'Yes I am.' The Rex Nemorensis spoke proudly, even though he was lying on his back in his own grove, covered with leaf litter and squashed toadstools, while being insulted by me. 'Now you know what it is all about, can I get up please?'

'You can't get up until you've answered my question.' I kept my tone rough. I was tired of my quest and ready to be ruthless in ending it. 'The woman I am looking for is a high-status German, who would have skulked here very recently. Good-looking number; sent on from Diana Aventinensis; seeking sanctuary. She may be ill. She has good reason to be desperate.'

'Oh that one! Arrived two days ago,' said the Rex Nemorensis, grateful that my demands could be met so easily. He did not care about Veleda. All he wanted was his own survival. 'Claims she is a victim of international injustice, hounded by violent elements in her own country, kidnapped against her will, due for intolerable punishment, under a death threat – the usual foreign woes. You'll soon find her moping around if you look.' 'I was looking, when you jumped me,' I reminded him. 'I thought my time had come,' pleaded the King of the Grove, his belligerent spirit now collapsed like a rotten gourd. 'Not yet,' 1 said kindly, gripping his arm and pulling him back on to his feet. 'Oh you have no idea what it is like, Falco, hiding behind trees all day, just waiting for someone new to turn up and kill you.' 'I thought they'd put a stop to all that.' 'So they say – but can 1 believe them? 1 took sword lessons from an old gladiator before 1 came, but I've forgotten all the theory. Besides, I'm not getting any younger…' 1 felt as if 1 was listening to some antiquated fisherman deploring how the younger generation had fished out all the mullet. 'Dead men's shoes,' he muttered. No, he was like some ghastly public scribe, anticipating the day a spotty underling with a sharper stylus finally usurped his place.

I brushed down his long priestly tunic, gave him back his sword, put him on a path with his face to the main road, and left him to his perpetual wait for death.

I quite liked him, once 1 got to know him. Still, the man was doomed. Being in proximity to inevitable failure is bad news. It makes you start thinking too much about your own life.

The Rex Nemorensis offered to assist me. 1 wanted to go on by myself, but when 1 set off, he came tagging along behind me like an inquisitive goat. 1 was heading down to the lake again. That was when 1 spotted her. A woman was standing motionless, right on the shoreline, wrapped in a long dark cloak with its hood up. She had her back to me. She was quite alone, either gazing into the water or simply staring out across it. She was the right height and 1 thought 1 recognised her bearing. From behind there was no way of interpreting her mood, but her stillness and her posture suggested deep melancholia.

The King of the Grove could be useful after all. Looking back over my shoulder, 1 called quietly, 'One question: since she came here, has anybody died a violent death?' He shook his head, almost sadly. 'Nobody.' 1 pulled my own cloak across so it was hiding my sword again, then 1 walked cautiously out from the woods and crossed the low flat beach until 1 reached Veleda at the water's edge.

XLVIII

She was older than I expected – much older than I remembered. That was a shock. Although the circumstances of our first encounter may have washed my memory of her with a golden haze of romance, being captured by Rutilius Gallicus had brought about one of those abrupt deteriorations that affect some people physically. She must have aged fast over a short period; endless forests notoriously lack discreet little cosmetics shops to remedy that kind of damage.

She recognised me. 'Didius Fako.' Those blue eyes saw what I was thinking about her appearance. Mind-reading is one of the traits that mysterious priestesses always cultivate. 'You seem unaltered by time!' It did not sound like a compliment. Rats, I was used to that. 'Don't be fooled. I'm married with two children. I grew up.' I wondered if she knew that something similar had happened to Justinus. Presumably when the fool wrote, he told her. Or maybe not…

Away in the forest Veleda had looked every inch a rebel leader, the brilliant inspiration of ferocious warriors who under her guidance not only took on the Empire, but took on Rome and nearly won. My companions and I had seen her walk among her people with magnificent assurance. The wiles that entrapped Justinus had been based on her physical beauty, as well as her intelligence and power (Plus that talent all clever women use against men – showing an interest in him). She still was a striking woman. Tall, erect of bearing, riveting blue eyes, fair – though when her hood fell back as she turned towards me, the shining blonde had faded. If grey was not yet covering the golden braids, it would be rampant soon. None of her confidence seemed to have been sucked from her by the humiliation of capture, yet something had died – or was dying – within her. It was simple enough. The legendary Veleda was no longer a girl.

She felt no change. I could see that. The blur of a bronze or silver mirror would not have shown her those fine lines around her eyes and mouth, or the way her skin had begun to lose its elasticity. It was likely the doctors who attended her at the Quadrumatus house, the men Helena had derided for instantly deciding that Veleda's problems were 'women's hysteria', had correctly diagnosed that she had hit the change of life – though looking at her, I could see signs of real illness too. But Veleda was still herself; she faced the future wanting life, influence, success. It meant she was still dangerous. I must remember that.

'Veleda. I never thought that we would meet again. Sorry; that's trite.'

'You don't improve, Falco.' Now I remembered, she had never liked me. She had taken to Camillus Justinus at once because he was uncynical, innocent and – as far as he ever could be on a dangerous mission – honest. Very few Romans would be as open in a tight situation as he was. She had convinced herself the young hero was genuine – and he did very little to disappoint her.

In contrast, she had realised I was trouble. I had been sent to the endless forest where she lived in an old Roman signal tower, guarded by a disgusting crew of hangers-on: male relatives, exploiting their relationship. I was sent specifically to manipulate her, coerce her, stop her fighting Rome. I might even have killed her. For all she knew, that had been my intention. I was not sure myself what I would have done, had the opportunity presented itselЈ Whenever I worked as the Emperor's agent, I was the hitman with no scruples, ordered off on dirty tasks abroad that the state would not acknowledge and could not openly condone. I unbunged the blockages in the diplomatic sewers. If elegant conversation had been enough to deter Veleda as our foe, Vespasian would never have sent me.

Last time we met, I was her captive. Now there were just the two of us, standing on a deserted lakeside, me with a sword and her unarmed. Once again, she knew what I was thinking. 'So, are you going to kill me, Falco?'

'If this were Germania Libera…' I sighed. Life was foul and fate was filthy. Here a swift end for Veleda was against the rules. I didn't care about the rules, but somebody might be watching us. 'I don't expect you to believe me, lady, but my version of civilisation says it would be best to kill you cleanly, rather than have you paraded on a cart like a trophy and the life choked out of you by some filthy executioner. '

Veleda made no answer. Instead, she turned away again, staring into the lake as if she glimpsed shifting images of those sunken barges in its peaceful waters.

I moved closer to her side. 'You may have met an old man who told you, there are fantastic ships lying in the lake, ships created for an emperor. I shall never forget that you gave me the precious gift of a general's ship once. You saved our lives. Your tribe must have hated you for it. So, Veleda, are you calling in favours?'