Byrria, too, had probably dressed up slightly in response to our formal invitation. She was in green, rather plain if anything, with a very long skirt and long-sleeves against the flies which tended to descend on us at twilight. It marked a change from her spangled and revealing stage costumes, and signified that tonight she was being herself. Being herself also involved long bronze earrings that rattled all the time. Had I been in a less forgiving mood, they would have severely annoyed me.

Helena was looking sophisticated in a brown dress I had not known she owned. I had favoured a casual approach, trying out a long striped Eastern robe I had brought to fend off the heat. I felt like a goat farmer and was in need of a scratch; I hoped it was just due to the newness of the material.

While we teased him, Musa put on a patient face but stood up, breathing the cool night air and gazing somewhere away to the south.

'Be kind to him,' Helena said to Byrria. 'We think Musa is homesick.' He turned back to her, as if she had accused him of being impolite, but stayed on his feet. At least it gave Byrria a better view of him. He was passable, though not much more.

'It's just a ploy,' I informed the girl confidentially. 'Somebody once told him women like men who have an air of mysterious sadness.'

'I am not sad, Falco.' Musa gave me the controlled look of a man who was just trying to ease his indigestion after eating too much.

'Maybe not. But ignoring the most beautiful woman in Syria is pretty mysterious.'

'Oh, I am not ignoring her!'

Well that was better. His sombre, deliberate manner of speech did make it sound vaguely admiring. Helena and I knew Musa always talked that way, but Byrria might read it as restrained ardour.

'There you are.' I grinned at her, encouraging this. 'You are quite right to be wary. Under the glacially aloof pose smoulders a hot-blooded philanderer. Compared to this man, Adonis was a ruffianly buck with bad breath and dandruff. In a moment he'll be tossing you roses and reciting poetry.'

Musa smiled politely. 'Poetry I can do, Falco.'

We were lacking the floristry, but he came to the fire, sitting opposite Helena and me, which at last brought him nearer to the girl he was supposed to be entrancing, though in fact he forgot to gaze at her. He dropped to a cushion (conveniently placed by Helena before the meal just where it would allow things to develop if our guests had wanted that). Then Musa started to recite. It was obviously going to be a very long poem, and it was in Nabataean Arabic.

Byrria listened with the faintest of smiles and her slanting green eyes well cast down. There was not much else the poor girl could do.

Helena sat still. Musa's posture for recitation was to stare straight ahead, which meant Helena was catching most of the performance. The soft pressure of her thumb on my windpipe warned me not to interrupt. Still lying in her lap I closed my eyes and forced myself to leave our idiotic tent guest to his fate.

Sooner than I had dared to hope, Musa stopped – or at least paused long enough for me to break in without upsetting him. Rolling over and smiling at Byrria, I said quietly, 'I think a certain young lady has just been favourably compared to a soft-eyed gazelle, running free on the mountains – '

'Falco!' Musa was tutting, fortunately with a laugh in his tone. 'Are you speaking more of my language than you pretend?'

'I'm a spare-time poet and I know how to guess.'

'You're an acting playwright; you should be able to interpret well-spoken verse.' There was a hard note in Byrria's voice. 'And how are your other guesses, Falco?' Without appearing graceless, Byrria had turned the conversation. Her long earrings tinkled slightly, though whether with amusement or embarrassment I could not tell. She was a girl who hid her thoughts. 'Are you any nearer identifying the person who killed Ione?'

Giving up on the priest now that I had seen his technique for seduction, I too welcomed the new subject. 'I'm still looking for Ione's unknown lover, and I'd be grateful for suggestions. With regard to the playwright, motives have suddenly started turning up as thick as barnacles on a boat bottom. The newest concerns Tranio, Grumio, and the possibility of bad gambling debts. Know anything about this?'

Byrria shook her head. She seemed very relieved that the talk had changed pace. 'No I don't, except that Heliodorus gambled in the same way he drank – hard, yet always staying in control.' Recalling it, she shivered slightly. Her earrings trembled, soundlessly this time, reflecting the fire in tiny fl ripples of light. If she had been a girlfriend of mine, I would have reached to caress her earlobes – and deftly removed the jewellery. 'No one bettered him.'

'Custom-made dice!' I explained. She hissed angrily at the news. 'So how do you see Heliodorus relating to the Twins, Byrria?'

'I would have thought they were a match for him.'

I could tell that she liked them. On an impulse I asked, 'Are you going to tell me which of them pulled Heliodorus off, that time he jumped on you?'

'It was Grumio.' She said it without drama.

At her side I thought Musa tensed. Byrria herself sat extremely quietly, no longer showing her anger over the bad experience. All evening, in fact, she had behaved with reserve. She seemed to be watching us, or some of us. I almost felt that she, not Musa, was the foreigner at our fireside, subjecting our strange manners to curious scrutiny.

'You refused to tell me that before,' I reminded her. 'Why now?'

'I refused to be interrogated like a criminal. But here I am with friends.' From her, that was quite a compliment.

'So what happened?'

'Just at the right moment – for me – Grumio burst in. He had come to ask Heliodorus for something. I don't know what it was about really, but Grumio pulled the brute off me and started asking him about a scroll – a play I suppose. I managed to flee. Obviously,' she said to me in a reasonable tone, 'I am hoping you are not going to tell me Grumio is your main suspect.'

'The Twins have alibis, at least for Ione's death. Grumio in particular. I saw him otherwise occupied myself. For what happened at Petra, they're vouching for each other. Of course they may be conspiring – '

Byrria looked surprised. 'Oh, I don't think they like each other that much.'

'What do you mean?' Helena picked it up at once. 'They spend a lot of time together. Is there some rivalry?'

'Plenty!' Byrria replied quickly, as though it ought to be well known. Uneasily, she added, 'Tranio really does have more flair as a comedian. But I know Grumio feels that's merely a reflection of Tranio having more showy parts in plays. Grumio is much better at standing up to improvise, entertaining a crowd, though he hasn't done it so much recently.'

'Do they fight?' Musa put in. It was the kind of blunt question I like to ask myself.

'They have occasional squabbles.' She smiled at him. Must have been an aberration. Musa found enough spirit to mock himself by basking in the favour; then Byrria seemed to blush, though she could have been overheated by the nearness of the fire. I must have been looking thoughtful. 'Does that help, Falco?'

'Not sure. It may give me a way to approach them. Thanks, Byrria.'

It was late. Tomorrow there would be more travelling as we pressed on to Canatha. Around us the rest of the camp had quietened. Many people were already asleep. Our group seemed the only active party. It was time to break up. Glancing at Helena, I abandoned the attempt to bring the reluctant pair together.

Helena yawned, making the hint refined. She began collecting dishes, Byrria helping her. Musa and I confined our efforts to manly procedures such as poking the fire and finishing the olives. When Byrria thanked us for the evening, Helena apologised. 'I hope we didn't tease you too unbearably.'