It was very good. I was given an improvised lesson, then every now and then Grumio made me take part. If I dropped the ball it raised a laugh because I looked ridiculous. If I caught it, people roared at my surprise. Actually I caught quite a few. I was meant to; that was Grumio's throwing skill.

Finally the handballs were exchanged one by one for an assortment: a knucklebone, a quoit, one ball, a flywhisk and a cup. This was much more difficult, and I supposed I was now out of it. But suddenly Grumio bent low; in a flash he had extracted my own dagger, which I kept hidden down my boot. Jove only knows how he had spotted it there. He must be damned observant.

A gasp ran through the crowd. By some terrible luck the knife had come into his hand unsheathed.

'Grumio!' He would not stop. Everyone could see the danger; they thought it was intentional. It was bad enough to sec the blade flash as he spun it in the air. Then he started whizzing items at me again. The crowd, which had chuckled at my astonishment when the knife was produced, now leant forwards in silence. I was gripped by terror that Grumio would cut off his hand; the crowd all hoped he would hurl the naked blade at me.

I managed to catch and return the quoit and the cup. I was expecting the knucklebone or the flywhisk, then thought Grumio would finish the whole scene gracefully. The bastard was drawing out the final moment. Sweat poured off me as I tried to concentrate.

Something beyond the audience caught my eye.

Not a movement: she was absolutely still on the edge of the crowd. A tall, straight-backed girl in blue with softly looped dark hair: Helena. She looked angry and terrified.

When I saw her my nerve went. I did not want her to watch me near danger. I tried to warn Grumio. His eyes met mine. Their expression was totally mischievous, completely amoral The whisk flickered; the ball spooled up.

Then Grumio threw the knife.

Chapter XXVIII

I caught it. By the handle, of course.

Chapter XXIX

Why the surprise?

Anyone who had spent five years in the legions, banged up in a freezing estuary fortress in western Britain, had tried knife-throwing. There was not much else to do. There were no women, or if there were they just wanted to marry centurions. Draughts palled after a hundred nights of the same strategy. We would bathe, eat, drink, some would fornicate, we would shout insults into the mist in case any British homunculi were listening, then, naturally, being young lads a thousand miles from our mothers, we tried to kill ourselves playing Dare.

I can catch knives. In Britain, catching a knife thrown after I had turned away was my speciality. When I was twenty I could do it blind drunk. Better drunk than sober, in fact, or if not drunk, then thinking about a girl.

My thoughts were on a girl now.

I put my knife back down my boot – in its sheath. The crowd was whistling ecstatically. I could still see Helena, still not stirring. Nearby, Musa was making frantic efforts to break through the crush to her.

Grumio was flapping: 'Sorry, Falco. I meant to throw the knucklebone. You caught me off guard when you moved:' My fault, eh! He was an idiot. I forced my attention back to him. Grumio had been bowing low in response to the crowd's applause. When he looked up, his eyes were veiled. He was breathless, like a man who had had a nasty shock. 'Dear gods, you know I wasn't trying to kill you!'

'No harm done.' I sounded calm. Possibly I was.

'Are you going to take the hat round for me?' He was holding out his collection cap, one of those woollen Phrygian efforts that flop over on top like wearing a long sock on your head.

'Something else to do – ' I hopped into the crowd leaving the clown to make the best of it.

As I barged through the press he was continuing the patter: 'Well, that was exciting. Thanks Marcus! What a character: Now then, anyone here from Capitolias?'

Musa and I reached Helena simultaneously. 'Olympus! What's wrong?' I stopped in my tracks.

Musa heard my urgency and drew back slightly.

There was a deep stillness about her. Knowing her best I interpreted it first, but our friend soon saw her agitation too. It had nothing to do with Grumio's act. Helena had come here to find me. For a moment she could not tell me why. The worst conclusions flashed into my mind.

Musa and I were both assuming she had been attacked. Gently but quickly I drew her to a quiet corner. My heart was pounding. She knew that. Before we moved far she stopped me. 'I'm all right.'

'My darling!' I clutched her, for once grateful to the Fates. I must have looked ghastly. She bowed her head on my shoulder briefly. Musa stumbled, thinking he ought to leave us alone. I shook my head. There was still some problem. I might yet need help.

Helena looked up. Her face was set, though she was in control again. 'Marcus, you must come with me.'

'What's happened?'

She was full of grief. But she managed to say, 'I was supposed to meet Ione at the pools of Maiuma. When I got there I found her in the water. She seems to have drowned.'

Chapter XXX

I remember the frogs.

We had come to a place whose calm beauty should bemuse the soul. In daytime the sacred site must be flooded with sunlight and birdsong. As darkness descended the birds fell silent, whilst all around those still-warm, sensuous waters, scores of frogs started a chorus mad enough to delight Aristophanes. They were croaking their heads off frenziedly, insensitive to human crisis.

The three of us had ridden here on hastily collected donkeys, We had had to cross the whole city northwards, cursing as we were held up twice where the main street, the Decumanus, hit major crossroads; needless to say, both junctions had been undergoing road maintenance, as well as being packed with the usual aimless crush of beggars and sightseers. Emerging through the North Gate, we followed a much less frantic processional road along a fertile valley, coming through prosperous suburban villas that nestled peacefully amongst the trees on rolling hill slopes. It was cool and quiet. We passed a temple lying deserted for the night.

By now it was growing too dark to see our way easily. But when we emerged through an archway at the sacred pools we found lamps hung like glow-worms in the trees and bitumen torches screwed into the earth. Somebody must attend the site, though nobody was visible.

Helena and I had ridden one donkey, so I could hold her close. She had told me more about what happened, while I tried not to rage at her for taking risks.

'Marcus, you know we needed to speak to Ione about her hints regarding Heliodorus.'

'I'm not arguing with that.'

'I managed to have a word with her, and arranged to talk privately at the pools.'

'What was this for – a promiscuous skinny-dip?'

'Don't be silly. Several of us were coming, just to see the site. We heard that people bathe here normally outside the festival.'

'I bet!'

'Marcus, just listen! The arrangements were fairly flexible, because we all had other things to do first. I wanted to tidy our tent -'

'That's good. Nice girls always do their housework before they slip off to a rude festival. Decent mothers tell their daughters, don't be dunked until you've done the floors!'

'Please stop ranting.'

'Don't alarm me then!'

I have to admit I was disturbed by the thought of my girl going near a lewd cult. No one would ever suborn Helena easily, but any informer of standing has been asked by distraught relations to try rescuing supposedly sensible acolytes from the clutches of peculiar religions. I knew too much about the blank-eyed smiles of brainwashed little rich girls. I was determined that my lass would never be sucked into any dirty festival. In Syria, where the cults involved women ecstatically castrating men then hurling the bits around, I felt uneasiest of all about exotic shrines.