall that left him paralysed, yet when their performing bear caught a cold – '

'They lost their nerve,' Tranio broke in snappily. 'As we may do when all the groups who arrived here ahead of us find out how we jumped the queue and come looking for us!'

'We'll show the town something worth watching, then do a quick flit,' Chremes answered with a casual air that said just how many times the company had fled places in a hurry.

'Tell that to the Chersonesus Taurica weightlifting team!' muttered Tranio.

Still, when you think you are about to make some money, nobody likes to be too ethical.

We all had an evening to ourselves. Revived by the prospect of work tomorrow we pooled our food and ate as a group, then went our separate ways. Those with cash could spend it on seeing a classic Greek tragedy performed by an extremely sombre group from Cilicia. Helena and I were not in the mood. She sauntered off to talk to the girls from the orchestra while I had a few swift stabs at improving the scenes in The Arbitration that I decided the great Menander had left slightly rough.

There were things to be done during our visit and this seemed the night for it. I wanted an urgent talk with the tambourinist lone, but I could see her amongst the group Helena had just joined. I then realised Helena was probably trying to arrange a discreet meeting. I approved. If Helena persuaded the girl to talk, it could work out cheaper than if Ione spilled the tale to me. Girls don't bribe one another for gossip, I assured myself cheerfully.

Instead I turned my attention to Thalia's missing artiste. Chremes had already told me he had managed to ascertain that the theatre manager knew nothing of any water organist. That reasonably put an end to my search in this city. A water organ is not something you miss if one ever comes to town; apart from the fact they are as big as a small room, you cannot possibly avoid the noise. I felt clear to forget Sophrona, though I was prepared to make a show of double-checking by taking a turn around the forum and asking whether anybody knew a businessman called Habib who had been to Rome.

Musa said he would come with me. There was a Nabataean temple he wanted to visit. After his enforced swim at Bostra I was not prepared to let him out on his own, so we joined forces.

As we were setting off we noticed Grumio standing on a barrel at a street corner.

'What's this, Grumio – found some old jokes to sell?'

He had just started his patter but a crowd had already gathered, looking quite respectful too. He grinned. 'Thought I'd try and earn back the bribe Chremes had to pay to get the theatre!'

He was good. Musa and I watched for a while, laughing along with his audience. He was juggling quoits and handballs, then performing wonderful sleight-of-hand tricks. Even in a city full of tumblers and magicians his talent was outstanding. We wished him good luck eventually, but were sorry to leave. By then even other performers had left their pitches to join his fascinated audience.

It was a superb night. Gerasa's mild climate is its chief luxury. Musa and I were happy to stroll about seeing the sights before we tackled our real business. We were men on the loose, not looking for lechery, nor even for trouble, but enjoying a sense of release. We had a quiet drink. I bought a few presents to take home. We stared at the markets, the women, and the foodstalls. We slapped donkeys, tested fountains, saved children from being crushed under cartwheels, were polite to old ladies, invented directions for lost people who thought we must be locals, and generally made ourselves at home.

North of the old town, in what was planned as the centre of the expanding new metropolis, we found a group of temples dominated by a dramatic shrine to Artemis, the ancestral goddess of this place. There was scaffolding around some of the twelve dramatic Corinthian columns – nothing new for Gerasa. Alongside lay a temple to Dionysus. Within that, since a synthesis could apparently be forced between Dionysus and Dushara, Nabataean priests had an enclave. We made their acquaintance, then I buzzed off to make extra enquiries about Thalia's girl, telling Musa not to leave the sanctuary without me.

The enquiries were unfruitful. Nobody had heard of Sophrona or Habib; most people claimed to be strangers there themselves. When my feet had had enough I went back to the temple. Musa was still chattering, so I waved at him and sank down for a rest in the pleasant Ionic portico. Given the abruptness of his departure with us from Petra, there could be fairly urgent messages Musa wanted to send home: to his family, his fellow priests at the Garden Temple on the mountainside, and perhaps to The Brother too. I myself felt a nagging guilt that it was time to let my mother know I was alive; Musa might be in the same trouble. He may have looked for a messenger while we were at Bostra, but if so I never saw him doing it. This was probably his first chance. So I let him talk.

When acolytes came to light the temple lamps, we both realised we had lost all sense of time. Musa dragged himself away from his fellow Nabataeans. He came and squatted beside me. I reckoned there was something on his mind.

'Everything all right?' I kept my voice neutral.

'Oh yes.' He liked his touch of mystery.

Musa drew his headcloth across his face and folded his hands together. We both stared out at the temple precincts. Like any other sanctuary, this temenos was full of devout old women who ought to be at home with a stiff toddy, swindlers selling religious statuettes, and men looking out for tourists who might pay for a night with their sisters. A peaceful scene.