Once again I saw Helena push up the side comb above her right ear. The soft hair that grew back from her temples had a habit of slithering out of control and drooping, so it bothered her. But this time it was Musa who punctuated the scene by finding sticks to twiddle in the embers. A rogue spark flew out and he stamped on it with his bony sandalled foot.

Even though he was not talking, Musa had a way of staying silent that still kept him in the conversation. He pretended being foreign made him unable to take part, but I noticed how he listened. At such times my old doubts about him working for The Brother tended to sneak up again. There still could be more to Musa than we thought.

'All this trouble in the company is very sad,' Helena mused. 'Heliodorus, and now Ione:' I heard Congrio groan in agreement. Helena continued innocently, 'Heliodorus does seem to have asked for what happened to him. Everyone tells us he was a very unpleasant character. How did you get on with him, Congrio?'

The answer came out freely: 'I hated him. He knocked me about. And when he knew I wanted to be an actor he plagued me with it. I didn't kill him though!' Congrio inserted quickly.

'Of course not,' said Helena, her voice matter-of-fact. 'We know something about the person who killed him that eliminates you, Congrio.'

'What's that then?' came the sharp question, but Helena avoided telling him about the whistling fugitive. This brazen habit was still the only thing definite we knew about the killer.

'How did Heliodorus plague you about acting, Congrio?'

'Oh, he was always trumpeting on about me not being able to read. That's nothing; half the actors do their parts by guesswork anyway.'

'Have you ever tried to learn reading?' I saw Congrio shake his head: a big mistake. If I knew Helena Justina she was now planning to teach him, whether or not he wanted it. 'Someone might give you lessons one day:'

To my surprise, Musa suddenly leaned forward. 'Do you remember the night at Bostra when I fell into the reservoir?'

'Lost your footing?' chuckled Congrio.

Musa stayed cool. 'Someone helped me dive in.'

'Not me!' Congrio shouted hotly.

'We had been talking together,' Musa reminded him.

'You can't accuse me of anything. I was miles away from you when Davos heard you splashing and called out!'

'Did you see anyone else near me just before I fell?'

'I wasn't looking.'

As Musa fell silent, Helena took up the same incident. 'Congrio, do you remember hearing Marcus and me teasing Musa that we would tell people he had seen the murderer at Petra? I wonder if you told anyone about that?'

Once again Congrio appeared to answer frankly – and once again he was useless: 'Oh I reckon I told everyone!'

Evidently the kind of feeble weevil who liked to make himself big in the community by passing on scandal.

Helena betrayed none of the irritation she probably felt. 'Just to complete the picture,' she went on, 'on the night when Ione was killed in Gerasa, do you happen to have anyone who can vouch for where you were?'

Congrio thought about it. Then he chuckled. 'I should say so! Everyone who came to the theatre the next day.'

'How's that?'

'Easy. When you girls went off to the sacred pools for a splash, I was putting up the playbills for The Arbitration. Gerasa was a big place; it took all night. If I hadn't done my job like that, nobody would have come.'

'Ah but you could have done the bills the next morning,' Helena challenged.

Congrio laughed again. 'Oh I did that, lady! Ask Chremes. He can vouch for it. I wrote up bills everywhere in Gerasa the night Ione died. Chremes saw them first thing next morning and I had to go round to every one of them again. He knows how many I did and how long it must have taken. He came round with me the second time and stood over the job. Ask me why? Don't bother. The first time I did it, I spelt the word wrong.'

'The title? Arbitration?

'Right. So Chremes insisted that I had to sponge off every single one next day and do it again.'

Not long after that Helena stopped asking questions so, bored with no longer being the centre of attention, Congrio stood up and left.

For a while Musa and Helena sat in silence. Eventually Musa asked, 'Will Falco do the new play?'

'Is that a tactful way of asking what is up with him?' queried Helena. Musa shrugged. Helena answered the literal question first. 'I think Falco had better do it, Musa. We need to insist The Birds is performed, so you and I – and Falco if he ever returns to the conscious world – can sit beside the stage and listen out for who an whistle! Congrio seems to be ruled out as a suspect, but it leaves plenty of others. This slim clue is all we have.'

'I have sent word of our problem to Shullay,' Musa said abruptly. This meant nothing to Helena, though I recognised the name. Musa explained to her, 'Shullay is a priest at my temple.'

'So?'

'When the killer ran down the mountain ahead of Falco, I had been within the temple and only caught a fleeting sight of him. I cannot describe this man. But Shullay,' Musa revealed quietly, 'had been tending the garden outside.'

Helena's excitement overcame any anger that this was the first Musa had told us of it. 'You mean, Shullay had a proper view of him?'

'He may have done. I never had a chance to ask. Now it is difficult to receive a message from him, since he cannot know where I am,' Musa said. 'But every time we reach a new city I ask at their temple in case there is news. If I learn anything, I will tell Falco.'

'Yes, Musa. Do that!' Helena commented, still restraining herself commendably.

They fell silent for a while. After some time, Musa reminded Helena, 'You did not say what is troubling our scribe? Am I permitted to know this?'

'Ah well!' I heard Helena sigh gently. 'Since you are our friend I dare say I can answer.'

Then she told Musa in a few sentences about brotherly affection and rivalry, just why she supposed I had got drunk in Scythopolis. I reckon she got it more or less right.

Not long after that, Musa rose and went to his own part of the tent.

Helena Justina sat on alone in the dying firelight. I thought of calling out to her. The intention was still at the thought stage when she came inside anyway. She curled up, tucking herself into the curve of my body. Somehow I dragged one sluggish arm over her men stroked her hair, properly this time. We were good enough friends to be perfectly peaceful together even on a night like this.

I felt Helena's head growing heavier against my chest; then almost immediately she fell asleep. When I was sure she had stopped worrying about the world in general and me in particular, I did some more worrying for her, then fell asleep myself.

Chapter XXXVI

When I awoke the next day, I could hear the furious scratching of a stylus. I had a good idea why: Helena was reworking the play Chremes wanted from me.

I rolled off the bed. Stifling a groan, I scooped a beaker of water from a pail, put my boots on, drank the water, felt sick, managed to keep everything in place, and emerged from the tent. Light exploded in my head. After a pause for readjustment, I opened my eyes again. My oil flask and strigil had been placed on a towel, together with a laundered tunic – a succinct hint.

Helena Justina sat crossed-legged on a cushion in the shade, looking neat and efficient. She was wearing a red dress that I liked, with bare feet and no jewellery. Always a fast worker, she had already amended two scrolls, and was whipping through the third. She had a double inkstand, one belonging to Heliodorus that we had found in the play box. It had one black and one red compartment; she was using the red ink to mark up her corrections to the text. Her handwriting was clear and fluent. Her face looked flushed with enjoyment. I knew she was loving the work.