Luckily my mind was taken off my unease when halfway along the trail I caught up with Ribes the lyre-player.

Ribes was a pasty youth who believed his role as a musician was to sit around in a lopsided haircut describing plans for making vast sums of money with popular songs he had yet to compose. So far there was no sign of him being mobbed by Egyptian accountants keen to rob him of huge agency fees. He wore the sort of belt that said he was tough, with a facial expression that belonged on a moonstruck vole. I tried to avoid him, but he had seen me.

'How's the music?' I asked politely.

'Coming along:' He did not ask how the playwriting was.

We strolled along together for a short time while I tried to twist my ankle so I could fall behind.

'Have you been looking for clues?' he asked earnestly.

'Just looking for a girl.' Perhaps because he knew Helena, this appeared to worry him. It was not a concept that had ever worried me.

'I've been thinking about what you said to us,' Ribes offered after a few more strides. 'About what happened to Ione:' He tailed off. I forced myself to look interested, though talking to Ribes thrilled me about as much as trying to pick my teeth at a banquet without a toothpick and without the host's wife noticing.

'Thought of anything to help me?' I encouraged gloomily.

'I don't know.'

'Nobody else has either,' I said.

Ribes looked more cheerful. 'Well, I might know something.' Fortunately, six years as an informer had taught me how to wait patiently. 'Ione and I were friendly, actually. I don't mean – Well, I mean we never – But she used to talk to me.'

This was the best news I had had for days. Men who had slept with the tambourinist would be useless; they had certainly proved slow to come forward. I welcomed this feeble reed with the bent stalk, in whom the girl could well have confided since he had so little else to offer.

'And what did she say, Ribes, that now strikes you as possibly significant?'

'Well, did you know that at one time she had dealings with Heliodorus?' This could be the link I was needing to find. Ione had implied to me that she knew more about the playwright than most people. 'He used to boast to her about what he'd got on other people – stories that would upset them, you know. He never told her much, just hints, and I don't remember much that she passed on.' Ribes was not exactly bursting with curiosity about the rest of the human race.

'Tell me what you can,' I said.

'Well:' Ribes ticked off some tantalising references: 'He reckoned he had Chremes in his power; he used to laugh about how Congrio hated his guts; he was supposed to be pals with Tranio, but there was something going on there -'

'Anything about Byrria?'

'No.'

'Davos?'

'No.'

'Grumio?'

'No. The only thing I really remember is that Ione said Heliodorus had been horrible to Phrygia. He found out she had once had a baby; she'd had to leave it behind somewhere and she was desperate to find out what had happened to it since. Heliodorus told her he knew somebody who had seen the child, but he wouldn't tell her who it was, or where. Ione said Phrygia had had to pretend that she didn't believe him. It was the only way to stop him tormenting her with it.'

I was thinking hard. 'This is interesting, Ribes, but I'd be surprised if it relates to why Heliodorus died. Ione told me very definitely that he was killed for "purely professional" reasons. Can you say anything about that?'

Ribes shook his head. We spent the rest of the walk with him trying to tell me about a dirge he had composed in Ione's memory, and me doing my best to avoid letting him sing it.

Contrary to our expectations, Hippos offered a warm welcome to theatrical performers. We easily obtained a booking at the auditorium, although we could not attract a local sponsor so had to play on a directly ticketed basis; however, we did sell tickets. It was hard to say who was buying them, and we went into the opening night with some trepidation. Every good Roman has heard stories of riots in provincial theatres. Sooner or later our turn might arrive to become part of disreputable folklore. Hippos seemed the place.

Our performance must have had a calming influence, however. We put on The Pirate Brothers. The townsfolk seemed to be genuinely informed critics. Villians were booed with gusto (no doubt on the assumption that they might come from Tiberias) and love scenes enthusiastically cheered.

We gave them two more performances. The Rope was rather quietly received, up to the scene with the tug of war, which went down superbly. This brought increased crowds the following day for The Birds. After much silly debate of the kind he loved and we all hated, Chremes had risked this as a gamble, since piquant satire was not obvious fare for an audience who spent their time seething with pent-up suspicions and fingering their daggers. However, the costumes swayed them. Hippos took to The Birds so well that at the end we were mobbed by members of the audience. After a moment of panic as they came swarming on to the stage, we realised they all wanted to join in. Then ensued the fascinating spectacle of sombre men in long flowing robes all losing their inhibitions with joyous glee and hopping about for half an hour, flapping their elbows as imitation wings, like chickens who had eaten fermented grain. We, meanwhile, stood about rather stiffly, unsure what to make of it.

Exhausted, we crept away that night, before Hippos could demand even more excitement from our repertoire.

Chapter XLI

Approaching Dium we were told there was a plague. We retreated very fast.

Chapter XLII

Abila was not officially one of the fabled ten in the region of the Ten Towns. Like other places, this one claimed to belong in order to acquire prestige and the sense of mutual protection against raiders that was enjoyed amongst the true federation. If raiders turned up and asked to see their certificate of membership, presumably the claim failed and they had to submit to pillage meekly.

It did have all the qualifying features of the best of the Decapolis: a beautiful location, a rippling stream, good defensive walls, a Greek acropolis plus a more Romanised settlement, a huge temple complex honouring deities to suit every palate, and a theatre. The local architecture was a rich mixture of marble, basalt and grey granite. Abila was set on a high rolling plateau where a restless wind eerily seethed. There was something remote and lonely about it. The people looked at us thoughtfully; they were not directly hostile but we found the atmosphere unsettling.

Our thwarted trip to Dium, leading to an unexpectedly lengthened journey, had caused us to arrive at an awkward time of day. Normally we travelled through the night to avoid the worst heat, and tried to enter cities in the morning. Then Chremes could investigate the possibilities for a booking at an early stage while we others rested and complained about him among ourselves.

Having come on a poor track, we reached Abila well after noon. No one was happy. One of the waggons had had a broken axle, which held us up on a road that had seemed likely to be patrolled by brigands, and we were all shaken to bits by the roughness of the ground. On arrival we threw up tents, then straight away retired into them without wanting to make plans.

Outside our tent, Musa doggedly lit a fire. However tired we were, he always did this, and also always fetched water, before he would relax. I forced myself to co-operate and fed the ox, having my foot stepped on by the ridiculous beast in return for my act of duty. Helena found food for us, though no one was hungry.